#Bristol. Is Our Green Council Living in a Macramé-Hanging, Patchouli-Scented Dream?
Where Compost Bins Reign Supreme: The Seventies Dream Lives On.
Bristol: a city where, rumour has it, flamingos are secretly unicorns, and where council budgets resemble performance art more than financial plans. Fresh from Bristol’s flamingo-unicorn installation – a project, one might speculate, serving as a down payment for a future solid gold rainbow bridge, destined to span somewhere between Temple Meads and the Harbourside – our Green-led council unveiled their budget.
Now, when someone is described as "green," it's worth remembering that the term often implies a lack of experience or knowledge, suggesting they are new or immature; essentially, "green" signifies someone not yet well-versed or skilled in a given situation. This council, then, with the strategic brilliance of a squirrel hoarding nuts for a nuclear winter, presented a cool £1.7 billion budget. Where’s it all going? Well, if the Bristol Post comments are to be believed, primarily into the pockets of highly trained graffiti removal ninjas and fly-tipping camera operators, who, one might also suspect, are themselves secretly, luminously green unicorns masquerading as council employees.
Cllr Tony Dyer, channeling his inner Churchill (but with a slightly more pronounced Birkenstock tan), promises to “future-proof services.” One imagines this involves installing tiny, solar-powered umbrellas on all the city’s drains, ensuring they’re forever clog-free. The Lib Dems, meanwhile, are pushing a tourist tax, likely to be levied in the form of compulsory poetry readings at hotel check-ins. Labour, bless their cotton socks, managed to cap the Meals on Wheels hike, proving that even in the face of fiscal apocalypse, we shall not starve our pensioners (at least, not excessively).
The real entertainment, of course, is in the comments section. “More money, less services!” cries 6470, a sentiment echoed by Holdencaulfield, who believes council tax is just a "local social care poll tax," which, frankly, is a brilliant band name. Blackbeard83 blames Brexit and aging populations, while Evening laments "vanity projects," like Park Street, which is apparently being paved with solid gold unicorns (or, you know, something equally extravagant). Junius1, meanwhile, predicts a fiscal Armageddon next year, when the deferred "unpalatable" decisions will emerge like rancid cheese from a long-forgotten picnic basket. And Stnick, bless his pragmatic heart, is just worried about his bins.
And then, there’s CharlesBridge, who, in a move that would make even the most hardened bureaucrat weep, demands central government administration. Because what Bristol really needs is more paperwork and less flamingos. Or is it unicorns? It’s hard to tell anymore.
Essentially, the council is promising a journey up 'Shit's Creek' with absolutely no visible paddle vendors in sight. Or perhaps, hidden deep within the budget's labyrinthine fine print, there's a cryptic call for tenders from potential paddle suppliers, offering a glimmer of hope for future franchisees to offer their services on a not for profit basis. Oh wait! Doesn’t Bristol already have a plethora of these, otherwise known as charities?
Well, at least Bristol isn’t the first council to turn a putrid shade of green when Brighton beat us to it, and look how ‘that’ turned out. Brighton, that bastion of eco-chic governance, where the council's "green" initiatives bloomed like radioactive algae flourishing in a neglected pond. They approached sustainability with the delicate touch of a rhino in a china shop, proving that "progressive" is just Latin for "spectacularly ill-advised."
One could almost picture them, gathered in a yurt powered by ethically sourced hamster wheels, brainstorming schemes so groundbreaking they’d make a caffeinated squirrel question its life choices. Their commitment to environmentalism was truly awe-inspiring, mainly in its ability to generate more bureaucratic sludge than a thousand compost heaps left to fester in the summer sun. The locals, bless their bewildered souls, simply gazed on, wondering if they'd accidentally wandered into a performance art about the perils of well-intentioned incompetence somewhere on the Glastonbury Festival site.
Does anyone else feel like our local 'green' councils are channeling their inner Woodstock? I swear, sometimes I picture them gathered in a yurt, passing around a ceremonial hemp tote bag filled with organic kale chips, while debating the merits of replacing roundabouts with communal herb gardens.
It's like they've collectively time-traveled from a 1970s festival, where the air was thick with… well, you know… alternative aromas, and Neil Young was prophesying a world powered by sunflowers and good vibes. I mean, I wasn't there, but that's the ‘vibe’ I'm getting, baby!
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for saving the planet. But sometimes, when I see another bike lane appearing where a perfectly good parking space used to be, or question the validity of flamingos appearing like an omen, on College Green, I can't help but wonder: do we have a council, or are we all just curating a particularly elaborate Instagram feed for the city’s inner peace and harmony?
Is it just me, or does it feel like we’re all heading into a metaphoric 'la-la' land, where traffic jams are solved by chanting and where insects are delivered weekly to chomp through our recycling bins so it’s all mulched down, ready for collection at the end of the month? Perhaps they're onto something, but I'm starting to think I need to invest in a tie-dye shirt and a reusable kombucha flask just to understand the council meeting minutes.
Anyone else feeling the cosmic, hemp-infused energy? Or am I just overdue for a good, old-fashioned cup of builder's tea and a non-organic custard cream?"
