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About Bristol

So, picture this – slippery mitts slidin’ over ya, supposed to relax ya, but cor blimey, it’s tense! Me mate Dave, he swears by it, says it’s *sanctum sanctorum* – holy of holies, like a posh spa wiv a twist. I tried it once, right? In Clapham, dodgy parlour, neon sign flickerin’ like a drunk winkin’. Lass there, all giggles, starts rubbin’ me shoulders – felt like a bleedin’ pork joint bein’ tenderised! “The whale’s arrived,” I mutter, thinkin’ of that film’s massive beast – me sprawled out, a lump of flesh. Made me chuckle, then bloody hell, she digs in – ow! – nearly leapt off the table.

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After the rain, we head back to the house on Mill Lane, and I’m thinking, “Okay, let’s do some arts and crafts.” I pull out the glitter, glue, and paper. Big mistake. Glitter is like the herpes of the craft world. It gets everywhere! I’m finding it in my hair, my clothes, even my snacks later. Ugh!

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