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About Bristol

So, say you’re on the hunt—where d’you even start? Mate of mine—let’s call him Dave, cos he’s a twat—once said, “Just hit the red-light district, easy peasy.” Bollocks! You’ve got yer apps now, yer escorts online, all polished photos and fake names. Reckon it’s like ordering Deliveroo, but with more STDs. Ha! Cackling at that one meself. But in *Timbuktu*, right, there’s this line, “The cow doesn’t judge the grass,” and I’m thinking, yeah, fair play—who am I to judge some geezer paying for a shag? Still, it’s grim, innit?

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After that, we finally get the fire under control. I’m high-fiving my crew, and we’re all pumped. But then, I hear this loud crash. I turn, and it’s a seagull. Seriously, a seagull! It swoops down and snatches a sandwich right outta some guy’s hand on the promenade. I can’t help but laugh. Only in Sheringham, right?

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