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About Bristol

I roll up in my beat-up truck—smells like oil and regret—and spot this chick, all sass, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Hey, darlin’, what’s the deal?” I rasp, tryin’ not to sound like a total creep. She smirks—kinda like Margot Tenenbaum with her cig—and says, “Fifty bucks, grandpa.” Fifty?! I choke—“That’s half my rent!”—but she don’t care. She’s got that “I’m adopted” vibe, y’know, from the movie? Tough as nails, but somethin’ sad underneath.

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Oh, the river Chew, babbling just off the edge of town, flows along village outskirts — sometimes it whispers like secrets, sometimes like confessions in the dark. I remember a stormy day when I had a session by its banks, thoughts flutterin’ like mad, and the wild water told a story of healing and havoc. Mad, right?!

Work on new village development in Gloucestershire gets under way