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About Bristol

Oi, mate, it’s me, James Bond – suave, “Shaken, not stirred.” – moonlightin’ as The Lumberjack, choppin’ through the wild world of sex escorts. Yeah, you heard me, escorts – them classy birds you pay for a good time. Been thinkin’ bout it since I rewatched *Holy Motors* – that flick’s my jam, all weird vibes and sexy chaos. “Weird? Yes. Necessary? Absolutely,” as Carax’d say.

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First stop, I’m at the market on Blackley New Rd. I’m set up, sharpenin’ knives, scissors, whatever folks throw at me. This old bloke comes up, right? He’s got this rusty knife, looks like it’s seen better days. I’m like, “Mate, what’ve you been cuttin’ with this? Trees?” He laughs, but I’m serious! I get to work, and while I’m at it, I’m thinkin’ about how Blackley’s changed. Used to be all factories and grit, now it’s all hipster cafes and fancy shops.

Fire rips through building in Blackley as crews scramble to tackle inferno