Editor: Tori Halman living@ epigram.org.uk
Best left undiscovered
Because there are some things we wish we’d never known...
That Lounge sells toffee vodka
A couple from Bristol were married earlier this month at the exact spot where they met and fell in love. The idyllic situation? A beach, a romantic restaurant? No, in fact, a council bus stop in Bristol. Aly Hussein, 41, admired his wife Michala, 40, as she waited for the bus, before asking her on a date. The happy couple have now been given the bus stop flag and seat as a souvenir of their perfect day. So, to all those singletons out there looking for Mr/Mrs Right – the number 16 bus queue has never looked so damn good.
The real ending to Snow White
VIVA LA FIESTA
Pret freshly squeezed orange juice has the equivalent calories to 13 McVities Hobnob biscuits.
The talk of a Friends reunion movie was all a cruel rumour Compfight: digitalspy
BORDERLINE NEWS IT BUS-T BE LOVE
That our parents had to ‘do it’ to create us
A person swallows on average 8 spiders in their lifetime
That everybody has seen your new jumper in Topshop, and tried it on Your favourite teacher had a life outside of school
A Wagamama’s chicken Katsu curry has 1149 calories That How I Met Your Mother’s legendary womaniser Barney is gay in real life That your boyfriend’s brother is the hotter sibling
Freshers’ week is long gone, lectures have begun and the work is piling up. But, don’t worry, your trusty companion, e2, is here to support you through the woes of studying and help you deal with those essay blues. This edition, we’re seeking out the undiscovered. From undercover reports at London Fashion Week to the unknown delights of Uzbek cuisine, let e2 take you on a voyage of discovery (beyond the Triangle) to find out more about things you never knew.
An 82 year old coffin-dodger (and an admirable Great Grandmother) has been named England’s oldest party rocker. Through the decades, after a messy marriage breakdown, Viva Hamnell, decided to unleash her undiscovered passion for Punk Rock. Consequently, Viva embarked on a double life involving lollipop ladying by day versus life and soul of the party by night. As a backing singer for her son’s band she let her hair down and explored her inner Viva-Diva, culminating in a police investigation vis-à-vis the cannabis plants she was growing in her garden. Nicknamed ‘Lollipot lady’, claiming that the plants were tomato plants, this funny old biddy has gained national acclaim. Despite her advancing years, Viva has been working at Glastonbury for 30 years and is still going strong in her punk rock fashionable lifestyle. If you love good old Viva as much as we do check out the Channel 4 documentary on her life story coming soon!
That the girl in the room next door to you has an active sex life A Geography degree isn’t just colouring in
Online: Morwenna Scott livingonline@ epigram.org.uk
That Rolf Harris perhaps might not be as innocent as we once thought
Your housemate accidentally left the door unlocked all night whilst you slept
Deputy: Deputy: Sophia Hadjipateras Izzy Kerr shadjipateras@ ikerr@ epigram.org.uk epigram.org.uk
According to research by the University of Bristol, humans could learn how to manage their real estate from ants. Scientists at our beautiful University have discovered that ants invest in property in consistent and rational ways by monitoring neighbours’ nests. So, if this sterling research is anything to go by, we ought to be opening up our small student houses to thousands of friends, all of whom will enter in a perfectly straight line, carrying scraps from the street to help us build our home a little better than how Flatline left it for us. Current first years looking for a house, take heed and use this advice, it’s from our University after all – so its got to be right.
e2 wants you! Write for us by emailing our section editors or meeting them at the times below
Meet the e2 team!
Living: Tori Halman, Sophia Hadjipateras and Izzy Kerr will meet at the Refectory on Thursday 17th October at 1.15pm. Travel: Olivia Lace-Evans and Andrea Valentino will meet at the Refectory on Thursday 17th October at 12.15pm. Style: Maddy Streets will meet at the ASS library café on Friday 18th October at 12.30pm. e2 is edited by Alex Bradbrook firstname.lastname@example.org
Guilty pleasures S stt v
Salty Popcorn and Maltesers. Now this really is a weird one and as of yet I’m not fully convinced. You may think at first it sounds a fairly reasonable food combination, and definitely one that’s cinema-worthy, but wait. This isn’t your standard have-a-piece-of-popcornthen-maybe-alternate-with-a-Malteser situation. Oh no. This involves a carefully constructed balance of flavours. Two pieces of salty Popcorn and one Malteser in each mouthful. Apparently it works, but I’ll leave this one up to you guys to road test in your spare time.
Sugar Sandwich. Right, I’m pretty sure that this is the weirdest one that I have ever come across and one that I reckon I am very unlikely to ever be tempted to try ever again. Ever. Bread is good, sugar is good, and sandwiches are generally good. But together? I’m not so sure. If you have a sweet tooth then this one may turn out to be your food equivalent of Ryan Gosling, but despite my friend’s continual assertion that this is a food experience not to be missed, I remain unconvinced.
Naturally, as comes with moving from a reasonably smallish town (with only one ‘Spoons!) to a city (with at least four!), the adjustment into a full-on life of drinking, crying, kebabs, and slipping over is quite a shock to the system. It certainly takes some getting used to, if the confused shouting heard daily outside halls at 5am is anything to go by. Harsh too is the realisation that no-one on the Bristol City Council gives a shit about the 400+ freshers within earshot when they begin smashing up the road with a pneumatic drill at 7.30 on a Tuesday morning. Even if those freshers probably have pounding headaches that could contend with the noise of even the heaviest of machinery. By most standards, I think it would be fair to say that I have not had the wildest of Freshers’ Weeks.
UNDERCOVER FRESHER: Sh oc
ut t k: i s
I suppose it’s not really surprising that there are going to be many things to discover in Freshers’ Week and those that follow, such as how much food really costs now that mum isn’t there to brandish her money-off, Tesco Clubcard vouchers at the checkout, and how much Marmite and ham is necessary to suppress a hangover enough to get me through an introductory lecture. There are some, however, that have taken me totally by surprise. For example, I did not know that it was physically possible for someone over the age of 12 to get blackout drunk on two bottles of WKD. So drunk, in fact, that they had to be put to bed, miss the night out, and end up unable to remember anything the next day - but hey! My hallmate certainly proved me wrong! And with such dignity; such girlish squealing for such a together young man.
