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I was less than a year into busking, playing without an Amp or even a stool to my name. I was covering Sympathy for the Devil - the Rolling Stones if I remember rightly, and one lady had caught my eye listening from across the high street.

As you do, I kept my eye out for her, and when I finished she approached me with tears in her eyes. She told me I sounded like her late son, who also played but never managed to get around to taking his music outside the house. It was his favourite tune I had been playing.

I had no idea what to say or do to that, and so I thanked her and told her I was sorry for her loss. She told me she was grateful she could have listened to him one last time, which kind of made me tear up a bit for mixed reasons.

I never saw or heard from her again after that.

Definitely finding out that my mother had been working her shift on the security cameras in the area where I busk at night. Every copper that passed me gave me that kind of knowing grin for weeks, and I never knew it was because she wouldn't stop asking them to 'keep an eye out for my little boy'!

I have a few guitars, nothing major. I name them all because I'm sentimental and weird like that.

My first Acoustic (Fender Squier) is named Taylor, after the first person to tune her.

My Electro-Acoustic (Martin Smith) is named Sue, for the woman who helped me pay for her.

My Electric (Jaguar Squier) is named Rosie because she's heavier than she looks.

I picked up an old twelve string from Oxfam last year that I haven't named yet, but that'll happen eventually.

The Westfield I play now hasn't been named yet either...