During the summer I work non-stop. I cling on to the warm days and nights because I know they are fleeting. When my body aches for sleep I try to remember fingerless gloves, biting cold February mornings and numb toes and noses. I tell myself; be the ant, not the grasshopper.
I don’t love summer, if I’m honest. I spend the whole time dreading the fact that it will end but also willing it to end soon so I can guiltlessly sleep-in, with the sound of rain on my window.
Summer is over now and my time is my own again. The southbank is quieter and colder and I can afford to take some time for myself. I am writing this on a plane headed to America.
In the weeks leading up to this trip I worked like it was summer again. I worked every single sunny day and I even took to the underground on rainy days that I would usually have spent catching up on sleep. But I wasn’t plagued by the reluctant summer fatigue that I often feel in August; money driven, fearful of winter, leaving my heart back home in bed.
This time, I wasn’t working to save every penny, I was spending every day at the Southbank because I know how much I will miss it when I’m gone.
When rent and bills and overpriced coffee drive me to make music, it makes me so unhappy. I must remember that feeling when summer comes around again.
This autumn I was driven by love for what I do, cherishing every chance I got to go and busk until my voice gave out. Knowing that absence makes the heart grow fonder and my love for street performance keeps on growing.
Until next time, Southbank.