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About Bristol

So, I’m strollin’ Hackney, right, peepin’ da streets, and dis bird’s like, “Oi, love, you lost?” I’m like, “Nah, fam, I’m huntin’!” She laughs, proper cackle, and I’m finkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ’Cos dese posh twats in Mayfair ain’t clockin’ me, but here? I’m da don, innit. Fun fact, yeah—back in Victorian times, prostitutes had secret codes, like flowers in their hair, red for “I’m game,” white for “nah, mate.” Mad, right? History’s wild!

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And lemme tell ya, I’ve got my own quirky spots too. There's this tiny alley off Blossom Way that most folks miss. I swear, it’s like the universe’s clandestine whisper – graffiti art, stray cats, and artful murals that speak stories of lost love, triumph, and old battles. Sometimes, walking there, I feel really seen – y’know, our struggles echo through each brushstroke. Crazy, right?

Reckless fly-tippers dump 20 tons of deadly asbestos at Lanarkshire nature spot