Or perhaps not. Today’s busker in the High Street is a woman playing an accordion. Slightly jazzy, fragments of a recognisable tune, skidded away from and improvised around, so the echoes are hard to identify. I’m half way down George Street before I realise its Zippety Doo Dah.

On the way back I give her a coin and said that her music makes you want to get out some spoons, clack along and dance; and asked if the buskers who are now pretty regular on that spot have to book it. It turns out that, apart from Central London pitches and a few suburbs, busking is unregulated. People just turn up. She said it can be a bit awkward if several come at once. She covers a lot of local centres, likes doing Corringham.

I ask, rather shyly, if she could play Captain Pugwash, which might spread a little happiness, but she says something at the same time and plays something else as I walk off. I’m halfway to the War Memorial before I realised its Thoroughly Modern Milly.