I'm not terrible

"I'm here about the busking license," I say into the intercom on the door of York City Council.

"You'll need to fill in the form," a woman's voice crackles back. "Then just drop it in t' letter box and we'll be in touch."

"I've already done that," I explain. "And I'm waiting for my audition. But I'm leaving town this week so I'm wondering if you could just give me a temporary permit?"

There is a pause. And then what sounds suspiciously like a snort.

"You'll still need to audition, love, even for a temporary permit," explains the voice. "You could be terrible for all we know."

"I'm not terrible," I sigh, saying 'terrible' just like that in italics as if well, actually, I might be something like terrible, I suppose.

I want to play her a 16th century baroque piece right here into the intercom to prove myself, but actually I don't know any 16th century baroque pieces. And so instead I wander around town and consider just playing without a license anyway. Rock n roll! I mean, this is busking – how high can the standard possibly be?

On Coney Street a man plays reels on the fiddle while simultaneously operating a dancing puppet on strings. On Sampson Square a woman plays Hendrix guitar solos while her dog sings along in perfect key. On Stonegate a guy plays 16th century baroque music on the harp whilst standing on his head.

Yeah, I'm not terrible, just a little dull maybe.