Olympic Torch Touches Westbury

Remarkable scenes have greeted the arrival of the London 2012 Olympic Torch as it passed close to Westbury on Trym during this morning's rush hour, cheered by vast crowds of would-be commuters and enthusiastic school children.

"The gods have come to us in petrochemical form," shouted Daisy Cutter, as she gazed across Westbury Road at the angelic-looking torch bearer, skateboarder Tony Cruiser, one of twenty locals chosen to carry the torch on its morning journey across the city. Tony, a former ASBO holder and son of a chiropodist, was turned off tagging and onto tailsliding by a McDonalds outreach programme that targets disaffected middle-class youths and works with them to re-engage with the professional aspirations of their peers. "I was really fed up with education, but after I read about the programme on a cheeseburger wrapper, I got myself sorted, and now I can't believe I've been chosen at random to carry the torch through my own hood."

Henleaze businessman Ivor Profit of TV Now was equally enthusiastic about the torch's journey through BS9. "It's great to see so many people out on the High Street so early, not only to greet the torch but to make the subliminal connection between sporting success and Panasonic televisions. It's amazing!"

As the torch made its way northward across the downs, reports began to filter through of the wider social effects that the Olympic spirit was starting to have on the Bristol region. A spokesman for Bristol City Council confirmed that a solution had been found to the Bristol City stadium re-building saga which has dragged on for several years. "I can confirm," announced spokesman Arthur Truth, "that all parties have agreed to abandon the judicial and democratic process and have agreed to the new stadium being built at Ashton Vale. We are grateful to our Olympic sponsors for lending their support to the process and can announce that the new stadium will be named the Cola Bowl."

Thousands of local residents rose early to catch a glimpse of the sacred flame, lit on the actual site of the ancient Olympics in Visa-soaked Greece by a solar ignition system specially designed for the event by General Electric. GE will be hoping to improve its public perception following its long association with Japan's Fukishima Nuclear Plant, whose six reactors were built by GE.

Southmead housewife Eva Ho noted that, despite a global profit of $14.2 billion, and GE having paid no US Federal taxes in 2010, she was pleased that the manufacturing giant was behind the torch relay. "If the flame goes out, you want to know that a big company can get it lit again."  The back-up to the sacred flame is carried throughout its journey in a support vehicle, guarded by 20 members of the Metropolitan Police's elite Sport Sponsorship Squad. Emergency legislation brought in by the last Labour government allow the squad to shove members of the public out of the way of the flame in the event that they err too close to the holy fire. "Good thing too," declared Ms Ho, whose eleven children were wildly waving union flags supplied by Visa as they awaited the flame's arrival

The flame was enthusiastically welcomed to the City of Bristol on Tuesday night and will start the next stage of its nationwide journey in Cheltenham. The flame's journey can be followed on its way to London here.

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Tesco Targets North Street

Charlie Bolton, Bristol's only Green Party Councillor, is attempting to prevent the opening of a Tesco store on North Street, Ashton (or is it Southville?)

His reasons are coherent and sensible and can be read on his blog here.

They are also unlikely to succeed - unless there is a massive movement from grass roots consumers to (a) oppose the plan and (b) to refuse to use the store if it does open.

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Tamed at the Tobacco Factory

The current production of Taming of the Shrew at the Tobacco Factory is a very fine piece of theatre, in my opinion.

Both the play and the venue were new to me and I enjoyed both very much.

The production company based at the Factory was formed out of the conviction that audiences wanted "to see Shakespeare professionally performed by large casts in an intimate space." With 18 actors taking part, and thus minimum doubling up, the production was true to its company's vision, producing a big impact in a small space.

The Shrew was performed in the round, the audience of about 250 sitting on four sides of the performance space. There was no stage, only a flat area in the middle, an arrangement I had not seen before but one which worked very well, due in part to the very intimate feel of the theatre.

Leo Wringer (pictured) was sensational as Petruchio, winning a spontaneous round of applause from the audience after one particularly powerful speech.

The matinée audience had an average age of about 65, which was something of a surprise to me as I expected more families to be present. Unlike me, they seemed very knowledgeable about the goings on but like me they appeared to enjoy the whole event - a performance, I might add, which started at 2.30 and finished at 5.40. Although the seats did come with cushions, the intermission was welcome.

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The Southville Problem

As mentioned in an earlier post, I have noticed a growing tendency for Ashton to find itself called Southville, especially by newcomers to the area.

At one level, this is an understandable mistake. The three neighbourhoods of Southville, Bedminster and Ashton do have convoluting boundaries - similar to those dividing Bishopston, St Andrews and Horfield in the Gloucester Road area of North Bristol.

Confusion cannot be enough, however, to explain this phenomenon. There is a more sinister cause of this geographical confusion.

It started about three or four years ago when property prices were racing ahead and when estate agents in Clifton started to take on properties outside their normal areas to respond to the demand from buyers for city centre homes at affordable prices. One day someone in an estate agent's office somewhere on Whiteladies Road thought aloud and suggested referring to this neighbourhood as "Lower Clifton."

Apart from being an outrageous piece of marketing, this action also set in motion a trend that resulted in Southville being pushed south and west into Ashton (in the minds of first time buyers considering relocating there. )

The rest, as they say is history and now we have North Street Ashton regularly described as being in Southville, when for at least a century it has been in Ashton.

Shopping for Greener Food in Bristol - part 2

First stop, North Street Ashton. I know people want to call it Southville or Bedminster but it’s not. It’s Ashton. That’s the same place as the Bristol City Football Ground, Greville Smyth Park and Winterstoke Road. It’s Ashton. I have a theory about why there is a groundswell of opinion wanting to describe North Street as Southville, but that’s for another post. Suffice to say here that such people are misguided.

North Street (Ashton) is home to the rather fine but puzzlingly-named Southville Deli, a clean, friendly food store with aluminium tables and chairs on the pavement outside. I was pleasantly surprised at the prices of the pulses and stocked up on my soup ingredients and Herbert’s bread before heading up the road to the Ashton Fruit Shop, a fine example of a retail establishment that knows exactly what it sells and, important in this instance, where it is.

Neither lemons, satsumas or English apples were on my shopping list, but all made their way into my basket, along with a lettuce for 35 pence, the largest cucumber I have ever purchased and some nicely priced root vegetables. For £5 I reckon I bought enough veg for winter hot pot for 6. That's right, count them: 6 people live in my home – no we’re not a commune, we’re a biological family plus a Taiwanese lodger.

Next stop, and a long walk to the other end of North Street, was Masalas. Call me old fashioned, but for some reason with a name like that I was expecting a shop with at least a hint of Asian influence. What I found was a western hippy food store and cafe – complete with a pungent aroma of joss sticks, a white-haired man sitting in the window and assorted individuals lounging on sofas and chairs at the back of the shop. It wasn’t clear to me whether they were customers or staff.

The environment took me back to a restaurant my father used to take me to in Exeter when I was a lad. The Iron Bridge, between St David’s Station and the main shopping centre was a haven for Exeter’s long hair community in the 1970s and was, incidentally, the first place I ever tried nut roast.

The woman behind the counter at Masalas was a little unsure of the price or contents of the various home-made food stuffs on display. Despite or because of that, I came away with 6 pitta bread for 99 pence and a carton of vegetable curry for £2.95. Both were delicious and, when I added rice and salad at home, fed four adults.