I try and make sure all comments on here get published - everything bar blatant spam. Even the mental stuff goes up. The only comment I can remember deliberately not approving was one which did the rounds of Bristol blogs, which claimed to be ‘outing’ The Bristol Blogger.

Then after a week away, I noticed this little gem on the comment waiting list. I’m not prepared to sully my lovely Yuppification section with its ignorant, prejudiced, sub-literate witterings, but for the sake of openness I present it here on the wire for you to marvel at.

A few points:

• Note the meandering, bitter tone, and the switches of target between the area of Stokes Croft itself and its inhabitants, signs perhaps of an addled liver and a restless (and I use the word in its broadest sense here) mind;
• Appreciate the erratic use (or absence) of eliding apostrophes (“Its full of”, “You can’t go”);
• Gasp at the daring omission of letters from words - a triumph of expressiveness given poetic balance by the unnecessary addition of letters elsewhere (“The are whores everywhere”, “heroine addicts”);
• Applaud the confident yet entirely evidence-free assertions of FACT (“Most residents of the croft ARE claiming benefits”, “There are hostels everywhere”), which are sometimes strikingly specific (“It has a crime rate equal to that of Hackney”, “Most residents are…shooting up in the hallways of the 51º02 block”);
• Take your hat off to the author’s heroic refusal to be bound by outdated concepts of consistent capitalisation or formatting (“the full moon”, “the UK”, “the croft”, “Hackney”);



• Revel in the bold failure to connect any of the numbered points to the commenter’s initial statement that “Stokes croft needs to be developed”…

I could go on, but I’m sure you, dear reader, have more than enough meat between your teeth already.

This is the GF Newman Law And Order, btw, not the glossy American police procedural. This one’s an altogether darker, more pessimistic view of the ‘criminal justice system’, a four-parter which examines the same series of events from different perspectives - the criminal, the copper, the lawyer and the prisoner.

Here we find armed robber Jack Lynn (Peter Dean - Pete Beale from EastEnders!) reacting somewhat surlily to the prison regime by pissing over the doctor’s desk.

Elsewhere, Derek Martin (Charlie Slater in EastEnders!) plays bent copper DI Fred Pyle, whilst crooked solicitor Alex Gladwell is given life by Ken Campbell (erm… Ken Campbell! Dude with the eyebrows!).

If you’ve never seen this downbeat, documentary-style mini-series from 1978, and you like things such as, say, Scum and McVicar, then hunt it down, it really is worth it.

A rather nice yuppie-covering chunder on the Champs-Élysées courtesy of Herr Vicious in Sid And Nancy.

Couldn’t quite capture the motion-in-motion moment, but I think the vom is pretty clear on the toilet seat. From the moment in Alex Cox’s Sid And Nancy when our eponymous hero first tries junk in Wally Hairstyle’s mum’s house.

Vinyl on a junction box in Dean Lane pastiching Bristol Shitty Council’s logo. Check out Bristol Streetart too - Knautia’s found another, slightly different, design by the same person/people.

One of the motherswiving robbers in mediæval caper movie Heist lets loose a flagonful of gut juice.

Oh, and a belated perestace to George Carlin, who shitpissfuckcuntcocksuckermotherfuckertitsed his way off this mortal coil Sunday just gone. Bon voyage, George.

Kathy (Eva Pope) beseeches the ceramic gods in Danny Brocklehurst’s postie drama Sorted after her affair with her husband’s best friend is revealed.

The Battle of Cumberland & Wapping Roads continues…

I’m not sure how long these anti-graffiti signs have been up - I’ve been past every day since Tuesday, and only noticed them today, as there were some workmen doing what looked like grouting - but already all of them that I could see have been artistically deconstructed

Small child vomiting is always made of win (and yes, it is yet another blood heave rather than genuine gut splatter), especially if it’s in a flagship entertainment show like Hustle.

Two points about Hustle: Firstly, the last series really was rather oinque*. Secondly, are any of the cons in it not already known to viewers who have seen The Sting, The Grifters, House Of Games or The Spanish Prisoner?

* Okay, so the whole thing is pretty much just glossy, colour-saturated, stutteringly-edited bread-and-circuses, but it does have a certain charm to it.

Yesterday there was rather a lot of porky activity on Wilder Street - unmarked cars, undercover bulletheads, furtive lurking around in the cemetery and on the streets surrounding Cave Court… No idea what it was about (well, I do have an idea, but it’s rude to speculate), but in lieu of facts, here’s a snap of the Saab 9-5 stationwagon (registration T766 KCJ) which appeared to be the command vehicle. If you see it around town, give a little wave!

Stencil down the side of the Full Moon, opposite the Blue Mountain on Moon Street.

People who talk about themselves in the third person are, to a man, woman or child, utter cocks, and Bristle is no exception. However, I’ve had a great week, so what do I care? Been chillin’ in Wilts at the crib of my lovely lady friend’s rents, helping her get ready for Glarstow, squeezing in a night down the Thali and a mini-Easton pub crawl, and generally enjoying the first full fruits of the summer, because we are young and vibrant and all that. Even the whole threatening to slap that uncle’s arse thing couldn’t dampen things. Alles ist gut!

So anyway, she’s packed of to Pilton, the flatmate too, and I’ve got a few days housework to catch up on as well as a week of moggysitting, which takes me down south of the river - and so it is that I managed to grab a snap of that graffiti on the footbridge over the New Cut leading to Dean Lane. Poetry emotion.

Aha, it’s the opening episode of the aforementioned The Ghost Squad. Again, like that Rebel Heart HonkWatch, this is less blowing belly chunks, more an eruption of stomach blood. But it’s all good. Dude on the floor’s been beaten by bent cops, by the way.