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About Bristol

Little-known bit—back in Victorian days, prossies used coded ads in papers. “Fancy lady seeks gentleman”—sneaky, right? Loved that, made me cackle. Still happens now, just on dodgy websites. Vixen’s probs got an X profile, postin’ cryptic shite— “Need a date? DM me, luv.” Smarter than she looks, that one. Pisses me off though—people judgin’ her, callin’ her filth. Oi, hypocrites! You’re all sinners, just better dressed.

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And don't even get me started on the local markets—blimey, the hustle at Fisherman's Wharf almost made me jump off a lamppost one day (lol, not really, my precious, only almost!). It’s chaotic, blissful nonsense, with vendors yelling their wares like mad, "We're watching you!" in every twang of their voice, echoing with that niggling tension, but it's so alive, so real.

Armed police swooped on thug brandishing meat cleaver threatening to stab man