Half Alive: A Manual for Busking in the London Underground - How Not to

Riders shuffle into the London Tube more than four million times a day. Danny the Demon was among them, back in Maggie Thatcher's Brave New 1980s. Always late, he would race down the stairs, guitar banging his shoulder as he leapt off every third step, then jump the barrier without paying. He wasn't a rider, but a singer - begging for money from the commuting throng. Welcome to the punked-out world of the London Underground's music-making buskers. They could stop you in your tracks with delight - or revulsion. Not exactly savoury characters: drinking and drugging, squatting in abandoned houses, squabbling over prime spots, dodging the cops. They would wake up broke, earn enough to get brained, and wake up broke again. This slice of life below the streets wasn't in the London guidebooks, nor on your standard tour. There was Olga the Swedish Sorceress, turning tricks to forget. Shy Saxophone George, entranced by his own solos. Lora Buchanan, the voice of restraint - when sober. Skinhead Charlie, Beryl the Peril. All hoping for a state of ecstasy, mostly settling for a state of excess. Danny himself only wanted rock stardom. "And the first thing I'll do," he promised himself, "is get my teeth fixed." Not tripping out, not our Danny. Today buskers win licenses and book spots in advance, all very tidy. Back then, they balanced wit with delusion, community with desolation. Mrs. Thatcher promised opportunity for those who could seize it. But Danny and his mates in 1980s London - basically honorable but utterly debauched - could barely mind the gap.

John Dempsey knows the London Tube Map like the back of his hand. The one he strums with, actually. In 1978, with Great Britain’s Winter Of Discontent in full swing, Dempsey stepped into a life of excess the London guide books never tell you about. He’d seen a busker at London Bridge Underground, gathered up his courage, jumped the barrier to get into the station, threw his guitar case on the ground and did some quiet fingerpicking. A coin drops in. Then another. Next thing you know, he makes enough to buy milk for his tea. A guitar-strumming, hat-passing hippie star was born. A fictionalized memoir, Tip Me, You Wanker is the laugh out loud companion to every London travel guidebook ever written.