Another Saturday Night

We went into town yesterday afternoon, as is our wont, for a combination of shopping – entirely unsuccessful in my case – and drinking, which went rather better. The shopping area around Cabot Circus and its elderly, fading sister (or brother) Broadmead was rammed, not least because the 50 Christmas Sheds of Shit funnels people along two narrow walkways. I don’t really like loud and crowded, but this was okay. The walk from town to the centre was at glacial speed, but then, as the darkness started to fall, everything opened up. The boys and their skateboards clattered around near the Cenotaph, which was surrounded by numerous wreaths laid on Remembrance Sunday, a scene that once offended me until wise counsel – that would be you, Kevin – astutely pointed out that those who gave their lives did so to preserve our freedom and these days that freedom includes skateboarding. Good for them.

I walked across the centre to the harbour area. All the nearby bars and restaurants were doing a roaring trade – recession? What recession? – and on a late Saturday afternoon, with a temperature of around 7c, many, many people were sitting outside eating and drinking. In fact, I’d go so far as to say the numbers compared favourably with a warm, summer evening. Only the clothing had changed.

Historic King Street was busy too. We ventured into the Famous Naval Volunteer but the queues at the bar put us off. Next to the Beer Emporium, a wonderful cellar bar that used to be called Yesterdays where my favourite Bristol band Misdemeanor played frequently. I drank some hazy, vegan lager, my partner a Pecan and Maple Syrup stout. It can be any time of the year in this pub. Again, you can only tell by what people are wearing.

Finally, to the Llandoger Trow, a magnificent, historic boozer which has been closed until recently, having previously been (deliberately?) run into the ground by it’s dismal previous owner, Brewers Fayre. Now, it features a glorious selection of fine beers, from real ales (my preference) to craft ales. And it’s buzzing. Better than it has ever been. King Street’s problem is often that people wander in one pub and buy a pint and go to sit in another. The Llandoger Trow is alert to that and kicked out a group of nine young men, in a firm but friendly manner.

Between the Trow and the legendary jazz pub, The Old Duke, there is a huge outside seating area. Given what I’ve said already, you will not be surprised to learn that there was not a seat to be had. Outside in the cold, people in winter coats and woolly hats, some gripping their glasses with gloves on, this is Bristol at its most eccentric. And endearing. I don’t feel the cold as much as some people but as we headed back to the Metrobus stop after a lovely pie in Pieminister on the centre, I did my coat up for the first time that evening. It felt much colder now but it didn’t seem to bother Bristol’s hardy drinkers, male and female.

The boys on their skateboards were still there by the Cenotaph, causing harm to no one, enjoying a pastime that has always looked completely impossible to me. Our bus disappeared into the night, otherwise known as the M32, and soon we were home having once again enjoyed Bristol’s nighttime charms. We’re very lucky to live in a city like this. I don’t know if things descended into chaos later on as the drink took its effect, not least because my staying power has long evaporated, but it all seemed happy enough. Soon enough it would be time to fall asleep in front of the telly and then to be told to wake up and go to bed. Another Saturday night, eh?