Rice Krispies and Petit Filous. This one I can understand. Lots of people eat yoghurt with cereal and those little infant-sized, I-can-hardly-fit-my-spoonin-the-pot yoghurts are just so damn cute it’s hard not to like them. Plus because they’re so adorably little it makes them perfect for snacking. And as any clever student knows, cereal is acceptable at any time of day.
h u t ter sto ck
It gets to 11am…or 4pm, or 9pm. Hell it gets to any particular time in the day for which there is not yet an official meal (I’m working on it) and you get that slight nagging in your stomach that tells you it’s time for a snack. It’s the between meals munchies and, having spoken to my friends (and having a sneaky peak at their eating habits), thankfully I’ve found that I’m not alone. Moreover, in order to further this clearly very scientific and not at all self-indulgent piece of research, I asked for a few suggestions of what the ultimate sugarcraving conqueror might be and it’s safe to say there were some interesting answers. So, without further delay I present to you my list of the best yet to be discovered tasty treats to get you through the day.
Oreos and Peanut Butter. Now, we’ve all seen The Parent Trap, so this one will perhaps be the best known combination on this list. If Annie and Hallie thought it was good then the chances were that my seven year old self was going to try it. I did, and I’ve never looked back. If you haven’t seen the film then shame on you. This dynamite combination is doubly great when you and the twins are digging in like the triplets you always dreamed you could be.
“I did not know that it was physically possible for someone over the age of 12 to get blackout drunk on two bottles of WKD” Our floor has certainly done its fair share of drinking, but there have been few nights where we have made it to anywhere more lively than the Old Duke, ready for an evening of awkward dancing, cider in hand. (Although even these excursions hardly passed without incident, as nights out involving alcohol are wont to do). We sampled the events hosted by the Student’s Union (turning up several hours late without tickets because finding one’s way in a strange city in the dark is an arduous task
Morwenna Scott even when not blind drunk and wearing heels), but we also had the occasional night in, playing what can only be described as parlour games, curled up in pyjamas. Mostly it has just been a remarkably stress-free week, with the chance to bond with total strangers in very close quarters in ways that only resulted in two unfortunate vomiting incidents (one caused by Caribbean Twist, and the other by a rather enthusiastic attempt to eat absolutely everything in the whole of Za Za Bazaar because it was free, neither involving me). It’s probably a cliché to say that Freshers’ Week was a little underwhelming, but I think I mean it in a good way. I didn’t find myself locked out of my halls in the pouring rain at 3am. I didn’t wake up feeling so sick that I thought I was going to immediately die in my bed, only to be found weeks later when my flatmates grew suspicious of my absence. I didn’t even miss any of the things I was supposed to go to during the day - even if this was as a result of running sweatily, up Park Street because I haven’t yet got the journey time down to a T. And I’ve taken more naps than I ever before believed was possible without being medically declared to be in a coma. Bristol seems to be a good place to be, and the thought of being here for the next three years doesn’t totally fill me with dread! Now where the hell are my lectures?
one student’s battle with her stomach
The Disney Discovery Channel*
*WARNING: Contains shocking truths that may offend some readers.
Everybody loves a good Disney movie, as a child my evenings after school and weekend afternoons were spent curled up on the sofa watching Pumba and Timone frolick across the Savannah. As I reached the somewhat less simplistic teenage years, and learnt that babies aren’t carried down from the sky by stalks - as Dumbo horrendously misinformed me - I heard a rumour on the grapevine of the sexual innuendos that exist within our favourite childhood flicks. So, in spite, just as my childhood bliss has been brutally torn away from me by the apparent sexaddicts working at Walt Disney and Pixar, I now intend to ruin yours aswell. Caring, huh?
The Lion King: As Simba lies down at one point in this firm favourite childhood classic, a cloud of dust rises above him. As the dust disappears, the letters S-E-X are left in the sky. Animators insist the letters actually read S-F-X, for special effects, to acknolwedge their work. I call bullshit. Flickr:
The Little Mermaid: On promotional posters, a turret in the castle doesn’t exactly conform to the usual regal architecture. Sketchers at Disney still maintain that the phallic shaped turret was a mistake. Somehow it’s difficult to agree. The producers behind this film clearly held much frustration, as later in the film, during the wedding scene, the Bishop leaves little to the imagination in his white tights. bag
kick in, and they do not stop. My secret, bigger than a cow’s, never satisfied, with a burning desire for any morsel of food dripping in grease, stomach. A stomach that only comes out between the hours of 2 and 4am, and takes over my entire being. As soon as this creature takes over me, I lose all hope of common decency. The club that I am in becomes a cage, holding me back from gorging myself at Donervans, my friends start to look like walking kebabs in front of my very eyes, and I am filled with the all-encompassing urge to sprint home and open the fridge. Through my time at University, I have discovered that I am an alcohol-fuelled schizophrenic wrestling between the desire to make friends, and punch them in the face, and to fit into my skinny jeans, but eat more than the guy on Man vs. Food. I’m hoping that my clubbing calms down this year, and I will go back to being a singular, pleasant individual. There are many bad character traits that are grown and nurtured by alcohol; this year I plan to throw a sprinkling of work-related weed killer over such bad habits, and say goodbye to my previously undiscovered monster second self. And if I can’t, well I’ll just drink my sorrows away.
