New Look Orpheus

Glad to hear that despite the lick of paint, the Orpheus Cinema in Henleaze has not undergone any fundamental changes during its summer takeover and renovation.

Tickets remain at £4.60 for adults and £3.60 for children. On Mondays, all tickets are £3.00. And,they take Orange Wednesday tickets!

A young Trymite recently paid over £8 for the pleasure of attending the cinema in Cabot Circus.

Keep it local (and cheap), that's what I say.

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Rev Billy Comes to Bristol

How on earth could I have missed it?

I refer of course to the visit to Bristol of the legendary Rev Billy and the Church of Life After Shopping bringing their gospel of freedom from consumrism to Cabot Circus and Broadmead.

What was I thinking of by missing the show?

Photos here .

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No Business Like Snow Business

Well, what a day.

Bristol's worst, or best, snow in somewhere between 10 and 350 years has taken the city by storm.

Today's whiteout began for me while still dark with the gleeful sound of a younger member of the Trym clan announcing, text message in hand, that school was cancelled and that the buses weren't running.

This second piece of information had me scurrying to the computer for confirmation from First Bus that the three centimetres of snow that had fallen overnight had in fact resulted in the total collapse of the public transport system of England's fifth city.

Unfortunately, the only information I could find on the First web site was a piece of PR on the recently unveiled fleet of new buses (which increase by at least 46 the number of places in the city where I can be secretly filmed under the guise of making me feel safer) and information on how to get to Cabot Circus by bus - a journey that those familiar with this blog would know that I would only take if the one marked "Death Leap Over the Avon Gorge" were already fully booked.

First's strange silence on the subject of whether it would be running a service today was broken in the early evening with this item, announcing that "On Thursday afternoon, the majority of services were running normally" - a fact that all but the visually impaired could have confirmed by looking out of their windows at the numerous buses running normally along the slushy streets.

The uncertainty in the morning on the state of the buses lead me to some considerable inner debate, only fully appreciated by those of us fortunate enought to be self-employed, as to whether to embark on a one-hour walk to my usual place of work (the car being used by another member of the Trymites) or to "work from home."

Five hours later, and having wrestled control of the car from its former user, I made the short journey to Redland. And what a happy sight greeted me on the way. With the majority of adults (teachers excepted) firmly ensconced in their places of work, the city had been taken over by several thousand of its bright-eyed and bushy-tailed youth, who were gleefully turning every available patch of public space into a winter wonderland of snowmen, snow furniture and ludicrously over the top snowball fights, of the type long banned by the kind of people who put secret cameras into buses.

I was amused to note that more than a couple of the ten thousand snowballs thrown managed to hit the numerous First buses now scurrying pele mele around the city. Oh the irony.

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Cabot Circus

While searching for a dictionary for one of my students yesterday, I found myself drawn unintentionally into Cabot Circus for the first time.

Following the pavement from the Horsefair, I was lead down a path into the belly of the beast, so to speak.

Taking in the brushed metal and pleasant wooden decor, I unsuccessfully cast my eye around for a bookstore. Thankfully, at the bottom of the slope, in the unnatural amphitheater at the heart (or rather, the small intestine, to keep the imagery consistent) of the £500 million development, was a smiley and, I felt sure, helpful greeter . All smiles, shiny face and luminous day-glo orange fleece.

Perfect (thought I), a helpful, smiley and shiny-faced greeter who will direct me straightaway to the numerous well-stocked bookstores in this architectural masterpiece. My earlier prejudices about the new development were melting away, much like the November mist that was dispersing as the pale sun peered through the gargantuan glass roof (equal in size to one and a half football pitches according to the official web site).

Imagine my surprise, therefore, when on asking the orange-clad one where I might find a bookstore I was told that there was no such shop in Cabot Circus. Dumbstruck, I sought confirmation from she of the shiny face that there was in fact no bookstore at all in Bristol's landmark structure, (ten years in the making and destined to place Bristol firmly on centre stage.) "No" was the reply, repeated through gritted teeth in that what-do-you-want-a-bookstore-here-for-you-old-git-don't-you-know-we've-got-Harvey-Nichols tone of voice.

Suddenly, the oversize reindeer statues seemed duller to me despite being festooned with white fairy lights. Had any of the shoppers stopped to look, they would have noticed a disconsolate old fart shuffling back uphill mumbling something to himself about reading, learning, values and the crassness of our popular culture.

I wasn't even cheered up by the statue of the giant Christmas tree baubles.

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