Bristol and I have never really seen eye to eye. I don't know why. It's a city with a fine history, but I've never really had a great Bristolian experience.
My first visit was when looking for an interview suit. I know I'm pernickety, but I still don't think it should have taken a whole day of traipsing around nameless, faceless shops to end up with something that was average.
Since then, I've been there a few times, nearly always for business, whilst never quite getting it. And it's a long way down the M4 for nothing. On one occasion, I drew up in my swanky, soft-top PR Executive sports car, to be asked by a very scrawny, drug and virus addled woman if I wanted to do business. It was 8 o'clock in the morning. I then had to park said TT and spent the entire meeting wondering how much of the car would be left when I returned. The car was there, but no contract.
I took the boy there when he was a mite, and we had a lovely day @Bristol, but train delays on the way home meant that I was in desperate trouble with the soon to be ex Mrs Nota Bene.
I did a launch there for Great Western, but in the post press-conference confusion, we managed to leave Mr Great Western at the hotel when we all headed to the station for the Great Train race (train vs car - first one to Paddington wins). We didn't keep them for long after that.
I also took a girlfriend there once. I stayed and she left. Never heard from her again.
This weekend was going to be different. Having abandoned the boy in Wales, I headed back to Bristol to see the Banksy exhibition. The boy had decided he didn't want to see it, as he preferred to see original works in situ (he spent much of his younger life in and around the Banksy haunt of Hoxton).
I followed the satnav, but putting in Queens St rather than Queens Road, meant I ended up at the arse end of Avonmouth docks. If I'd slowed down, I think the local populace would have lynched me. Still I did manage to come in to the city the attractive route, and for the first time sampled the wonderful Clifton Suspension Bridge and SS Great Britain. My spirits soared.
Sometime later I closed in on the gallery to see a queue about as long as a queue could be. Normally I'm happy to do things by myself, but three hours in a line of happy families didn't appeal, so I just carried on back to Buckhurst Hill. Somewhat disappointed to say the least. I shall just have to spend the week skulking around the backstreets of Hoxton and Islington on the look out for undiscovered works.
One day, I'll find a good thing about Bristol