As I write this article I am sat in bed, as any selfrespecting English student should be, on a Tuesday afternoon in my pyjamas. The reason for such inertia goes beyond boredom, or excess free time; I have more chores on my to-do list now than Russell Brand’s housekeeper, I’d imagine. No, I am not bored. I am most definitely not lazy, and I am certainly not ill. I am hungover. Horribly, nauseously, tragically hungover. Reader, you cannot judge me. It is universally acknowledged that the word ‘hungover’ alone acts as a getout-of-jail-free card, from any social, academic or personal situation. Bed isn’t just acceptable today, it’s a necessity and a cure. I step back and look at myself on days like this, when the rest of my B.Sc friends are out achieving greatness, taking everything that life throws them in their ‘I’m getting a First in my degree’ stride and beating away challenges with their full to the brim WH Smith ring-binders. My biggest success today will be reaching for my laptop to open iPlayer, and making it the ten steps to the kitchen without being sick. This is not just another hungover moan, there’s more to it than that. This is a story, a fable, a plunge into the undiscovered depths of my personality when a hangover takes over. This is a psychological analysis, a 4oD Documentary on paper, if you will. I believe people have two sides, not in the sense that we can be good and bad, moral or immoral. These Compfight: kmit
Woman vs. Food:
two sides are simply: hungover, and not. Once you submit your mind and body to the modern day Devil that is a Gininduced hangover, you open yourself to a realm of undiscovered possibilities, cravings, character traits, vocabulary even. In case you are falling behind with this theory, let me explain it a little further. When fresh and ‘unhungover’ (being this hungover makes me liable to create new words, when the correct ones are too taxing to find), I have relative patience, organisation, spark, and am friendly. However, the morning - in fact entire day - after a night out, I am a monster. Every single person around me, and everything that they do - from making a cup of tea, to breathing, irritates the hell out of me. My productivity is rendered so poor I might as well have a chimp do my coursework or filing for me, and any ‘spark’ or burst of energy that previously existed is replaced with the same level of enthusiasm reached as you sit in a dentist’s waiting room. These symptoms, however, can be expected, and I imagine I am not alone in my suffering. It is my final ailment which concerns me the most, if anybody out there feels this too, please, how do you cope? Impart your wisdom, give me your secrets. This isn’t a problem which occurs when I have a hangover, it’s much worse than that, it surfaces when I’m actually out. This problem is: Hunger. The incessant screaming from my apparent five hundred extra stomachs begins to
The Rescuers: At the beginning of the film, as rodent heroes Bianca and Bernard fly through the city in a sardine box, the photographic image of a topless woman can be seen at the window of a building in the background of two different, non-consecutive, frames. Who needs Page 3 when you’ve got Disney?
Winnie the Addictive Personality: (not quite as catchy, is it?) Popular children’s book, and later film and television series, Winnie the Pooh, isn’t as straightforward as we all once thought. Each character is said to be based on different mental character disorders and t r a i t s . Don’t believe me? Let’s examine the evidence. Eeyore the depressive, bouncy fun-loving Tigger has ADHD, panicky little Piglet has anxiety problems, and Winnie the Pooh represents a (honey) addict.
The whole truth and nothing but the truth?
ROOM 101 #2
It has been approximately one month since you have all moved back to Bristol. You have probably contracted the freshers’ flu several times, recycled all the fancy dress you have and had the ‘name, subject, life statement’ conversation with the newbies countless times. You would think by now that you’ve slowly settled into the routine of university life – however undemanding that may be for most freshers’ – and are ready to eat life a little less as it were. Yet, whether you are a fresher or a more experienced Bristolian, there is always some new ground to break. My personal experience this year is the riveting joy of living in a house with a majority of dudes. Ladies, you would think that this was the best thing since sliced bread, right? Indeed, there are positives, such as the beautifully sculpted rugby bodies parading around before taking their showers. It’s ok because you’re all ‘mates’ but hey you can’t blame a girl for peeking. As well as this, they always want to help you fix things – that’s perfect for when you have a brand spanking new IKEA flatpack desk but when they start messing with things that ain’t broke it’s slightly frustrating. You’re a man, you can fix things - we get it! Finally, they seem to have a love for loud speakers; my house currently has three sets of sound systems covering the perimeters of each floor blasting a stark contrast of music at all hours of the day. As an arts student, I praise Jesus most of them are scientists. However, as with any situation there are negative aspects too. Several psychologists, philosophers and any other ologers have tried to find the single biological or emotional factor that differentiates men from women. The mainstream conclusion to this almighty question is Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus. Well, Mars-ians really do not see eye to eye with their Goddess counterparts. The issue is epitomised by the kitchen situation. To most women, the kitchen is their sanctuary where they prefer everything just right. Most men will leave the cupboard doors open after messily scoffing the last hobnob and butter the counter instead of their toast. Again, I’m sure there is a Jamie Oliver in a lot of you boys but unfortunately I do not cohabitate with them. Ultimately, living in a testosterone-dominant environment, you come to be seen as ‘a total bro’. You no longer have the female aura as you will find boys being boys in every corner of the house (i.e: clipping toe nails and obscene lad talk). You are now a dude in a dress. Be that as it may, university is about trying new things and experiencing life right? As a very wise old Dutchman said to me, ‘you should always try everything….once’. Bring it on, down the road of discovery.
Let’s be honest, we aren’t in a Court of Law here. Honesty isn’t always the best policy. Here at Living, we think it’s socially acceptable, if not sometimes the kindest option, to tell a few little white lies. For those of you to whom lying does not come as naturally as it might to Rebekah Brooks or Pinocchio, we’ve compiled The Complete Guide To Getting Away With It, along with a few examples to get you on your way.
5.Stick to your lie
Okay so you may realise that saying that your dog ate your homework wasn’t the best lie to go with, but for a lie to be successful you have to commit to it.
6.Deliver your lie in a friend-free zone
There’s nothing worse than trying to be serious surrounded by friends who are probably pissing themselves behind you as they see right through your tragic excuse.
7.Have a reason
Lying without a reason is a tricky task as it lacks the foundations of self-interest. Save your lying skills for when you really need it and you’ll deliver them with much more conviction.
8.Don’t be defensive Make sure you know your lie inside out to avoid the embarrassment of backtracking and awkward hole-digging.
The biggest giveaway that you’re lying is through the aggressive conviction that you deliver your lie with – remember less is more, defensiveness doesn’t get you anywhere.
2.Keep your hands busy ;)
9.Get your timing right
1.Know your lie
Body language such as repeatedly touching your…nose is a common sign of lying. To avoid getting busted make sure you hold onto something to help you resist the urge of reaching for your face.
3.Don’t look shifty
Keep your eyes on the prize - eye contact is key because if you’re staring intently at a piece of old chewing gum on the road whilst telling your boyfriend ‘it’s not you it’s me’, they’re going to know something’s up.
4.Don’t let questions throw you
Even if you know your lie back to front, someone might ask something unexpected. Trust your instinct stay cool and just keep it reeeeaaalllll bro.
For example, on opening your Grandma’s wellmeant khaki dungaree flares make sure the “I love it!” comes quickly and equipped with a warm heartfelt smile. After all, it’s not her fault they went out of fashion a few decades ago.
10. Know your limits
Even if you master our ten tips to lying, don’t go overboard and spin yourself a web of lies that you can’t keep up with. Compulsive lying is a dangerous habit that’s bound to backfire disastrously at some point.
For missing your seminar: the ancient washing machine ,that your landlord refuses to replace, flooded the entire floor overnight, destroying your precious notes along the way.
