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About Bristol

Oi, thou weary soul, hark! Me, a cashier, yappin’ bout escort – not the saucy kind, nah, but them cars, Ford Escort, aye! Ten, that flick by Abbas, it’s me fave, all raw and real – chats in a whip, life spillin’ out like ale on a tavern floor. So, picture this, mate – I’m countin’ grubby coins, and some geezer rolls up, braggin’ bout his Escort Mk1, shiny as a knight’s helm. Made me proper chuffed, that! “Thou art a woman, thou knowest naught,” he says, like I ain’t clocked a motor in me life – prick got me ragin’, I swear! Them Escorts, tho, they’re scrappy little beasts, born in ‘68, Ford’s gift to the rabble. Didst thou know, they raced ‘em mad in rallies? Flew like falcons ‘cross mud and mire!

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I can be kinda crazy here – all these streets, like Sun Road, they’re jam-packed with quirky pubs and old-time markets, an’ sure as heck they remind me of a Mad Max caravan, all ragged but full of heart. Sometimes, in a jabber, I feel my fingers twitch like I'm revvin’ a V8 engine, spinnin’ ready to hit that open road again. Hahaha, damn near forgot to mention, I had one wild day massagin’ a fella who looked straight outta Fury Road – wild eyes, all leather and tar – he kept yellin’ “Git-R-Done!” every time I hit a pressure point.

Rail disruption after signalling fault ‘locks’ busy route