#Bristol Green Council. Going Downhill Faster Than A Pushbike With No Brakes In Vale Street, Totterdown.
(Apologies for the totally illiterate AI-created image spelling errors. It’s still learning!)
You may or may not be aware that Vale Street in Totterdown is officially recognised as the steepest residential street in England, with an average incline of 22 degrees. Now, imagine cycling down it on an icy day with no brakes, and yes, this is Bristol’s elected Greens heading towards the next local election. Clueless, witless, with little care and with no road sense. You know, like your average E-scooter rider nowadays.
So, on the subject of Bristol’s roads, I was hugely pleased to see such a huge response (for me, anyway) to yesterday’s post, when I referred to our independent traders, and for which I’m indebted to everyone. Thank you all.
Even more pleasing was reading the response of Bristol Live readers, who encapsulated so well the point I was trying to make concerning small traders, such as the long-established ‘Marcruss’ shop in Hotwells, and how road configuration will kill their business.
The venerable emporium of military surplus and outdoor accoutrements, and a fixture of Bristol's retail landscape for generations, is set to permanently shutter its doors this summer. The proprietors have explicitly cited the recently implemented Clean Air Zone as the decisive factor in their decision to cease operations. Online forums and local news comment sections have been rife with debate regarding the ramifications of this development.
For decades, Marcruss, nestled along Hotwell Road in the Hotwells district, served as a haven for those seeking robust outdoor gear, festival necessities, and distinctive apparel. The Pinson family, who have stewarded the establishment for over sixty years, inherited a legacy of providing quality army surplus and camping provisions. At its zenith, the Pinson enterprise boasted nine outlets spanning the West Country, a network that contracted to the single Bristol location during the economic turbulence of the late 20th century. Marcus Pinson had previously voiced grave concerns regarding the Clean Air Zone, which imposes a £9 fee on approximately 20% of Bristol's vehicular traffic.
As Mr. Pinson articulated in a statement from May 2022, "I think it could essentially kill us off because it starts from Ashton and unless people are allowed to come into this area, nobody's going to shop in here."
The digital discourse surrounding this closure has been animated. Commenter Sponderpunts offered, "The CAZ has put us off shopping in town. We'll pop up this weekend but it's the first time we've driven up since they introduced the charge. We used to go to the centre 3 or 4 times a month. Shame it's gone this way but I guess the cleaner air must be worth it.”
Crimmo echoed this sentiment, stating, “I don't visit Bristol at all now, CAZ and parking costs, not to mention car-unfriendly traffic schemes have killed a once great city!”
Countering these views, Blackbeard83 posited, “You could always buy a different car? There are loads that are compliant. Mine is 15 years old.”
Broken Arrow expressed a sense of loss, noting, “I've shopped here over the years, and it's a brilliant shop. Unfortunately, the ‘do as I say’, non-driving group must be dancing a jig in the empty streets and outside the empty shops, not to mention the Bristol Liveable Neighbourhood nuts. BCC are determined to destroy this once great city.”
Keefo28 shared nostalgic recollections, “Very sad to hear, I remember my dad taking me to get combat trousers there as a kid. In my adult years I would go and get my work boots and camping gear, shame on BCC, determined to wreck our town at any cost.”
Robofbristol attributed the closure to municipal fiscal policies, “One of the many unintended consequences of BCCs greed. The CAZ is nothing more than a revenue-generating scam disguised as an environmental measure. I am sorry to see such a well-loved resource and unique Bristol retail establishment disappear.”
Sherlock47 questioned Bristol's urban planning, “Northern cities have bustling city centres that are full of life and commerce. Where did we go wrong?”
Busy Nan lamented the decline of local businesses, “What a shame. Yet another great shop closing. Wake up Bristol politicians and see what you are doing to our once lovely city!”
Mrgreedy recalled past patronage, “Well done Bristol. Another business gone. Who is going to pay the rates to keep the councillors in business? I bought loads there in the 1980s.”
Ezergood offered a practical alternative, “Unconvincing, there are plenty of second-hand CAZ-compliant cars with valid MOT available for sale on the usual car ad sites for less than the cost of a decent bicycle.”
HanhamHeights provided a sceptical analysis, “Nothing says sound analysis like lumping together unrelated urban planning initiatives to mourn a store that literally admits its customer base has been dwindling for decades. Because obviously, preserving business models from the 1960s is more important than addressing air quality in a city with documented pollution problems. Perhaps it's worth considering that businesses evolve or fade based on changing consumer habits, not just transportation policies. But sure, let's blame the drivers instead of acknowledging that army surplus stores might not be the economic cornerstone they once were in the age of online retail.”
