‘Why Bristol is a safe haven for eccentrics’

I’ve been in Bristol for just over three years now and I often wonder if it’s changed me. I don’t mean physically, although living this close to both Lidl and Wetherspoons has probably taken its toll on my poor body. Bristol is a famously open minded city and I like to think that this attitude has rubbed off on me. I grew up in a Dorset village of 100 people where anything out of the ordinary was treated with the utmost suspicion. Once when I was in primary school I told a classmate that I’d gone to Yeovil at the weekend, a drive of about 15 minutes. “That’s in Somerset isn’t it?” he said, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Bristol is far more tolerant of eccentricity, which is lucky because we have more than our fair share of eccentrics, most of whom are regular customers at the Post Office where I work. Every week a lady comes in wearing giant headphones, takes a ticket, and then proceeds to dance energetically while she waits for her number to be called. When her turn comes she snaps out of her trance and walks calmly up to the counter to pay her gas bill, which I assume is low because she dances herself warm. The other customers either politely ignore her or smile encouragingly.

“I wish I had that much energy on a Monday morning,” one of them said to me last time.

Nothing surprises me anymore. Last week  I served a man who had just emerged from the photo booth with a set of photos for his driving licence. He asked me which one I thought he should use. I looked at the five duplicate photos in confusion until it dawned on me that he believed each one was different.

“I think I look happier in this one” he said, pointing at the top left photo.

Pre-Bristol me would have told him they were all the same, probably with an unnecessary helping of sarcasm, but nowadays I just don’t have the heart. Who am I to shatter his illusion? He was causing no harm and it’s just possible that he can see something I can’t.

“Yeah, you should use that one” I agreed.  “Much more cheerful.”

“Actually I might save that one for something else”, he said. “It’s too good to waste on a driving licence.”

He settled on a “more neutral” photo and then ticked the box on the form to say that his eyesight was sufficiently good to drive safely. This seemed like an understatement. If you can see into a parallel dimension where identical photos display different emotions, you can probably read a number plate from 20 metres away.

My new-found open mindedness was tested to the limit a few nights ago when I went to see a friend’s comedy show at a cafe in Stokes Croft. I arrived early but I heard voices from the basement and went downstairs to see if it had already started. I entered the room to find a lady giving a presentation to a small, but apparently very interested, group of people. Not wanting to seem rude, I took a seat and waited for her to finish. She was talking about Syrians, and I assumed that she was raising awareness of the war and the asylum crisis.

She said that she’d met one of these Syrians and had done a painting of him. She pointed to the projector screen and an image appeared of a gigantic blue humanoid figure shooting laser beams from its eyes. I don’t watch the news as much as I should but this struck me as somewhat inaccurate. As far as I know, even the most hysterical of tabloid newspapers have yet to accuse refugees of having lasers for eyes, although I wouldn’t bet against it happening before the year is out.

As it turned out the theme of the presentation was “Alien Encounters” and “Sirians” were one of the many alien races the woman had met, apparently without ever leaving her garden. It was nice of them to come to her, but then again the Sirian people are renowned for their politeness. I can’t say that I was convinced by the presentation, but once again I applied the Bristol rule of live and let live. The alien enthusiasts weren’t hurting anyone and, most importantly, they were generous with their tea and biscuits.

It struck me that if aliens ever were to visit Earth they could do a lot worse than choose Bristol as their destination, assuming they managed to get off the M32 in the right place. In a city where people dance in queues and photos come to life, I imagine we would take extraterrestrial visitors in our stride.

As I got up to leave, I heard the phrase, “Of course, it’s not fair to judge all Reptilians by the actions of a few.”

After three years in Bristol, I wouldn’t dream of it.

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