Liar #1 After trying to get out of an awkward lap dance in Spain I told the stripper I was gay. When asked who my boyfriend was, 16 year old me panicked and pointed to the nearest male: my older brother. It all went tits up when she asked me to show him some love.
To avoid a night out: the gourmet chicken curry you made last night wasn’t so gourmet, and as much as you’d love to throw some shapes in Lounge, you currently can’t get past the toilet.
Liar #2 When I was 15 I told my mum I was going to the village camp but actually went for my first wild night out. After getting obliterated I ended up in hospital having contracted hypothermia, things have been icy ever since.
To explain your overdraft to your parents: Of course you’ve been budgeting well and haven’t been spending all your money at the Hill but crime rates in Bristol are high and you were definitely pick-pocketed.
Liar #3 Upon receiving a parking ticket for being a minute late I decided to appeal on the fabricated grounds that I had had a nose bleed en route to the car. Led to believe I had successfully cheated the system, things went bloody wrong when I was into a gruelling court case.
To avoid an awkward date: you would but you’ve already seen all the latest films and you’re a lactose and gluten intolerant vegan with IBS and a weak bladder.
Liar #4 My friends and I were desperate to get into VIP in a club in Berlin so we prentended one of my friends was one of the Pussycat Dolls. When I Grow Up maybe this tactic will finally work...Don’t Cha think?
Editor: Deputy: Online Olivia Lace-Evans Andrea Valentino Emilia Morano-Williams travel@ deputytravel@ travelonline@ epigram.org.uk epigram.org.uk epigram.org.uk
Like the hard-working boy in the front row that continues studying no matter how disruptive his classmates become, Jordan has so far avoided slipping into the cesspit currently drowning so many of its neighbours. To the east, Iraq is still tormented by spasms of sectarian paranoia. Over the River Jordan, to the west, compromise between
Houses tumble down the side of the city’s hills like lumps of sugar Israelis and Palestinians seems as impossible as ever. And only
fifty kilometres north of the Jordanian capital, the Syrians are engaged in the most unimaginable butchery. The killing there will probably drag on for years.
Giving the Arab Spring some bounce So perhaps all the furtive questions I’ve been asked about the wisdom of visiting such a violent part of the world are not entirely outlandish. Remember that not long ago, tourists gathered around the old districts of Aleppo and Damascus like pigeons to crumbs of stale bread. Now large parts of both cities are raped by death squads and snipers. Fortunately, Jordanians have not had to experience the recent traumas of the Arab world first hand, though visiting Amman was a slightly uncomfortable experience anyway. The knowledge that children are being murdered makes you vaguely sick wherever it’s happening. That they’re being murdered barely an hours drive from your hotel naturally amplifies these feelings.
Still, Amman does not feel like a city choked by war. It’s clean and relatively prosperous. Liberal too: about half the women I saw were bareheaded, and many of those seemed to spend their evenings drinking pricey cocktails in glamorous bars. Like Rome, Amman is built on seven hills, though it’s a thoroughly modern city: apart from an ancient amphitheatre and 9th-century
Islamic palace, most of its buildings were constructed after 1900. Whitewashed Middle Eastern houses tumble down the side of the city’s hills like lumps of sugar. Although half-a-million Syrians are camped near Amman’s northern suburbs, the locals were easy-going, seemingly confident in their ability to finally plug the deluge of refugees. The most forbiddingly veiled woman was pleased to give directions, especially when accompanied by an awkwardly sprightly shukran (thank you) on my part. Even the grungy area near the Roman theatre, which hosts a frantic and squawking animal market, did not feel very intimidating. The district’s biggest challenge
was simply to avoid stepping on an errant goose as you made your way along the pavement. Maybe Ammanis’ geniality can be explained by their diet. Lebanon is the outstanding Arab country as far as food goes, but the Jordanians hardly starve. In every corner of Amman, men in greasy overalls dole out boiled eggs and cups of syrupy coffee the colour of unploughed cabbage fields. At dinner, I was affronted with heaving plates of mezzeh: kebabs and hommus, fried haloumi and kibbeh. This last dish is a Levantine kind of fried meatball made with onion, bulgur, and pine nuts. Almost all the other foreigners I saw in Amman were other Arabs from the Gulf, conspicuous with their flashy cars and elegant swan-like robes. Most Westerners neglect Amman and go south to Petra or the Dead Sea. Indeed, up until the fighting started, Amman was unappealingly new compared to the medieval souks of Syria’s big cities. Perhaps it still is. But now Aleppo is a howling wilderness, and Amman offers visitors a flash of the Middle East unsoiled by war or mass tourism. Visit, if only to reassure yourself that although the region as a Fwhole lickr: D might by abjectly L Dun the quiet failing, can boy at the front of the class is plodding on regardless.
Uzbek food: Steppe up to the plate
In Britain, Uzbekistan is seldom mentioned. Indeed, it’s quite possible that you have never heard of it before. I knew of it as one of those random ‘stan’ countries in Central Asia that wins Olympic medals in boxing and wrestling, but very little else. Until now. Here in Tomsk, Siberia, there are many migrants from those ‘random stans’. These former Soviet states have scattered their people, culture and cuisine throughout Russia. Tomsk in
particular seems to be teeming with Armenians, Tajiks, and Uzbeks, all very friendly and welcoming, and encouraging me to taste the best that their cuisine has to offer. Food is a fascinating topic. There is a base layer of ingredients used all over the world, but over time, people have experimented in different ways to create their own style of food. Uzbekistan’s finest dish has to be the incomparable plov. Although the English
translation is pilaf, I prefer the aggressive monosyllabic grunt that plov invites of the speaker. The dish comprises rice, spices, onions and carrots all slowcooked in vast quantities of oil to superb effect. My first experience of plov was a magnificently joyous occasion, as waves of various flavours inundated my taste buds. It was so sensational that I barely registered the lack of meat. Even so, the Uzbeks found a simple and foolproof way to add meat: by simply placing a lump of mutton or beef at
the rice mountain’s summit, alongside a full bulb of garlic. This is no nonsense food at its best. Despite a vast selection of soups and stews to choose from, my second Uzbek culinary love is simply bread. They make fantastic bread. In the supermarket, the Uzbek bread sits proudly, resplendent in red and silver packaging, alongside various other dough-based goods. Non, presumably related to the Indian naan, is a versatile foodstuff. I have particularly enjoyed walking down the
street, munching on my Uzbek bread, feeling generally fantastic. The fact that this bread can be enjoyed without any form of spread is a true testament to its prowess. There is an added, je ne sais quoi quality to this loaf of baking genius that renders butter or marmite quite unnecessary. And the fact that it costs a mere 8 pence is just music to my ears. We may know very little about Uzbekistan, but it has a plethora of food just crying out to be sampled. If you ever get a chance, do give it a try because it’s an experience you won’t forget.
