In our winter city, the rain cries a little pity

Let me take you by the hand, and lead you through the streets of London Bristol.

Read any newspaper and you’d be forgiven for thinking that cities are disastrously horrible places. Where every street has a chalk outline from last week’s murder gently washing away in the acid-drizzle, and a 24 hour news channel crew at the other doing a piece to camera on ‘yoof’ crime.

Don’t even think about taking the alleyway shortcut. Down there lurk the baddies deemed too bad for the director’s cut of Robocop, selling guns to toddler groups, crack to golf club members, and time shares in the Costa del Sol.

The streets are apparently awash with binge drinkers leaving noisy dens in inequity at 3pm, and the you can’t cross the road uninsured drivers driving 90. On the pavement.

The sound of the city isn’t industry anymore. It’s the sound of everyone’s attack alarm going off in their handbag.

The thing is, today it was all rather continental. On a brief walk I heard at least six different languages, and despite what the Daily Mail say, I don’t think any of them were illegal immigrants. The real highlight were the crowds gathering around two guys who had set up the wares from a suitcase. Not knock-off dvds, but speed chess. They were playing 3-minute games of speed chess, and asking watchers to donate towards prostate cancer care on behalf of their friends.

So maybe Ralph McTell had it right. The streets do have people reading yesterday’s news, but the closed-down markets are uber-trendy apartments and the seamen’s missions are long gone. But it’s the grime that the tourists want to take pictures of. It’s what they expect to see.

And some of them unknowingly got a bit extra for free today. A groups of about a dozen were taking pictures on their cannons, snapshots of a backstreet greasy spoon. Steamed up windows, plastic ketchup dispensers on the tables in the shape of little tomatoes, and neon card in the windows highlighting today’s specials. A street cleaner sweeping around the sign advertising ‘Drury’s coffee’.

Oh, and a genuine ‘Dury’ walking up the alley beside it.