Mr. Butshesagirl and I have just got back from a weekend in Bristol with my brother. We were originally intending to go to a Flaming Lips gig, but the promoters screwed up badly, and we found out last week that — despite having ordered and paid for our tickets — we weren't going to get any. Ever since, we've been tormented by rave reviews for their live shows. Dammit.
Since we’d already booked train tickets and a hotel room, we decided to go to Bristol anyway. Why do I live in Oxford again? Bristol is such a lovely city. There’s a tang of the sea everywhere, and I love the bustle of the docks and the sound of the gulls (though I didn’t say that when a herring gull nesting on the chimney opposite my flat used to yell its head off every morning at 5am). We wandered over the Suspension bridge after dark (always one of my favourite places), and went up the Cabot Tower. I was speechless at the top — partly because you have to climb about a million steps. The whole city is laid out all around you. I’ve seen it before of course, but I’d forgotten how stunning the view was. Oxford is very picturesque in places, but Bristol is exciting and alive. And big. I took some pictures which I’ll probably upload next weekend, if they turn out to be any good.