Stokes Croft

…There was here an amount of Quristian outreach with soup. Up steps and along pavement. More drunques. Stokes Croft, Spike Island, King Square, Jamaica Street: charity shops and a brace of stews and the homeless hostels hulking like workhouses. Further along towards Ninetree Hill, the hipsters had been moving in, and bars and cafés had established themselves. You encountered quite often in these places personages such as Timothy and Adrian…

…we dispatched scouts and ambassadors and press gangs and snatch squads to all the pubs and bars in Stokes Croft and St Werbuggers and Easton.

…to the isthmus in question - a twenty second flit across the road from the Fascist Dictatorship of Stokes Croft. The proprietor of the latter establishment, Mr Crass Cheseham, finding congenial the weirdness of the prevailing culture of the former establishment, preferred as a rule to take his refreshments within its portals rather than within those of the Bellend just around the corner, where the company tended to take its…

…the borders of the posh slum itself, but were always outsourced to a comparably insalubrious location such as Stokes Croft, or one that was convenient just because it was nearby, the obvious examples being St Pauls or Easton. The insouciance of these personages was more than matched by the ebullience that day of the monks and nuns of the Eglise de la Bouteille, who positively welcomed the opportunity to engage…

Trudging down Stokes Croft towards the City Centre, St Just through flaring nostrils expressed, in company with a quantity of snot, his derision. His mind’s eye conjured up unsought the vision of the maggots writhing. Like time was when like revolutionary like purity meant like extolling primitive like man. Like giving like full like rein to his natural like urges. Doing rudeness a revolutionary act. It’s all there in like…

Stokes Croft shall gather all his own unto his bosom, who in debasement evermore shall dwell, exulting in their own depravity. No diff’rent oneself, goin’ about in these awful bloody gangrenous rags, with these bohemian pr’pensities with which one for reasons opaque saddles oneself. One has gorn as stale as the street. Feel rotten most of the time. And yet! And yet! It is one’s spiritual home. Inexorably drawn in…

…and performing some sort of nominee role in an incorporated entity rejoicing in the moniker, Fascist Dictatorship of Stokes Croft, such being the means by which Mr Crass Cheseham prosecuted his business affairs as a sole trader, from premises bearing that name situated directly across the junction from the Ghastly Hipster Opposite Turbo Island. The chief business of the Fascist Dictatorship of Stokes Croft was to act as a sort…

“I completely agree,” agreed Miss Ledwitch agreeably, “Stokes Croft is like a totally deprived area with complex issues crying out for like, not like yuppie sheeple flats, but like arts centres and artisanal bakeries and yummy organic food outlets and like massage therapists, none of which these like corporates you speak of take any account of whatsoever.”

…Perroquet eventually discerned Hieronymus’s receding back as he hastened as fast as his lameness would allow him up Stokes Croft towards the traffic lights, where he promptly turned right into Ashley Road. Seeing this, the Mayor tarried not, but promptly followed that gentleman of the road who had been the Hermes in the case.

The Mayor, as pursuing Hieronymus he skipped up Stokes Croft, was by a pair of eyes in his turn watched. The eyes in question belonged to the aforementioned rook or crow. This winged cove, espying the red flash of the receding hindquarters of the Mayor, left off his parliament, and addressed with somewhat of a Caledonian burr the fool nearest him, who happened to be Solomon, this latter sapient having…

“I know, Cheseham dear, but you must consider the bigger picture. Stokes Croft needs colonic irrigation. It would mean a great deal to me.”

…the … er … squatting community have taken exception to your proposal to demolish a particular edifice in Stokes Croft.”