A Seine-sational day in Paris
Paris, like most capital cities, is renowned for its hordes of tourists, many descending on its immaculate parks: the Jardins de Luxembourg and the Jardins des Tuileries are especially famous. If you’ve already visited these parks or simply fancy a change of scenery, hop on the Metro and venture into the city’s mysterious 19th arrondissement. There you will discover the Parc des Buttes Chaumonts, a park that is a hillier
and grittier alternative, boasting amazing views over the city as well as a waterfall, cliffs and a bridge over its lake. Yes it’s a little out of the way, but it’s totally worth it. Moreover, you’ll get to witness a traditional Parisian picnic if the weather’s nice; the locals will most likely have brought their whole kitchen with them.
Did you know that Paris also boasts its very own Statue of Liberty? Probably not, but it definitely merits a visit. It can be found on the Ile
au Cignes (16th) on the Seine, a tranquil area in the middle of the city. From there, stroll along the picturesque tree lined Quai au Cignes that leads to the impressive Bir-Hakeim Bridge, offering a spectacular yet undisturbed view of the Eiffel Tower. When night descends, eating out and drinking needn’t be expensive. The Latin Quarter (5th) is a purse-friendly area nestled in the heart of Paris’ university district. Line your stomach with a traditional threecourse meal for as
First time visitors to Paris often share the same itinerary: the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, Notre-Dame, and maybe even a night at the Moulin Rouge. But after ticking off the Top 10 sights in your guidebook or if you’ve simply had enough of its crowds, what is there left to do? And where can you eat and drink at an affordable price in this notoriously expensive city? Get your map out: it’s time to take a fresh look at the City of Lights.
little as 12 euros at one of its many restaurants then move onto to a student bar such as Cap Rouge on Rue Mouffetard.
Did you know that Paris has its very own Statue of Liberty? This cosy bar offers pints of rather strong cocktails at ridiculously cheap prices, as well as an incredibly handsome barman for the ladies. After a few, or many, Mojitos, head downstairs to its distinctive smelling dance floor. From there, simply see where the night takes you.
Uncovering Germany: Grab your Lederhosen Isn’t it funny how every country seems to have a reputation and, more often than not, said reputation really is true? The French are romantic wine-drinkers, the Italians are sensual pasta-fanatics, the Spanish are laid-back party-goers, and the Germans… Well, most people think Germans are just sensible sausage-eaters. While on my year abroad in Germany, I’ve taken it upon myself to discover whether the largely less-than-favourable German stereotypes held by most Brits do in fact prevail. As I psyched myself up for six months of sausages, I wondered: would the Germans really be as blunt as I’d been warned? Would I be arrested if I crossed the road before the green man appeared? And was I about to embark on a new life devoid of humour? All has been revealed, and it’s safe to say not every stereotype has proven to be true, thankfully. No-one’s been rude (bar one Bavarian waitress), I have witnessed crime scenes in the form of German pedestrians breaking the law (yes, really) by impatiently crossing the road too early *gasp*, and they do make jokes, even if sarcasm doesn’t always go down well. So, let’s assess some of the common German stereotypes in a clear, organised list (German life seems to be rubbing off on me already): Germans are efficient and punctual – true and true. A colleague was once a whopping five minutes late to meet me and I thought something awful had
happened. Germans aren’t late, ever! It turned out he just couldn’t find a car parking space. Phew. I know. They love Wurst – man, do they love it. Apparently, there are over 1,000 types of sausage in Germany. And while Britain may be inundated with street-side doner kebab vendors, Wurst stands are far more ubiquitous over here in sausage-land. In most restaurants and supermarkets you’re faced with a choice of pork, pork or pork. In various forms. Oh, how I miss chicken!
Was I about to embark on a new life devoid of humour? German food isn’t good – not true, and there’s genuinely more to German cuisine than pork. Schnitzel (OK, often pork too), fruity crumble cakes and soft, warm, freshly baked pretzels are all regular occurrences in my life as of late. There are bakeries round every corner, and I am loving it. They drink a lot of beer – so much beer! You may think you’re pretty hardcore spending hours in the Corrie Tap, but until you’ve been to Oktoberfest in Munich, you know nothing. It’s mental. They wear Lederhosen – this is also
pleasingly true. Whilst German people don’t don their Dirndls (Heidistyle dresses) and Lederhosen (the leather trousers and checked-shirt ensembles) on a day-to-day basis, most people will own one for festivals and weddings and the like. Going to Oktoberfest in your normal clothes? Pah! What a tourist. They don’t queue – we Brits find it hard to get our heads round this, but it’s true. Germans tend to just mosh. Considering they’re so orderly in every other aspect of life, it’s a little bizarre. German people are rude – from my experience, this is such an unfair stereotype. Every single German I’ve met has been really friendly and unbelievably helpful, despite being a random English girl who can barely string a sentence together. It’s lovely. So, I hope I’ve convinced you that Germany is more awesome than you might think. I’d better wrap this up though – don’t want to be late to meet my new German friend for Wurst and a beer while wearing a Dirndl.
Rachel Hosie Foreign Correspondant
Editor: Deputy: Online Olivia Lace-Evans Andrea Valentino Emilia Morano-Williams travel@ deputytravel@ travelonline@ epigram.org.uk epigram.org.uk epigram.org.uk
! Wish you were here
This craft market in Laos was the perfect place to discover all of the beautiful local art work. Beaded cushions, embroidered throws and handmade jewellery peppered the tables.
HAVING A WALES OF A TIME
In the first of our ‘A Final Thought...’ column series, Stephanie Cook challenges how much we really know about the animal parks and sanctuaries we visit. Unfortunately, she discovers more than one might want to find. As an animal lover, riding on the head of an elephant ranks as one of the most exhilarating moments of my life. Yet, while I was almost too preoccupied by the awe of such close contact with these magnificent creatures, I was also made inadvertently aware of the conditions in which they were kept. My own personal discomfort began to grow as we walked around the park. Watching from such a great height I was able to see, perhaps more than I was meant to, the concealed conditions in which the elephants were kept. After discovering an outside pen where the floors were mostly covered with chains, I realised that a place considered to be an ‘animal sanctuary’ might in fact be a prison. In this instance, I had uncovered more than I had intended. Naturally, angered by the heinous thought of a chained animal, I immediately interrogated the keeper about the purpose of the chains. Suddenly, despite our earlier conversation, a language barrier emerged.
