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About Bristol

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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After that, I stroll down to Oldbury’s High Street. It’s buzzing, loads of folks out and about. I see this old bloke trying to cross the road at the traffic lights on Church Street. He’s just standing there, looking confused. I’m like, “C’mon mate, it’s not rocket science!” Finally, he shuffles across, and I’m thinking, “Bless him, but hurry up!”

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