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About Bristol

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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First off, I woke up late. Classic me. Alarm didn’t go off. I’m sprinting down Northgate, hair a mess, coffee in one hand, and my bag in the other. I’m dodging tourists like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. You know, the ones who stop dead in their tracks to take selfies with the cliffs? Ugh, move it, people!

Hunstanton RNLI crew push the boat out for 200th anniversary