On the calle between the Zattere and the Accedamia this guy plays his violin. He's been there for a few years and says buon giorno and bows to everyone. I quite often put 50 cents into his case. At least he is doing something, unlike those who kneel down bent forward all day. Then they get up and walk off.
But he plays the violin VERY badly. Last week I actually recognised a few notes of O Sole Mio, but he soon went off. To say he's been there so long he should be as good as Nigel Kennedy.
Sometimes there is an accordionist too, but often they must fall out and he is a street over. Their wives also sit on the seats in the campo along with the gang master in charge of them.
Liz and I were discussing him one day as we walked past. She said her husband Geoff was painting in the campo and wanted to go for a coffee so he asked them to look after his easel, paints and painting. Liz said she nearly choked asking them. But all was well when he returned.
No comments:
Post a Comment