Anwen Jones reveals the undiscovered delights of North Wales Mention the North to most people in Bristol and you’ll be rewarded with either a look of unabashed disgust, a small but evident shake of the head or, at best, a look of astonishment that you have ventured that far up the country and come back without black coal smears or a meat pie in your hand. Equally, mention Wales to most people in Bristol and a quiet and urgent utterance may be made about the rumoured horrors of Swansea at night or, equally painfully, you’ll be made to listen to a tirade of angered rugby babble directed towards Leigh Halfpenny’s boot. So it’s needless to say that if you mention the North and Wales together in the same sentence, you’ll most likely be left standing alone talking awkwardly into an empty room. Anwen Jones
A FINAL THOUGHT ON...
And yet, as a half Welsh Northerner (some say I’ve been unlucky in life) I can proudly declare that despite the mocking, the low expectations and the undeniably bad weather, North Wales is beautiful…well, some parts of it. If you’ve ever been forced to climb Snowdon for the anti-climatic Duke of Edinburgh award or been dragged, kicking and screaming, for a camping trip on the Isle of Anglesey then you, unknowingly, have visited one of the most beautiful undiscovered spots in the United Kingdom. It is called the Llyn Peninsula. An Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty and
stretching for 30 miles into the Irish Sea, the peninsula is a string of unhampered coves, bays and coastal walks, full of effortless Welsh charm. Innumerable sandy beaches and pebbled shores rest along the southern side of the headline, giving it the name of the Welsh Riviera - exotic or what? I tell no word of a lie that, on those rare hot summer days, the landscape and views rival any in Europe. The cliffs and hills on the northern side of the peninsula are truly magnificent too and, on a clear day, it’s possible to see the edge of Ireland from the Nefyn Golf Course walk, as well as the occasional dolphin in the water below. Note: I once spotted Michael Owen here too. Although he added greatly to the attraction of the area, I can’t promise he’ll be around to compliment the view on all occasions. All in all, I solemnly promise that the North of Wales is not just a place full of illegible road signs marked ‘ARAF’ and ‘YSGOL’. The sights, the people and the delicious Welsh food truly make this an undeniably special place. I will even go so far as to say that it’s worth taking the trip north of Birmingham that so many Southerners seem to dread. It’s honestly that good!
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This summer the news that a 19-year-old student was mauled by a tiger at a popular tourist attraction in Thailand brought the issue of responsible animal tourism back into the spotlight. The Tiger Temple markets itself as a sanctuary where
Buddhist monks rear orphaned tigers. If we are to believe this, the temple sounds ideal.
Although this might have been how the site started many reports have since revealed a far uglier reality, where beautiful tigers are tethered while paying tourists pose for photos. It would seem that the novelty of posing with an exotic animal is almost too much for us to refuse. We are, after all, only human. It is also common, and I have seen it for myself, for tourists to pose for pictures holding various species of reptiles who have had their mouths taped shut. Try not to be too impressed by some people’s daring. We should be looking to boycott these ‘impressive’ trophy documents, not celebrating the grotesque defilement of these animals. However, this isn’t the only high profile establishment to be exposed by the media. The film Blackfish explores the link between the death of a SeaWorld trainer, killed by the whale they trained, and the unnatural conditions that we force these wild animals to endure. Is it their environment that has forced these intelligent animals to become more aggressive? We must ask ourselves how far, as tourists, we are to blame. By visiting these places we endorse the use of animals as a tourist attraction without necessarily acknowledging the price we pay. Although we might get it wrong and believe our experiences with the animals we encounter are genuine, the circumstances we force them to be kept in for our entertainment are false. When travelling, we are obliged to respect the local people in the countries we visit. We should also be obliged to respect the wildlife.
Editor: Maddy Streets style@ epigram.org.uk
‘LFW is all about the waiting’ An unsurprisingly pose-y affair, then, and one which left plenty of time to light countless unnecessary cigarettes, due in no small part to the fact that LFW is all about the waiting; waiting outside the venues, waiting inside the venues, and then waiting again for coffee. To complain about such a thing seems churlish though, especially when the espresso is free and the shows are so enthralling. Turkishborn Bora Aksu kicked off proceedings with what a fashion critic would describe as a contemporary vision of floating femininity. His collection combined Alice in Wonderland style dresses, complete with slightly puffed shoulders and lace trims, with unexpected layering and constructions. I felt he hit the middle ground between avant-garde and wearable rather nicely and, being the first designer I saw, Aksu also opened my eyes to the immense theatricality of the catwalk show. So far, so glossy-Anna-Wintour-fun. However,
whilst I had been treated to a whole host of peculiarly clad attendees at Somerset House, I hadn’t quite yet felt the full force of LFW’s supposed ‘eccentricity’ and ‘individuality’ compared to, say, Paris or Milan. This all changed with a late night visit to a show taking place under a railway bridge in East London. Thudding base and a dripping roof bought me back fondly to Bristol’s myriad House nights, as, indeed, did the gurning B-lister sitting opposite me. If there was one show where something stronger than the complimentary, luke-warm Polish lager being handed out may not have been totally inappropriate, it was probably this one. Venue and soundtrack aside, the clothes themselves were disturbing subversions of conventional beauty, with a dash of punk thrown in for good measure. An unusually vocal and supportive audience cheered and shouted their approval as the models navigated their way down a soaking runway in crooked, hyper-ugly shoes, and torn, fishnet tights. Next time I’m nestled between two delightfully dissident crossdressers, though, I may leave the tie and loafers at home.
