I’d heard of Guy Fawkes, but not of “Guy Fawkes Night.” I was wondering why there were so many flyers and people talking about lighting bonfires and fireworks on the Saturday night. I thought, hm, maybe this is just a Bristol thing, and it is fucking cold. For the night we went to a house party at Carly’s friend’s place, and lit fireworks in between chomping down on hotsdogs and sipping mulled wine (I hadn’t had mulled wine since I was back in Melbourne, unfortunately it wasn’t quite up to tasty Melbourne standard).
The next day we visited the city farm in Bristol. Very much like CERES in East Brunswick, and it had a funky cafe next door where they use a lot of the vegetables they grow on the farm. And the pigs were smelly. They smelled like farm, I loved it. The area was so green, and if I could think of a cliche of British cliche countryside/small city type area this would be it. Green trees, broken branches everywhere, wet, nippy and the smell of a fire burning from one of the many chimneys in Bristol. Amazing. I loved the houses in Bristol, with no space between them, colourful doors and all double story. Cute as a button.