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About Bristol

Me, I like the ones with stories—grit in their veins. Reminds me of Dae-su in *Oldboy*, trapped, fightin’, fuckin’ lost. “Laugh and the world laughs with you,” he says, but escorts? They laugh, and ya wonder what’s hidin’ behind it. Once met this gal—Lysa, swear her name was—worked the docks. Said she’d bedded a pirate who paid in parrots. Parrots! Squawkin’ bastards shat all over her flat. Made me piss myself laughin’, but I was pissed too—imagine the smell!

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First off, I head down to the local café on Front Street. You know, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi? Yeah, that one. I grab a cuppa and a bacon sarnie. Best bacon sarnie in town, no joke. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my mate Dave. He’s like, “Oi, we need to talk about the factory.” My heart sinks. Factory drama? Ugh, not today!

Empty block of flats in Pontefract could be demolished and replaced by new building with roof terrace