Rick Owens’ designs step up - literally aspect of Owens’ catwalk show though was not the dancing, but the girls who were doing it. Predominantly African-American with athletic, muscular physiques, they were the antithesis of the usual size 4 Caucasian specimens found modelling high fashion up and down the other catwalks in Paris. So too were the
On Thursday 26th September the fashion elite sat and waited to view the latest in ‘grunge-couture’ - a term coined in the past to describe Owens’ signature style of unfussy, predominantly black, asymmetric and often leather clothes – on the usual suspects of runway models. Instead they were treated to a performance from a combination of four American step teams decked in Owens’ creations. Stepping is a kind of dancing that involves using your body as an instrument - think stomping, clapping, slapping of chests and generally dancing to a heavy, self-made percussive beat. The most provocative
expressions worn upon the faces of step team girls – aggressive, occasionally angry but overwhelmingly displaying a sense of strength - a stark contrast to the stock expression of the catwalk model – nonchalant, stern, verging
upon boredom. The event has been met with a resounding thumbs up from the fashion press for its refreshing take on a catwalk show and has even got the general press talking once again about the diversity of women represented in the fashion industry, both in terms of physique but also ethnicity. The question of ethnicity has recently been under scrutiny thanks to Kanye West’s recent comments about racism in Fashion during a Radio 1 interview with Zane Lowe and Naomi Campbell, signing a letter to several fashion councils accusing them of bias against casting black and Asian models. Whatever Owens’ intentions, whether he wanted to make a statement about the nature of diversity in his industry or whether he just wanted to have a bit of creative fun, he’s certainly achieved what every designer really desires- people talking about his clothes. www.ixdaily.com
If I mutter the words ‘Paris Fashion Week’, what springs in to mind? Haute couture - Dior and Chanel? 6ft3 models with razorsharp cheekbones? Or maybe even the Devil wears Prada? Well, whatever the normal connotations, Rick Owens Spring/Summer 2014 show set out to challenge all of them.
quite another matter.
If I were a liar, I would tell you that the few days I spent going to shows at London Fashion Week came about because I’m a wildly influential young blogger, who was sent a tote full of tickets by generous PR girls. Luckily, I’m not quite as pretentious as all that, so I can assure you that I found myself at Somerset House because of a friend endowed with the gift of the gab, and an uncanny knack for making a student paper sound as impressive as Vogue…at least to generous PR girls, that is. The ‘Diary of LFW’ article is something of a well-worn trope in fashion journalism, so I shan’t break my time down in a minuteto-minute, espresso-to-espresso way. However, I won’t hesitate to tell you, despite my preference for menswear, that I was appropriately excited come the first day. After deciding that my current A$AP Rocky/Raf Simons-on-the-cheap style may be trumped by those with the real deal, I kept things tailored and relatively formal for the most part. It turns out I wore the right costume for attracting street style photographers – always enjoyable for the vain and attention hungry – though whether any of these were actually published is
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Climate change: Whether or not the scientific nitty-gritty interests you, changing temperatures are having noticable effects on our planet. Epigram looks at some of the solutions that scientists have suggested. We also look at money-saving tips (vital for any student) and those all important careers...
Wind power: great revolution or big wind-up? by Alex Duncan Much is made each year of the energy generation in this country and beyond, with the debate set to intensify as the deadline of 2020 for 45% available renewable generation closes in. The government has thrown its lot in with wind for now, paying over the odds in subsidies and incentives seemingly just because the turbines can be built in time. Advocates of geothermal, solar, tidal and hydroelectric believe this is the wrong choice; some traditionalists don’t even see why we need to move away from fossil fuels and nuclear. But who, if anyone, is right? Here is a quick examination of the issues surrounding the hero/villain of the hour (delete as appropriate) – wind. Wind turbines are great, right? Not so easy on the eyes to some people but we’ll always have wind, so we can just take its energy and hopefully eliminate a few of those chilly breezes off the coast of Scotland as we go. Unfortunately the world’s air flows aren’t so simple, else that
pesky weather would be far more predictable. Speaking of hulking machines, these turbines really are huge. After such a large amount of metal is forged into shape, flown out a few miles into the sea, and fully assembled, just how much energy (probably from fossil fuels) has been used already just to get it there? And how long before it breaks even in both energy and financial terms based just on that? Secondly, what do we all know about wind? It dies down. Without warning. This is an absolute nightmare for the people working hard each day and night in the National Grid control room trying to match national supply and demand as accurately as possible; if one differs too much from the other, the network strains, so excess supply is not an option. Therefore, for every wind turbine that turns off abruptly, we need another source we can turn on almost immediately. There is only one type of power station that even comes close, and that is gas, which can go from inactive to full power production
in just 18 seconds. The caveat of all this is that for every kilowatt of wind generation we’ll ever have on the national network, a kilowatt of gas generation is required merely to maintain stability. The final issue that wind turbines face is of a more technical nature, and probably the only one that might be eliminated by the current crop of engineers. The unfortunate truth is that, when the turbines should be at maximum generation, when the winds are high, their generating capability has to be turned off as there is too high a risk of breakage. A generating circuit by definition introduces opposing forces in the centre of the turbine, and these cause too much of an instability in high speed winds for the turbines to reliably hold against the resulting stresses. Evidently it is far from a perfect solution. That’s not to say that everything else doesn’t have several issues. Fossil fuels are running out and releasing CO2. Geothermal is difficult to harness. Solar is too expensive and slow for the space it takes up. Hydroelectric
is more useful for energy storage than generation. Tidal requires an enormous amount of infrastructure. Nuclear is incredibly efficient and clean, until Chernobyl or Fukushima occurs again. What we need to work out is how much of each we can get before the cons outweigh the pros. It will be a delicate balance: all we can hope for is that the engineers get it right, the financiers don’t get too greedy and the lights stay on.
Pioneering climate change research at Bristol by Thomas Wilkes Geoengineering is a broad term, encompassing a variety of schemes whereby humans manipulate the earth’s climate system to counteract climate change. . For the first time in its history, the 2013 IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change ) assessment report contemplates the application of geoengineering. To prevent temperatures from rising more than 2oC above pre-industrial levels, some climate simulations suggest that geoengineering is necessary. But how developed is this fledgling science, and do scientists literally have their hand on the thermostat? Or would we, in meddling with the climate, be biting off more than we can chew? Geoengineering techniques range from plain and simple to
controversial and agonisingly complex. Attempts to drawdown carbon dioxide (CO2) from the atmosphere form one of the main fields of research. As a 4th year Earth Sciences MSci student at Bristol, I decided to involve myself in the second branch of geoengineering – solar radiation management (SRM) – with Dr Matt Watson. Despite its rather mundane branding, SRM is an exciting field which aims to counteract greenhouse gas effects by reducing incoming solar radiation, therefore lowering the temperature of the earth. In theory, SRM could allow the total- or part-control of global temperatures; hence, it is an extremely controversial field of study. I am involved in a division of SRM which focusses on the spraying of sulphate particles into the stratosphere to mimic the effects of volcanic eruptions.
