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About Bristol

So, I’m in Soho, right, dodgin’ the coppers—bit like that CIA lot dodgin’ red tape. “We’re goin’ dark,” I growl, feelin’ all cinematic. Saw this bird, yeah, leanin’ by a lamppost—thought, “Blimey, she’s the target!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—then bam, she’s chargin’ fifty quid! Fifty! I’m fumin’, mate—daylight robbery, that is. “This is the kill zone,” I hiss, tryna barter like some prat in a souk. She just laughs—cheeky mare—says, “Take it or sod off, guv.”

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Lunchtime rolls around, and I decide to hit up the local chippy on Hainault Road. Best fish and chips in town, no cap. I order the usual – cod and chips, extra tartar sauce. I’m standing there, waiting, and this seagull swoops down and snatches my chips right outta my hand! I’m like, “Oi! That’s mine!” But the bird just flies off like it’s the king of the world. I can’t even.

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