::Author’s note: After Bristol featured in news reports across the globe on Sunday June 7th, it would seem remiss not to note recent events in our year long Bristol story.
Our project does not cover every aspect of the city’s history, and was inspired by the often forgotten bohemian arts scene of Clifton in the 1960s/70s (you can find some information at the link about the Troubadour Club).
However, although our project is built one our love of this part of the world, we cannot forget there have been some horrific acts associated with Bristol, with its connection to the slave trade being one of the most vile.
We are proud of the citizens in Bristol and across the world who on this day took a stand against racism and oppression. Their actions will echo through history, and hopefully build a more equal society.::
Sally the robot vibrated with excitement. The presenter squeezed his microphone. A camera operator tried to stop her hands shaking. Only the audience let their true emotions explode in a wave of screams and jumps. Many wore bright ‘Sally the Robot’ t- shirts, or home made cardboard headgear in the shape of her antenna.
Fibreglass planets glittered under baking studio lights, turning the studio into a glam planetarium. The presenter turned to a wacky scientist, who wore a white lab jacket picked from the costume rack.
‘So professor, can you explain the launch procedure to our audience at home one more time?’
The scientist grinned with iceburg teeth.
‘Well, when our special helper presses the button, this marvellous machine will emit a frequency wave to the other side of the known universe. Then a bunch of technical gubbins will use this wave to transport Sally all the way to whatever planet exists there. We then pull the reversal lever, and she'll be back in time for tea. And what a story she will have.'
Sally lifted her tiny robot arms, and hundreds of hands created explosions of joy.
A little boy edged across the stage, each pace the step of a newborn foal. His blue jumper and wool trousers were brand new. Somewhere in the crowd a proud Mum wiped away a tear.
‘So, the moment is here,’ the presenter said. ‘When you are ready, whack that button!’
‘Whack that button! Whack that button!’ The crowd shouted in unison. The boy needed a push on his back, but one sweaty palm did indeed whack that button.
His action turned the studio lights scarlet. Behind the scenes lab technicians and engineers typed and shouted and flicked switches, and electricity cables sparked with the power of a dozen nuclear weapons.
Sally's last view of Earth was the lights shrinking from orbs of blood to pinpricks. Then she shot forward through a freezing grey tunnel, scraping against her like icy plates of steel.
She flumped onto a powdery surface that coated her outer shell like sugar. Sally pinwheeled, trying to get enough purchase to right herself.
Five shadows blocked out the rays of a dying sun.
Spiders were the closest evolutionary equivalent to the Oeblax. They were taller than horses, and golden armour covering wiry black legs. Ten apple sized nostrils sniffed their new find.
Behind the robot a faint wavy image floated in midair. Pink fleshy bodies held their arms aloft.
‘I'll be back in time for tea!’ Sally declared.
The Oeblax gave what we would refer to as a smile.
