My second-ever trip to Bristol. The first visit was back in 2016 to attend the launch of the "To Hull and Back" anthology, which contained my first published story. As such, I wasn't entirely nervous about travelling alone. I was nervous about catching the EasyJet flight down, having realised I couldn't get the day off work, so had to leave work after 6pm for an 8.30 pm flight. Everyone assured me I would be fine, bored even, I'd have plenty of time. And they were right. I did somehow manage to trigger the metal detector going through security and was forced to take off my shoes and pull that awkward statue position in the scanner. I still don't know if it was my glasses or the forgotten Tepe brush in my shirt pocket that set it off. Anyway, a minor delay.
The bus from Bristol Airport was bumpy and so noisy I couldn't hear my music properly, even with the earbuds at full volume. Other than that, it was fine. As was my walk to the hotel in the dark. I'd stayed at the Premier Inn at Lewins Mead last time, so I knew where it was and what it looked like. My room was on the top floor. It took me a while to realise the stop/start noise I could hear all night was the drone of the motor operating the lifts.
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| Premier Inn, Lewins Mead |
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| The view from my window |
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| The room itself |
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| Somewhere to recline |
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| A fancy rain shower. |
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| No intention of using this |
Next day, after a standard buffet breakfast at the Brewer's Fayre attached to the hotel, I went for a wander around the city. The streets were remarkably familiar even though I'd only spent a day here last time. I knew the Forbidden Planet was closed due to a fire in the building above, but I still went for a wander in that direction, having already located the venue for Sylvester's event. Bristol isn't a clean city, with dirty walls, rusty staircases and graffiti everywhere. It is old, and it shows, with ancient buildings hidden amongst the newer ones. I found some interesting sights.
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| Building art |
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| Bristol Cathedral |
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| The Almshouse |
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| Street art |
For dinner, I booked a table at The Colonnade, a posh restaurant next to the Bristol Beacon. The reservation stated I must return the table by 6.30 pm. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a waiter and shown a table near the entrance. The place was empty, bar one other table of four seated near the window. My social inhibitions kicked in almost immediately, not helped by the waiter tricking me into buying a bottle of water for the table after I'd already ordered a Coke Zero. That annoyed me because, by the time my brain realised he wasn't talking about tap water, it was already too late. My bad. I should have listened better and not let my nerves take over. A waitress later used the same line at another table, so I guess they are trained to upsell.
My meal was fine, in the sense of it being fine dining, i.e. small portions lovingly presented and full of flavour. I relaxed later as more patrons arrived, their chatter making me feel less awkward. I decided then I would have a dessert and use up my entire time allocation, slowly imbibing every last drop of the extra drink I'd inadvertently purchased. I ignored the hovering waiters wanting me to leave by exchanging WhatsApp messages with my wife, describing my evening so far. The addition of an automatic 10% service charge was the final insult.
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| I didn't think to snap my mains. |
Well, not quite. After I paid, I asked the maître d' if there were toilets (I couldn't see any signs). He deadpanned 'No', so I deadpanned back, "I'll have to go here then." I didn't get as far as unzipping my fly before he chuckled and directed me towards the practically invisible gent's toilet door.
Afterwards, I went next door to the Bristol Loaf Cafe, located within the Bristol Beacon, and had a pot of tea to kill time. More WhatsApp exchanges with my wife amused me further. After I'd finished the pot, and been to the toilet, I spotted Robin Ince, the standup who'd recorded a 'thank you' video to me after I donated to the Festival fundraiser during its Covid cancellation years. I didn't talk to him but I do get a buzz being in the vicinity of celebrities. (I also spotted Laura Kuenssberg at Glasgow Airport).
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| A great view, or so I thought. |
My seat in the Lantern Hall was bang in the middle of row E. Great view, I thought. Then a giant of a man with a curly perm sat in front of me in row D. No longer could I see the chair stage left. I crossed my fingers that Sylvester would sit on the right.
He didn't.
Hellfire and buggeration, I spent most of the event watching Sylvester's contorted reflection on the side panel of the stage's grand piano. Whenever I leaned over to get a more direct view, the person behind me audibly huffed like a teenager, so I ended up listening to the interview rather than watching it. If I'd been bolder, I could have changed seats as there were empty ones beside me. But I didn't because I didn't want to upset anyone. Sylvester was highly entertaining, and the interview was excellent. I was able to watch the video clips on the screen and see Sylvester when he came down into the audience at the end for the Q&A, so it wasn't a total bust, which was a relief.
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| Why didn't I swap to one of these? Social anxiety |
Speaking of which (forced segway), my bladder was not entirely happy with all that extra fluid I'd drunk earlier. The pain grew so bad, I considered abandoning the event. As soon as it finished, I rushed to the nearest loo. Of course, being first to the loo also meant being last to Sylvester's autograph session, so I didn't wait. The queue was so long and snaking, the fans each taking an age to chat to him, it wasn't worth my time.
Of course, by then, the venue had no Slapstick Festival brochures left, and outside, the rain was pouring.
My tale of woe didn't end there. My keycard allowing me access to the hotel lift (and floor and room) no longer worked so I had to get reception to restore it. And it took me an age to work out why the laptop couldn't access the photos on my phone (OneDrive needed to be told to sync data on a metered connection),
It's sad when you've spent an evening in the company of one of your childhood heroes, and the highlight of your night is still the text exchanges you shared with your wife. Let's hope tomorrow is better.
Ticket price £16.
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