#Bristol - Bristol's Fast-Food Fixation: How "Green" Policies Sideline Real Health Needs.
While utopian schemes dominate, deprived areas drown in a tide of cheap, unhealthy takeaways – a bitter taste of inequality.
(Lawrence Weston)
The next full moon in the UK will occur on June 11, 2025, at 8:44 am. This full moon is also known as the "Strawberry Moon." Satirically speaking, this is when to expect the Bristol Greens to be out in full force, howling away on all fours in Eastville Park, Brandon Hill, and, in L Pondweed's case, Windmill Hill. Yes, a "Strawberry Moon." Well, almost in the words of the Beatles, I couldn't have said it better.
“No one I think is in my tree
I mean, it must be high or low
That is, you can't, you know, tune in, but it's alright
That is, I think it's not too bad
Let me take you down
'Cause I'm going to strawberry fields
Nothing is real
And nothing to get hung about
Strawberry fields forever.”
All it needs is an early morning tea blend consisting of mushrooms, and those Greens will be all set for the summer.
Imagine, if you will, under the glow of the impending Strawberry Moon, our Bristol Green councillors, not howling on all fours in Eastville Park (though one might suspect they'd prefer it), but rather, hunched over maps and spreadsheets, their eyes gleaming with the fervour of urban planning.
"No one I think, is in my tree," they murmur, ignoring the rising chorus of resident complaints about the latest LTN scheme. "I mean, it must be high or low," they muse, debating the precise placement of yet another bollard, "That is, you can't, you know, tune in, but it's alright. That is, I think it's not too bad." After all, what are a few gridlocked streets compared to the grand vision of a car-free utopia?
"Let me take you down," they proclaim, not to a field of strawberries, but to a meticulously planned network of traffic restrictions. "Cause I'm going to strawberry fields… of low traffic neighbourhoods!" Where "nothing is real" – except, perhaps, the rising frustration of commuters – and "nothing to get hung about" – unless you're trying to deliver groceries to a cul-de-sac. "Strawberry fields forever," a mantra of urban planning bliss, echoing through the council chambers, drowning out the cries for accessible, affordable food in, say, Lawrence Weston?
Because, you see, while the Strawberry Moon illuminates the path to fantastical traffic schemes and potential park entry fees, the mundane realities of healthy eating in areas of social deprivation seem to fade into the lunar shadows. The council, after all, is busy cultivating its own peculiar brand of "strawberry fields," where the concerns of ordinary residents are but a faint, distant hum, lost in the cosmic symphony of urban transformation.
Meanwhile, back here on planet Earth, and, to be more specific, Bristol, where the rest of us live in a parallel universe to them, the Bristol Post reports, 'Takeaway plans will turn Bristol high street into 'fast-food wasteland.' Yes, no organic kale smoothies or soyaburgers for the residents of Lawrence Weston. Plans for yet another takeaway will turn a north Bristol high street into a “fast-food wasteland”, neighbours fear.
Ah, the plot thickens in the simmering saga of Lawrence Weston's culinary destiny! As the prospect of another takeaway looms, the voices of dissent grow ever more… flavourful.
One particularly insightful resident, perhaps envisioning a world where literary nourishment replaces greasy sustenance, declared with admirable simplicity: “It would make more sense to have a shop as a library.” A truly radical concept – swapping the aroma of frying oil for the gentle scent of ageing paper and the hushed whispers of literary contemplation. One can almost imagine the erudite debates sparking amongst the bookshelves, a stark contrast to the shouting matches over the last portion of chips.
Another local, displaying a keen understanding of the brutal realities of free-market competition in the saturated world of fast food, pointed out the rather obvious: “There are already five fast-food places on Ridingleaze with each vying for the limited custom available and making enough to cover rents and business rates. Of these five there is a fish and chip shop that has served the area for many years – the area does not need another.” This veteran of the local takeaway scene clearly understands the delicate dance of supply and demand, lamenting the impending arrival of a sixth contender in this greasy gladiatorial arena. Their dire prediction? “If the application is approved, Ridingleaze is in danger of becoming a fast-food wasteland.” One can almost hear the ghostly echoes of shuttered kebab shops and deserted pizza parlours.
