... to think if you are a busker you should vary your material or move on occasionally.

[5Foot5]

Don't get me wrong. I am generally quite sympathetic to buskers. They often make me smile and, if they are good, I am happy to give them something. But I think if their repertoire is limited they should bear in mind that not all of their audience has the option to just move on.

There is a group of buskers who have been playing in the street near our office for about two hours now. Initially they sounded quite jolly and entertaining and I guess on a sunny day like this they invoke bit of a party atmosphere for passers by. However, they seem to know only about three or four tunes and they keep playing them over and over and over. It is starting to get very annoying...........

Three songs ! Wow- think yourselves lucky
There is an old guy who plays the accordion on the sea front where I am staying . I can hear him from the beach - he knows one Portuguese folk tune
One
Again and again and again- ( he was up there for two hours yesterday..)

EduCated, I've seen the (and heard, unfortunately) the Sheffield busker you mean. Wearing a cowboy hat?
He's really, really bad isn't he! I think it's an act though, to gain a sort of notoriety for being sooooo awful.

LimitePeriod - are you in NewcastLe?

I feel all hot fuzz when I try to put into words my hatred for living statues and moreover where they situate themselves creating huge bottlenecks

Also to the rather rancid lady on the embankment in London a few years ago who looked like she had coloured her face in with felt tip and hit it too many times with a stapler. Shouting at people for taking your photo when you're bloody well standing their posing will get you verbal abuse. And yes 'get a proper job' may have accidentally slipped out of my mouth as I walked past you as you shouted at some poor tourist.

Oh and I won't rant tell you my opinion and dislike for the Salvation Army at Christmas

God rest ye merry gentlemen...yes...rest that corner up your arse

No, London whatdoiknow. Is there a rubbish fire-eater or Godfather-loving accordionist in Newcastle then?

My worst busking experiences have all been on holiday - those two were in Spain.

The buskers on the London underground are good. There are designated pitches and I think you have to audition for them. They do the usual buskers' repertoire but at least they're decent singers and musicians. And you get a mixture of pop/rock/folk as well as opera singers and classically-trained people with violins and flutes and things. I like them because I don't usually listen to that kind of music.

The people who ambush you on the Tubes themselves are quite annoying and generally a bit crap. I know it's just small change and I've never been threatened, but I do feel a bit resentful when they come round for money. Bit mean of me, but there you are. My heart sinks when they get on. It actually makes me feel grumpy whereas before I might have been feeling cheerful.

I suppose I feel imposed upon whereas the static buskers in the corridors don't confront you for money and I have given. Though don't run away with the idea that I'm a Lady Bountiful. Usually I keep my purse firmly closed

I have to say that the bar plagued by the rubbish fire-eater was also visited by a group of about six fantastic male gymnasts.

We nicknamed them The Magnificent Tumbling Fools - but they were anything but fools. They were brilliant.

I think they were Brazilians. One of them played a bongo-type drum and the others would chant and clap and shake tambourines and they took it in turns to do back flips. They'd do six in a row. Then they did what was explained to me as formalised mock-fighting from slaves.

So two of them would fight without touching If they touched it could be lethal but they never touched but came so close.

I gave them money. And I'd have given them extra if they'd have promised to take the fire eater out.

The experience was enhanced by the fact that unlike the people in that link, they were wearing nothing but skimpy shorts, their lithe bodies lightly slicked with sweat from exertion on a hot Spanish night.