Someone shoot the busker....please!

I just know it's going to be "one of those days" when I get to work on a Saturday, and the thrice-monthly busker is setting up outside the shop...........

I'm all for free enterprise, but this guy just gets right up my nose. He is one of today's hi-tech buskers, with a guitar, an amp, backing track and microphone. The one thing he lacks however, is talent.... He has the kind of nasal drone that makes your teeth itch, and his choice of songs for a sunny town centre on a Saturday certainly leaves a lot to be desired...... Not what you would call cheery at the best of times, James Blunt's songs are given a Mogodon rework and make me positively suicidal... (Beating me about the ears with a Blunt instrument?) He relentlessly murders all our favourite songs and garners maximum marks for consistency in making everything from Abba to Zappa sound exactly the same: awful.

Even slightly more upbeat numbers make one cringe - on a blisteringly hot day, he decides to incorporate into his tedious routine any song which mentions the word "sun" - including "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore...." (It does...) and turns the cheeriest of ditties into a monotonous dirge. Customers come into the shop and comment how nice it must be to have music supplied for free..... We grit our teeth whilst resisting the urge to slap said punters, and declare that it's a tad annoying when you are obliged to endure it all day.... My boss and I spend 'quiet' moments pondering methods of silencing our musical torturer... Favourite at present is simply slicing his guitar strings with scissors, but others have included spilling a cup of coffee into his amp, or giving him toffee to chew. We consider requesting: "The Sound of Silence" or "Silence is Golden" in the vain hope that he will take the hint....

I ponder as to why he always picks on our end of town in which to perform his sadistic and tuneless brand of musical terrorism? Can he not circulate occasionally, so that others can experience the same 'joys' that he imparts? Is he compelled to park in the same spot time after time with some kind of evil plot for my mental demise? The only conclusion I reach, is that I will have to resort to earplugs in order to retain my tenuous grip on sanity.......

Either that, or do time for shooting the busker, although prison may be peaceful in comparison to Weevil's town centre on a Saturday...... Now THERE'S a thought.............