A mist descended on Clifton this week. Photos of the bridge smothered in clouds dominated social media threads and local news sites. This was the perfect time to visit the cliffs near the Observatory. A place where you look over the whole of the city, and watch the area on a camera obscura. Last time I was here a giant flashed across the sky. And that was before I got the suit. You can visit his cave if you want.
The view from the clifftop is the best in Bristol, if not the South West. The magnificent U-shape cuts across the air, framed by the trees on either side of the gorge. You can watch the traffic push across this glorious structure, or marvel at the engineering. This is an oil painting in real life, a vision of heaven in brick and steel.
Both sides of the cliff have been settlements since at least the Iron Age. I thought about living here back then. The gaping backdrop into the river, the lack of car noise, smells impossible to imagine.
My juggling balls are constant companions. I decided to give them a whirl. A couple walked past, hand in hand. They whispered something to each other.
The mist climbed up the side of the valley. I focused on throwing the balls round and round with no time to focus on the thatched buildings that emerged around me, with their thick triangular roofs. Grimy smoke filled my lungs. A new layer of mud snaffled at my trainers. The top of tree branches formed silvery hands above me. I stepped back, and fell towards nothing, as if the whole world was stuck in a yawn.
Down went the balls onto the floor. The mist pulled away underneath the bridge, and I was back to being a person in a tweed suit. The ground was soft, but no longer a muddy trench.
I spent an hour looking for my three juggling balls. It only took me two minutes to find the first two. The seams of both were frayed, with their polystyrene innards threatening to escape. When I picked them up an electric jolt ran up my arm, and sparked off the thought of a mouse disappearing between the cracks of a floorboard.
Is Clifton a point where the world splits apart?
Several missed calls on my phone when I got home. Dad asking if I wanted to come over. A crack in his voice damaged his words.
Don’t worry, he won’t read this.
Exercise follows next week.
