I moved from
Hotwells (pretty but uninspired) to
Cotham/
Redland (quiet, grand and well-connected) a few months ago, and still have a feeling of smug satisfaction at finding such a perfect location.
I live on a leafy street of grand Victorian houses close to Redland train station, Clifton Downs, Whiteladies Road and a vast array of independent stores and boutique charity shops that are always boasting designer garb from pampered students who need to downsize before they go home for the summer. This is a student-centric area, but when they give away such fine clothes, who can complain about the odd bout of noise pollution or badly-managed recycling boxes?
I feel safe here, I know that one should never let ones guard down in the city, but I can't help thinking that it's ok to walk home alone at 2/3 in the morning occasionally because it's such a quiet and unassuming area.
What I most love about Bristol is that it doesn't really have a centre, but it is more like a collection of wildly differing boroughs attached by a somewhat heartless high street shopping quarter which I suppose could be called the middle. Cotham and Redland are nestled close to Clifton, so keep that air of wealth but minus the over-flux of pretentious designer shops. On the other side, Redland is neighbouring on Gloucester Road/Stokes Croft anarchic arts quarter and includes my favourite cinema (The Cube), where you can watch a film for £3 on a Tuesday and take booze in with you.
I explored St Werburgh's (between Gloucester Road and St Pauls) for the first time last weekend, for a street festival centred around the local farm. As we queued up to enter, I was thinking we were about to step into a village in the middle of a Somerset village, complete with allotments, pigs and bails of hay. A host of local bands played from the belly of a lorry as merry people country-danced in accompaniment. Bunting criss-crossed above the streets surrounding the village green where the music was bellowing from and local stall holders sold homemade food and crafts.
I don't know south of the river very well yet, but I intend to check out the Tobacco Factory - and North Street soon. I also need to give my bike an airing and explore the Bristol to Bath cycle path (along the canal with many fine watering holes to explore en route.) Summer may not be looking too promising weather-wise - but at least there's plenty yet to explore in the peripheries of a city with intrigue and character at every turn.
Talking about characters on corners: there's a man on the corner of Chandos Road, Cotham, who is is guaranteed to be sat on his low garden wall as soon as the sun puts in an appearance. I walk past this corner every day, and have noticed the man (late 50s maybe early 60s due to sun-induced prune-like skin) turn as brown as a nut almost over night. Sun worshiper or not, this man must enjoy being part of the outdoor furniture... and there's nearly always someone stopped and chatting to him. Which I'm glad of, as when there isn't anyone stopped and chatting to him: I feel obliged to smile at him when I pass by as he always seems to peer up from his book at the sound of footsteps.
I suppose that if I could ever afford to retire early, I'd enjoy spending my time outdoors reading - but preferably not being overlooked by passers by. I suppose the man on the wall is either in need of the social engagement he gets from being in such a prime stop and chat position, or he's a bit of an extrovert who wants to expose a large amount of his body to achieve the optimum tan. Either way, he is part of the furniture on that street and I'm curious to see if he continues his post throughout the summer.
Another regular character who lingers close to the man on the wall is the lady flogging greetings cards. She's a large, brightly coloured lady of mid-50s age and always seems to have a lot of misjudged makeup experiments on her face. I always see her on the same street, just off Cotham Hill when I'm carrying bags of shopping from Sainsbury's, so already I have a good excuse not to stop and buy anything from her. She's not a tramp - too well dressed and fed - but she's definitely not all there in the head as she talks a little like Tubbs from The League of Gentlemen shop sketch. She starts muttering as soon as you approach her:
"Lady, buy a pretty card?"
I usually try and avoid eye contact and mutter back, "Sorry I don't have any change".
I can feel her eyes on me as I rush by, and often she will continue talking to me or make an observation like: "Oh blue trousers, I've never seen a lady in blue trousers."
I haven't seen her selling cards anywhere else so I can only presume that she lives on the street and is a batty artist. I suppose the prints could well be hers - I never look close enough to make a proper assumption though. I admire her perseverance, but wish she would broaden her pitch area so I didn't have to bump into her quite so often.
