The World According to Bob

I began to wonder whether they saw it differently. Maybe they thought I was getting too big for my boots. I actually dug out my original contract with them to see if I’d perhaps broken any rules by agreeing to write a book. But, perhaps surprisingly, there was nothing. The Big Issue sellers obviously didn’t generally get contracts with big publishers to write their stories.

It was really confusing. I really didn’t know what to think. Once again, I began to wonder whether the high profile Bob and I were winning was a double-edged sword. But I knew what I had to do.

I didn’t go to Vauxhall to sign my six month suspension. As far as I was concerned, I’d sold my last copy of the magazine. I was sick of all the politics and the back-stabbing. It was bringing out the worst in people — but more worryingly, it was bringing out the worst in me. From now on I needed to concentrate on Bob, the book and all the things that brought out the best in me.

Chapter 15. The One That Saves Me

The drama at Angel left me feeling depressed and lost for a little while. Deep down I knew I’d done the right thing, but I still had my moments when I worried that I’d made a bad move. I fretted that I’d made an enemy of The Big Issue and that it might come back to bite me somehow.

It took me a week or so to snap out of it. I gave myself a talking-to. I told myself that I couldn’t dwell on it forever. I had to move on and, in particular, I had to focus on the positives, especially the book.

It had been delivered to the publishers who seemed pleased with it. A part of me had wondered whether they’d read it and get cold feet. My story wasn’t the most romantic or glamorous of tales. The life on the streets I’d described was grim and, at times, deeply unpleasant. For a week or two after Garry and I handed in the manuscript, I half expected a phone call saying ‘sorry, we’ve made a terrible mistake’. But that didn’t happen. Instead they told me they were going to publish it in the following spring, in March.

I now had a target to aim for, but in the meantime I had to keep earning money, so I headed back to busking — and to Covent Garden.

I had mixed feelings. On the negative side, after a couple of years selling The Big Issue, it felt like a little bit of a backward step. Busking is, in some ways, only one rung up from begging. I thought I’d put those days behind me.

The other problem was that my voice had deteriorated. Shouting out ‘Big Issue, Big Issue’ hundreds and hundreds of times a day was more demanding on the larynx than singing a tuneful song every now and again. So when I picked up my guitar and started singing again I felt that I was well below par, certainly from the previous time I’d been performing. Playing the guitar for long periods took some getting used to as well.  I didn’t have callouses on my fingers for a start.

They were the negatives, but there were some positives too. I tried to focus on them.

Most significantly, it was a step into independence. The Big Issue had, without question, been a force for good in my life. Its guiding mantra had always been that it offered a helping hand rather than hand-outs. That had certainly been true in my case. It had helped me bring a little stability to my life. Without them I would probably never have been asked to write a book.

Yes, I’d found it hard to abide by the rules of an organisation. Some of it was bad luck, some of it was down to personality clashes, but some of it — I had to hold my hands up — was down to me. I wasn’t very good at dealing with authority. I never had been.

So being my own person again, felt good. I felt I’d got my freedom back.

Of course, the other really positive thing was that Bob and I were better known now. Thanks to the various pieces in newspapers and on the internet, we were minor local celebrities.

From the first day busking, it was clear to me that we were now drawing bigger crowds than previously. There would be times when little semi-circles of tourists and shoppers would surround us, snapping away with their cameras and kneeling down to stroke Bob. I was shocked at how many people speaking foreign languages that I didn’t even recognise would smile, point and say: ‘Aaaah, Bob.’

Bob seemed to relish it. One of the most requested songs I played was ‘Wonderwall’ by Oasis. It was an easy song to play. I just put a capo on the second fret of my guitar and started strumming away. I’d played it a hundred times, but now, each time I played those familiar chords, the lyrics hit home much harder, in particular that line in the chorus that goes: ‘Maybe you’re gonna be the one that saves me’. As I looked down at Bob, I realised it could have been written for him. There was no maybe about it. He had saved me.