Echoing this sentiment, another resident succinctly stated: “The street is oversaturated, and introducing another food business here will not create new demand, but divide it further.” A mathematical truth as undeniable as the calories in a large doner kebab.
The chorus of "not another one!" continues with a neighbourly plea for something, anything, of actual utility: “We don't need yet another food outlet. Put something useful there instead [like a] butcher or hardware, even a decent bakery that we had many moons ago.” Ah, the nostalgic yearning for a time when the high street offered more than just instant gratification in a cardboard box. The tantalising aroma of freshly baked bread, the reassuring heft of a well-sharpened knife – such quaint notions in our modern, fast-paced world.
Yet another objector, perhaps a parent weary of navigating a landscape dominated by sugar and saturated fats, offered a poignant suggestion: “We don't need another takeaway, we need an actual library, better stuff for babies and toddlers.” A plea for the nourishment of both mind and tiny humans – a refreshing counterpoint to the relentless march of fried food.
A resident, seemingly armed with a thesaurus and a deep concern for urban planning, elaborated on the detrimental effects: “Introducing another [takeaway] would contribute to an oversaturation of similar businesses, reducing variety and negatively affecting the character and balance of our local high street.” The very soul of Ridingleaze, it seems, hangs in the balance.
Adding a layer of moral panic, the proximity to impressionable youngsters was also raised: “The proposed location is in close proximity to a public park and several schools. This raises serious concerns about encouraging unhealthy eating habits among children and young people.” One can almost envision a steady stream of schoolchildren, lured by the siren call of cheap chips, abandoning their fruit and vegetables in favour of a deep-fried destiny.
Even a fellow purveyor of takeaway fare, the owner of a neighbouring establishment, weighed in with a surprisingly altruistic objection: “The proposed development offers no new benefit to the area, which is already well-served in terms of takeaway options. Rather, it threatens to destabilise the local economy and disrupt the delicate balance we have managed to maintain. The increased competition could lead to business closures, resulting in vacant units, urban decay, and loss of community services.” A stark warning from within the greasy trenches – even they recognise that there’s a limit to how many battered sausages one high street can sustain.
So, the battle lines are drawn, the stakes are high (and possibly deep-fried), and the residents of Lawrence Weston continue their impassioned plea for a future that extends beyond the greasy embrace of endless takeaways. Will common sense and civic pride prevail, or will Ridingleaze succumb to its destiny as a carbohydrate-laden wasteland? The city council's planning department, no doubt armed with antacids and a stiff drink, will ultimately decide.
But, will they? Bristol's Green-led council, those paragons of progressive policy, those champions of sustainable living, those… well, those who seem to have a penchant for headline-grabbing, yet often bewildering, schemes. One might be forgiven for wondering if their collective vision is more focused on crafting utopian press releases than addressing the rather more pressing realities of their constituents' daily lives.
While grand pronouncements about carbon neutrality and car-free city centres fill the air, the more mundane, yet crucial, issue of dietary inequality continues to fester in the city's less affluent neighbourhoods. One might suggest that a more pragmatic approach would involve diverting some of that boundless Green energy towards initiatives that actually impact the well-being of those residents who are, statistically, more likely to be consuming a diet of questionable nutritional value. Imagine, if you will, a council that prioritises accessible fresh produce markets, community cooking workshops, or even, dare we dream, stringent planning regulations that limit the proliferation of deep-fryers. A council that understands that a healthy population is not merely a byproduct of reducing emissions, but a fundamental pillar of a thriving community.
The importance of addressing the proliferation of unhealthy fast-food outlets in deprived areas extends far beyond mere dietary considerations. The link between poor nutrition and a range of health issues, from obesity and diabetes to cardiovascular disease and mental health problems, is well-established. A population burdened by preventable illnesses places a significant strain on already stretched healthcare resources, exacerbates existing inequalities, and ultimately diminishes the overall well-being of the city. A council truly committed to social justice and environmental sustainability would recognise that fostering healthy communities is not a luxury, but a fundamental responsibility. It's about recognising that true "green" policy is one that looks after the people, not just the planet. A population that has access to healthy food is a happier, more productive, and more resilient population. Perhaps, one day, Bristol's Green council will realise that the most impactful “initiative” is often found in the simple, yet profound, act of ensuring that everyone has the opportunity to eat well.