Not many people know this, but for a long time I was a street performer.
From the age of twelve I’d stake my pitch on a street corner, put a raggedy denim hat on the ground, and throw balls, knives and flaming clubs in the air for the entertainment of passing shoppers.
Sometimes I got moved on by officious traffic wardens or storekeepers who tired of my “witty” repartee.
But normally they’d leave me alone to earn my pocket money.
And it paid well.
Whilst my friends were earning a couple of pounds an hour cleaning cars or stacking shelves, I was doing a lot better.
But not better enough. At least, not for my liking.
You see, I’d judge a day based on my takings.
If the crowd was generous, I’d do OK. But they weren’t always inclined to be generous.