Well, HanhamHeights, remember the hoo-ha regarding the dreaded ‘ozone layer’ hanging over Bristol? Well, maybe you don’t, but here’s how that played out. Ah, those halcyon days of the earlier 20th century, when humanity, gripped by a collective dread, fretted about a gaseous shield high above our heads. It was so dramatic. Giant holes! Skin cancer! The end of all life as we knew it!
People rallied, of course. Banning those naughty CFCs, those devilish aerosols that dared to puncture our protective bubble.
Scientists, normally relegated to dusty labs, were suddenly rock stars, their pronouncements echoing through news bulletins and school assemblies. "The sky is falling!" they cried, and we, the enlightened masses, trembled.
But then, something strange happened. The ozone layer, like a teenager told to clean their room, actually... sort of... fixed itself. Or at least, it stopped being quite so dramatic. The holes, while still technically there, became less of a headline grabber. "Ozone Hole Shrinks (Slightly)" just didn't have the same apocalyptic ring.
And so, the ozone layer, that once-feared celestial colander, slipped quietly into the graveyard of forgotten eco-panics. It joined the Y2K bug, killer bees, and the great polar bear extinction of 2012 (which, admittedly, was more of a "relocation to slightly less icy areas" situation).
Why did it fade? Well, frankly, it lacked the staying power of other green anxieties. Climate change, for example, has the advantage of being both vaguely defined and perpetually impending. You can’t see the temperature rising, you just feel it, especially when a particularly hot summer day occurs. Plus, there’s always a new "extreme weather event" to point to.
The ozone layer, on the other hand, was too specific. Too measurable. And, crucially, too easily... remedied. We fixed it! Or, at least, we did our bit, and nature did the rest. Where's the drama in that? Where's the existential angst?
Now, don't get me wrong. It was a good thing we did something. But in the grand theatre of environmental alarmism, a quiet success story is a box office flop. It simply doesn't sell tickets to the next eco-conference.
So, farewell, ozone layer. You served your purpose. You gave us a good scare, a brief moment of collective purpose, and then, like a polite guest, you quietly excused yourself. Ah, yes, the halcyon days of the ozone layer crisis. Remember when we were all going to spontaneously combust from a rogue can of hairspray? Good times. Now, we've moved onto a far more sophisticated form of existential dread: the electric vehicle revolution!
Behold, the gleaming, silent chariots of the future! Or, as I like to call them, "glorified golf carts with a crippling anxiety about range."
"But they're eco-friendly!" you cry, clutching your organic, fair-trade reusable tote bag. "They'll save the planet!"
Indeed! Just ignore the vast, strip-mined landscapes required for those oh-so-sustainable battery minerals. And the charming coal-fired power plants that diligently replenish your "green" energy. And the inevitable mountains of toxic, unrecyclable batteries that will soon adorn our landfills, like metallic, environmentally conscious tumours.
Vehicle manufacturing, marketing wizards, however, bless their souls, have spun a tale of guilt-free motoring. Forget the roaring V8s of yesteryear, fuelled by the tears of dinosaurs. Embrace the whisper-quiet hum of an electric motor, powered by… well, let’s not delve too deeply into that.
Imagine: you're cruising down the motorway, a smug grin plastered across your face, secure in the knowledge that you're saving the polar bears, one overpriced kilowatt-hour at a time. Suddenly, your dashboard flashes a dire warning: "Range: 10 miles."
No problem! Just pull into one of those conveniently located charging stations… oh, wait, they're all occupied by other eco-warriors experiencing the same existential dread. And the nearest one is 50 miles away, uphill.
"But the charging infrastructure is improving!" they assure you, with a nervous laugh. Just like the ozone layer repair was improving, right before we all collectively forgot about it.
Fear not, dear consumer! For just as the internal combustion engine was once the pinnacle of innovation, only to be deemed a dirty, polluting relic, so too will our beloved EVs meet their inevitable demise. In a few short years, a new generation of "hyper-eco" vehicles will emerge, powered by… well, who knows? Perhaps our collective guilt? Or the harvested tears of venture capitalists?
And we, the ever-gullible consumers, will eagerly trade in our obsolete EVs for the latest, greatest, most environmentally virtuous mode of transport. Because, after all, what's a few thousand pounds, or the planet, when you can have the warm, fuzzy feeling of being on the cutting edge of… whatever the manufacturer’s marketing department tells you is the cutting edge?
