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About Bristol

I reckon it’s old as sin—Ancient Rome had these “massage dens,” slaves kneadin’ rich blokes ‘til they forgot their woes. Little known fact: them Greeks called it “anatripsis”—fancy word for gettin’ frisky with oil. Makes me chuckle—imagine some toga-clad git moanin’, “Oh, harder, Demetrius!” Proper daft, but it worked. Still does. Got me thinkin’—why’s it so hush-hush? Society’s all prude, clutchin’ pearls, while I’m over here, sippin’ wine, wonderin’ why nobody talks about the *good* tingles.

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Feeling a bit more human now, I decide to check out the shops on Belmont High Street. There’s this quirky little thrift store I love. I walk in, and it’s like stepping into a time machine. Old records, vintage clothes, and random knick-knacks everywhere. I’m digging through a pile of old vinyls when I find this gem—an Elvis record! I’m like, “Heck yes!”

Downside monks leave Buckfast for merger with Belmont Benedictines