Today, two days after the summer solstice, the beginning of Cancer szn, the full moon is in Capricorn (best moon ever) and after weeks of hard work, job interviews and driving tests, I am here reflecting on the tenth anniversary of moving to Bristol.
Before Bristol, I was an ex-council estate kid, a survivor of child abuse and an out-spoken, fearless party punk. I was just finishing up my undergrad degree in English and History at Southampton Uni, living at home with my mum, going out with my solid group of friends, always wondering what was out there next. By the time summer 2014 rolled around, I was ready to leave and begin a new adventure.
Bristol has been the wildest of rides. I learnt more about the world, politics, people and myself in the first year here then I ever did in Southampton. I moved in with my partner Wren, and 6 of our friends in a ridiculously big house in Kingswood, on the outskirts of the city. Here we raged, partied, started bands, put on legendary house shows, embarked on DIY tours fuelled by hummus and out of date bread. I learnt how to dumpster dive, to make patches from cereal boxes and acrylic paint. I made my first poetry zine out of A5 paper sheets. I called it ‘Scraped Knees and Sob Stories’ and sold them for £2 a copy at shows.
I discovered Hydra Bookshop on Old Market, now all shuttered up and unused, a victim of gentrification. But back then it was a thriving place of community, radical bookshelves and at night we pushed the furniture aside and put on punk shows. I started doing gig promotion under the name Cookie Cut, only booking acts that had a diverse line up. Most importantly, I met people like Rose and Carla, who helped me overcome some of my homophobic past, and feel safe in identifying as queer for the first time in my life. I will never forget the fun we had in that little shop.
Not even a year after moving, I was absolutely fuming about the state of the DIY punk scene. It was male dominated, unsafe for women, let alone queerness and anyone who wasn’t white and able-bodied. I was still so young in my radical politics journey, but I was motivated by my rage to start pulling people together to create LaDIYfest Bristol. There was a core crew of us - Shay, Rah, Kate, Darcy, Alice, Vicky and Katie who started organising. In just six months we put together weekend long, multi-venue festival celebrating women in punk music. We opened the festival with a march through the streets, calling for an end to assaults on the Bristol-Bath Cycle Path, we marched down Stapleton Road with a sound system on wheels blaring out Bikini Kill and partied at Kebele (now BASE). LaDIYfest was a turning point in the scene for change, demanding more diverse line ups and an invitation for women to pick up instruments and start their own bands. On the Sunday, the Chelsea Inn literally shook with a crowd as Petrol Girls played.
At the same time as all this, I started touring as a performance poet. Went on a tour with Ren Aldridge of Petrol Girls and Efa Supertramp which for some reason we called WRIOTE and then tattooed each other with it afterwards. I started a band with my housemates Zoe and Jo and our friend Aimee called Viva Zapata! (After the Seven Year Bitch Album and homage to Mia Zapata of The Gits). We played our first show only 5 weeks after I picked up a bass for the first time.
I went to so many festivals in those years, the thought of it all now makes me shudder a bit. I partied hard, I loved fiercely, I organised and cared for my community above all else. When in early 2017, my oldest and best friend died, my world started to stop.
My best friend Stacey, who had been basically family since we were 11, died of Cystic Fibrosis in January 2017. It’s no exaggeration to say that it absolutely broke me. I lost a vital part of myself. In March 2017 I published my first poetry collection Better Watch Your Mouth, I went on tour. I went to 6 festivals that year. I can’t remember any of it. At the end of that summer, my relationship with Wren ended, and I plunged into a mental health crisis that lasted for 5 years.
The trajectory of my life took a new course. I mourned for all my losses and for the person I used to be. I moved into a converted garage round the back of Stapleton Road and I hid myself away. I withdrew from the community, I did a year of EMDR therapy. I became the next version of myself - changed my name to Bridget and came out as non-binary.
I lost a lot of friends in this time, some intentional, some circumstantial, you know, it happens. I learnt about triggers, I came to terms with the fact that I had CPTSD. I accepted that my past haunted me in profound and often unconscious ways. But I held onto some of the best people, who became family and brought me out of my depression. Cassie, Kerry, Hannah, Sali and Kane (and eventually baby Rudi) gave me strength and purpose, and I began to heal. Cassie and I were producing our podcast Chips and Beans which ran for four years, and those chats we had are still up online.
I started venturing outside again - hosting the Bristol chapter of That’s What We Said under For Books’ Sake, run by Jane and Paul who were the warmest and most supportive people. I eventually took over For Books’ Sake with Jo and that has been one of the best journeys through work, writing and queer friendships. I started getting involved in action again, I volunteered at every BLM protest, trans pride march and helped out at book fairs and BASE Sunday dinners.
I wrote a new book - one that wasn’t about trauma, or recovery but ended up contributing to the self-actualisation that I needed for the new chapter of things. Chewing Gum is a queer re-telling of the characters from Grease and Grease 2. My friend Lisa illustrated it, Small Press published it. My launch sold out. I’ve sold nearly 600 copies since release in 2021. I wrote it for fun, it gave me joy and ownership over a queerness that had been denied to me growing up.
After 8 years, I decided to leave Burning Eye Books, a job that had supported me through so much. Clive and Kate are the best of people, they gave me so much and allowed me to forge my own path as an editor, and curator of hundreds of poetry collections over the years. I worked with the most interesting, hard working, innovative poets in the spoken word scene. Some of those people have gone on to do amazing things, some have remained really good friends. But ultimately, the arts changed, became unstable, and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt in my years it’s that I need stability to feel safe. It was not an easy choice, I agonised for so long over this decision, so afraid of change. But change is good. It opens up new doors and takes you to unexpected places. I’m actually quite good at the unexpected, but fear has always had a unfortunate ruling in my life.
Now I am 36, turning 37 this year, and I sit here writing out the last ten years. I feel a bit sick from the bumpy ride, but I have so much pride in the person I chose to become. I have achieved so much, built and burnt bridges and have come out in a place where perfectionism and FOMO are not welcome anymore. I quit smoking weed every day, and eventually smoking fags. I just passed my driving test, I live in a safe and stable home with Cassie and Kerry, my platonic life partners. We move forward together now, knowing that traditional relationship structures are not what we want.
Reflection is not easy for me, I’m always ploughing ahead to the next thing but I’ve been looking through my instagram posts, and thinking ‘Damn, you’ve had fun.’ Though, I will be honest and say this is not where I thought I’d end up, creatively or professionally, but I learning to be ok with that. You don’t know where you’ll be in a decade right?
Thank you, past and present me. Thank you Bristol, and all the friends and foes I’ve made along the way. Here’s to another 10 years of creating, action, community, love and maybe just a bit more chaos.