St Jude’s Bristol – Still Never Boring
Once a year since we’ve been based in St Jude’s, a party of dancers come out from one of the trading estates along the road and indulges in some street dancing. I have absolutely no idea who the flash mob are and why they do it. But, it’s pretty spectacular and usually gets the locals’ attention in positive ways.
It’s fairly typical of St Jude’s. When I chat about what goes on around here, nobody believes me at all. On Saturday morning, I threw open my windows because it was a lovely, sunny… drug deal taking place underneath the window. Some, no many of the residents fight in the street. It’s a fairly normal occurrence and nobody takes a second glance. There is currently a fight going on outside and it sounds cider related. At least they don’t have the dog with them this time.
On Friday afternoon, something that did catch my attention in a scene more befitting a gritty British movie was an elegant Muslim lady stood on top of a car transporter that was about to remove her car. Whatever the rights and wrongs of the parking situation, it was a rather iconic moment in inner city Bristol. Muslims who were returning from prayer stood around politely bemused by the standoff situation.
Whilst I couldn’t resist taking a few photographs of the brave lady standing up in quiet protest at a flummoxed transporter driver, I don’t have the heart to publish them on the internet which is rife with racism and Islamophobia.
Her relatives looked really stressed about the situation. Well, we’ve all been there when our mothers have reached critical meltdown about something. But the polite way the lady staged her protest was impressively classy for St Jude’s. There were no bricks thrown, no swear words, no cider and no punches. Epic.
The Never Boringness of St Jude’s isn’t limited to daytime hours. In fact, the windows open heatwave allowed local residents the opportunity of sharing sex noises, the lady who got high and took a dump in the park ample opportunity to row with a family member outside at 5am and of course, who could live without a full night of Jurassic World seagulls nesting on the flat roofs squawking and shrieking for eight hours without break. Luckily, much of this was interspersed by the man who knew all the swear voices, a voice like a fog horn and clearly loved the sound of his own voice. He could sum this up best with his favourite words – Facking Hell.
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