Last week a little boy in a green hat and a yellow coat plonked himself down in front of me while I was busking. His dad and a crowd of people watched on in surprised amusement as he sat cross-legged, looking up at me.
After a short while, his dad decided it was time to make a move. When the boy would turn around with his big, beaming smile his dad would gesture; “come on, time to go now”. He wasn’t having much luck.
I struggled to sing through my laughter every time the cheeky child turned back to face me, in defiance. Members of the crowd were beginning to chuckle too.
Completely oblivious and happily enthralled, the little boy sat quietly and listened to me sing, briefly distracted by a helicopter overhead.
In his own sweet time, he got up and trotted back to his dad, protesting a little as he was picked up and carried away. “You can leave him here,” I joked, “I’ll keep him!”
A crowd had gathered to watch this quaint encounter, but that day I felt like I only had one audience member; the little green-hatted, yellow-coated cherub in the front row.
Lots of love,