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About Bristol

I’m cruisin’ London, eyes peeled, thinkin’, *Where’s the talent at?* Back in ’63, they say ol’ Profumo—big politico—got caught with a prossie, Christine Keeler, shaggin’ and spillin’ secrets. History’s wild, mate! Makes me chuckle—spies and tarts, classic combo. Anyway, I spot her—red heels, fag hangin’ loose, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You lookin’ for a dance?” she says, all sassy. I’m like, *Bloody hell, she’s got Mia’s fire!*—that “I don’t need no one” vibe from *Fish Tank*.

Southwark, Greater London

For we've got an oratorio that hasn't seen the light of day since , Aztecs, Incas, a recreation of the musical soirées hosted by a venetian prostitute.

Yeah, sometimes I get too caught up in these drifty thoughts. I get emotional over the mundane, ya know? I might even exclaim, "What the fuck, history?" But then, there’s beauty in chaos, like life or a bad pun on a good day. Rotherhithe ain't perfect, but it's mine. All its narrow alleys, quirky docks, and those offbeat corners keep me inspired.

Rotherhithe Youth Hostel (Greater London) weather