Such eruptions can inject 10’s of teragrams (one teragram is one million tonnes) of sulphur dioxide into the stratosphere; after conversion to sulphuric acid aerosols, these particles scatter incoming solar radiation, causing mean global cooling. The desired cooling effects of stratospheric sulphate injection are not without their caveats; nothing in the earth system is ever that lucid. Through climate modelling, all branches of SRM have been shown to have adverse effects on important regional systems, including the hydrological cycle, ocean circulation, and regional temperatures; heterogeneities in the effects of SRM are of great concern. Things aren’t as simple as they first seemed? Modelling indicates that whilst some regions of the earth would benefit from sulphate injection, due to increased rainfall and primary productivity, others
would experience intensified drought and suffer from its effects. Therefore, although global mean temperatures could be reduced, who has the authority to decide which parts of the world would thrive and those that would diminish? A recent BBC News report on geoengineering appropriately noted that changing another country’s weather is classed as a war crime under the Geneva Convention of 1976. As scientists, it is not our job to consider the ethical and political implications of schemes as internationally significant as SRM could be. Our responsibility is to scrutinise every aspect of our research with diligence; in political matters our roles are just as informers. But what a cosy role that is – with a population of over 7 billion, I am truly thankful it won’t be my hand on the thermostat.
Editor: Maddy Streets style@ epigram.org.uk
or nothing. In the most recent New York Fashion Week there were shocking statistics, with 8.1% of models being Asian, 8.08% of models being black and a shockingly low percentage of 3.19% Latina models, compared to the 79.98% white models. Interestingly, this barren period is a relatively recent one in the history of modeling for coloured models, compared to the comparatively fruitful period of the 70’s-90’s. During this period, the amount of coloured models increased significantly with models like Tyra Banks emerging in the industry. But in recent years, the numbers of ethic minorities on the runway has significantly decreased for ambiguous reasons. Many would argue that designers and casting directors are not being ‘racist’ in this decision; that instead they are purely casting for the brief of best showcasing their product. Perhaps the reason that designers seem more reluctant to use non-white models is due to the fact that usually their look is more striking and noticeable. This could possibly be why non-white models seem to be in extremes of super successful and almost not used, as casting directors don’t want them to take over their products when they aren’t succesful but when they are, having their name attached is lucrative. All in all, just as fashion has seasons, so do models, and perhaps a resurgence in diversity on the catwalk is just around the corner, closer than we may think.
Undiscovered: Friska and Floyd’s I am guilty, as I’m sure most of you are too, of only ever shopping in the same places. The big brand names- the Topshops and the HMVs –are all places I’ve tried and tested. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good trip to Cabot Circus, but in a city as diverse and exciting as Bristol, there are plenty of shops that are going that extra mile and doing something special.
Friska Queens Road 70 Queens Road, Clifton, Bristol, BS8 1QU
In the 21st century, many of us would hope that ethnicity does not effect the aesthetic of beauty, but unfortunately co-founder of premier model management, Carole White, said that, “sadly we are in the business where you stock your shelves with what sells.” “According to the magazines, black models don’t sell,” the agency argues, “white models can have more diversity”. Many successful models are now deciding to take a stand, with famous faces like Naomi Campbell speaking out against it. David Bowie’s supermodel wife Iman said, “It feels to me like the times need a real hard line drawn like in the 1960s, by saying if you don’t use black models, then we boycott”. As tensions rise in the modeling world, many casting directors, designers and customers have started taking notice of the lack of ethnic diversity in print and on the runway. In one recent edition of Vogue, out of 400 pages of editorial and advertising, only 14 photographs were with black or Asian women – two of them featuring Naomi Campbell. These shocking figures show how little diversity there is in the fashion industry. One of the biggest problems in ethnic diversity in modelling is how the same models are booking a huge amount of catwalks, which highlights a lack of openings for new models of colour. A couple of the top models of colour worked a phenomenal amount of shows in the most recent New York Fashion Week, with Latina model Isabella Melo walking 17 shows, Tian Yi walking 15 and Yumi Lambert walking 13. One must question whether designers are relying on a small pool of diverse women and whether models of colour breaking into the industry are facing the extremes of all
Is racism rampant on the runway?
Start with the obvious and take Friska, that quirky store on the Triangle you probably walk past every day. At a glance, Friska may appear to be just another coffee shop trying to compete with the Costa a few doors down, but in reality it’s got so much more going on – just upstairs is a record store/ bookshop/ vintage shop. Friska has a huge variety of books ranging from contemporary literature, to photography books, to historical texts, to celebrity autobiographies, making it the perfect place to browse whatever your personal interests. For the size of the section given over to the books, it really is astonishing how many they have
so don’t be disillusioned at first look. Furthermore, there’s almost always a 2 for £10 deal on for the bargain hunters out there. For those of you who’ve had your fair share of reading thanks to the demanding lists on Blackboard, the vintage and re-mastered clothing section is good quality and well-fitting, as well as being plentiful, both men and women’s. However be warned – pricewise, the clothing is more high street than charity shop. For those that love owning physical copies of music, the music section is pretty impressive in their range of genres and is very reasonably priced. What’s more, they even have a decent stock of vinyl for the hipsters among us.
A little bit more out of the way but also worth going to is Floyd’s Barber Shop. Located on Gloucester road, this is ostensibly a unisex hairdressers (the clue is in the name) but is actually far more exciting than that simple description suggests, as it prides itself on showcasing up and coming Bristol talent. Floyd’s devotes part of its shop to host a street art gallery and is always on the look-out for new and exciting pieces, asking customers to recommend any they come across. As if that wasn’t enough, they also sponsor music from new unsigned artists, giving them some more exposure by playing it and having
it available within the shop. Floyd’s realises how culturally rich the Bristol scene is and, though it has nothing to do with cutting hair, aims to promote it as much as possible so why not go along and support their cause, while getting that haircut you’ve been putting off until you go home? Of course, these two stores are only a couple of examples of the fantastic, individual ‘undiscovered’ locations in our city- and they’re only the tip of the ecelectic iceberg! So next time you’re contemplating a trip to Cabot, keep these names in mind.
390 Gloucester Road Horfield Bristol BS7 8TR