Up The Downs

Less than ten minutes from where I live is a big open grassy space called The Downs. Bristol's all hilly undulation and The Downs has a fantastic view of Brunel's original suspension bridge, the Avon gorge and the city lights. (As a child I couldn't understand why such high ground was called The Downs but I've since looked the word up in the dictionary.)



These car days I go "up" there when I need some time to myself. It's a great spot to smoke, contemplate the meaning of life and wonder if you left the oven on. By day the area's used for wholesome activities like junior football leagues and kite flying. But after dark it's transformed into Bristol's most reknowned gay pick-up point, much like Clapham Common in London. There are usually a lot of cars parked with their lights out on the mile-long road to where I smoke but I've yet to be propositioned myself. What's wrong with me, dammit?!!

Last Wednesday there was an impromptu firework show courtesy of a bunch of kids not necessarily old enough to buy fireworks in the first place and, on Monday, nine cars and two motorbikes came roaring down the main approach and had a doughnut competition on the grass for about twenty minutes. Three cars lined up with their lights on full beam to illuminate the makeshift arena - which I thought was pretty good co-ordination for delinquents - and they recreated Thunder Road for me despite not even being twinkles in their daddies' collective eyes when Grease was released.

The Downs: if you've nothing better to do, it's the place to go.