Meanwhile, amidst the dread imposed on society while waiting for the next ozone layer to appear that will be inadvertently towed back to Earth by a SpaceX intergalactic taxi, and motorists are having to mortgage their houses to buy the next model of eco-vehicle, Bristol will be as dead as the proverbial dodo. Killed off by adult-nappy-wearing Greens who, even in a decade will still be wearing their political L-plates as the city begins to experience what it feels like to finally be the small town with big city ambitions, that never happened.
Independent traders as we have now, such as Hamblins, Mrs Potts and Marcruss will become a relic of a bygone age. As things stand, extortionate business rates are killing independent traders off, one by one. Our once vibrant high streets, those bustling hubs of local commerce, are now resembling ghost towns, thanks to the well-intentioned, yet catastrophically executed, "Green Agenda." Yes, those charming pedestrian zones and labyrinthine road diversions, designed to save the planet, are instead systematically dismantling the very fabric of our independent retail sector.
"Think of the children!" they cried, as they erected those aesthetically questionable bollards, effectively barricading our beloved shops from the lifeblood of passing traffic. "Cleaner air!" they proclaimed, while simultaneously condemning our local butchers and bakers to a slow, agonising demise.
Of course, the local council, in their infinite wisdom, assures us that these measures are "essential for a sustainable future." They've even installed a few strategically placed benches, where the ghosts of bankrupt shopkeepers can rest their weary souls.
Meanwhile, the multinational coffee chains, conveniently located on the newly widened pavements, are thriving. Because apparently, the only sustainable business model is one that sells overpriced lattes to cyclists.
So, the next time you find yourself wandering through a deserted high street, remember the noble sacrifice of our independent retailers. They didn't die for nothing. They died for a slightly less polluted, and significantly less convenient, future.
The result? Our high streets, once vibrant with the cacophony of commerce, now echo with the lonely whistle of the wind. Mrs. Higgins's haberdashery is now a pop-up artisan sourdough bakery, selling overpriced loaves. Mr. Patel's corner shop? Replaced by a boutique selling “ethically sourced” beeswax candles, naturally.
"But the air is cleaner!" they proclaim, as they sip their oat milk lattes in the shadow of a charging station. And indeed, the air is cleaner, for those who can afford to breathe it. The rest of us? We're left to admire the silent, gleaming parade of soon-to-be defunct, electric vehicles, wondering where we'll buy our next pint of milk or button.
The ozone layer? A mere blip, a passing fad. The real legacy? A city where the independent spirit has been replaced by the hum of electric engines and the aroma of overpriced bread, all in the name of saving the planet, one closed shop at a time. And as for the gullible population? They're already lining up for the next eco-fad, convinced that this time, it's really the end of the world if they don't buy the newest model.
Let’s not forget, once again, what the brainwashed public is buying into.
"Embrace the silent revolution!" That's the rallying cry of every EV advertisement, showcasing sleek, futuristic vehicles gliding effortlessly through sun-drenched landscapes. But let's peel back the glossy veneer, shall we?
Range Anxiety: The New Existential Crisis:
Forget worrying about the meaning of life; now, you can fret about whether you'll make it to the next charging station. "Just a quick top-up," they say. That's assuming the charger isn't broken, occupied, or requiring a firmware update.
Charging Infrastructure: A Patchwork Quilt:
Imagine a world where gas stations were randomly scattered, often broken, and took hours to fill your tank. Welcome to the current state of EV charging. Road trips now involve meticulous planning, not for scenic routes, but for functional charging points.
Battery Blues:
"Long-lasting battery!" the ads proclaim. What they omit is that "long-lasting" is relative. Cold weather? Say goodbye to a significant chunk of your range. Battery degradation? It's a feature, not a bug. And when that battery finally kicks the bucket, prepare for a replacement cost that rivals a small car.
The "Eco-Friendly" Paradox:
While EVs reduce tailpipe emissions, the environmental impact of battery production and disposal is a story often left untold. Plus, where that electrical power is generated from is also a large factor. So depending on where you are, your super-clean EV, may be powered by coal.
The Silent Treatment:
Yes, EVs are quiet. So quiet, in fact, that pedestrians and cyclists often fail to hear them approaching. This has led to the rise of artificial "vehicle sounds," ranging from futuristic hums to, I kid you not, the sound of a V8 engine. Because why not?
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and fret about the microplastics in my organic kale smoothie. After all, the apocalypse waits for no one.
