I won’t write an introduction to Banksy’s street art. You all know who Banksy is, at least as much as you don’t know who Banksy is. Unless you are from Bristol; in that case, I’m sure you have a Banksy story to share with street art bloggers like me, perhaps about the time you were hanging out together in Easton. I heard so many Banksy stories all over the summer and, although none of them helped me figure out the identity of the guy (and –honestly- I don’t even care about it), they all highlighted a fundamental point: whoever Banksy is, Bristol is incredibly proud of him.
Since I became a freelancer, from time to time I force myself to wash, dress, go out and work from a café or a public library, just to spend some time surrounded by other human beings.
Luckily, English people are used to working from their laptops in cafés, so it’s unusual to be hounded by passive-aggressive baristas (although that did happen to me in Bristol, you won’t find those unwelcoming places on my list).
For my fellow graveyard enthusiasts, I’m keeping the tradition alive (no pun intended) by posting a ‘cemetery special’ on Halloween.
This year’s special is on cemeteries in Bristol, the town where I learnt the very English distinction between ‘cemetery’ and ‘graveyard’ (which can be ‘churchyard’ in some -obvious- cases).
Bristol’s food scene has grown beyond the cooking styles, traditions and recipes associated with England, and its streets are pervaded by scents of so many different foods. The city surely knows how to make up for a national cuisine that isn’t so variegated, and it does so with a series of trendy bistros, old-fashioned pubs, hipster cafés and cider houses (which are so quintessentially Bristol!). These are my favourite places to eat and drink in Bristol; let me know yours in the comments area below!
[UPDATED: July 2018]
I’m sitting on a bench in my usual spot, by the Harbourside, gazing at the boats that are bobbing on the waves, with the head in my hands for no particular reason. Suddenly, a caring voice drowns out Bristol’s ever-present seagull’s moan:
“Are you ok my lover?”
That was the exact moment when I began feeling nostalgic, knowing that soon no stranger in the street would have cared if I looked down, or wished me a nice day, or called me “my lover”.