From Flamingos to Flag-Waving: A Chronicle of Chaos.

Because sometimes, the most logical response is to climb a clock tower or ignore the glaring disparities in your own backyard.

“I don’t know where to begin," that timeless cry of the overwhelmed, the procrastinating, and the deeply, profoundly lost. A phrase as comforting as a verbal shrug that somehow manages to convey both utter helplessness and a vague, performative sense of intellectual rigour. Naturally, the most logical response, as any seasoned chaos navigator will tell you, is to immediately propose starting at the end, because, you know, linear time is of past tense, and something mainly for those who haven't yet discovered the profound joy of reverse-engineering a nervous breakdown.

So, to break all tradition, I’ll start somewhere in the middle and just work my way around the daily babble as best I can, while trying to avoid you having to visit a therapist, for, you know, ‘therapy.’ Or, indulge yourself in exotic smoking substances for deeper enlightenment. Because, you know me. I never know what I’m talking about.

Anyway, now that the plastic flamingoes have finally flown away to possibly recycle their breed in the peace and quiet of the Somerset Levels until they’re next summoned to College Green, or, better still, the Northern Slopes of South Bristol with a commanding view of the Clifton Suspension Bridge on a fogless day, my attention turns to Bristol yet again. You know, where the eco-warriors in the Green Party, those paragons of progressive thought, are busy proving that good intentions pave the road to… well, more of the same, really. Again, it seems their verdant ideals wilt a little under the harsh glare of reality, especially when it comes to the stark, un-green disparities across our fair city.

Let's dissect this, shall we? We have the usual suspects, Hartcliffe and Withywood, Avonmouth and Lawrence Weston, and Filwood, all drowning in a sea of NEETs (Not in Education, Employment, or Training). Shocking, isn't it? One might almost suspect that years of well-meaning, yet utterly ineffective, policies have contributed to this delightful mess. But, who am I to assert such a thing?

Now, bless her heart, my dear old friend Kerry Bailes, a beacon of common sense amidst this sea of municipal madness, is actually saying something that resonates. "We want to encourage young people to go to university, but it’s really difficult when even things like finding work experience placements are really difficult.” Well, Kerry, welcome to the party. Turns out, aspirations don’t magically translate into opportunities. Who knew?

And then there's Cllr Susan Kollar, bless her, decrying the vocational pigeonholing of our youth. Apparently, schools are still stuck in the 1950s, suggesting girls become hairdressers and boys mechanics. Shocking! As if the real problem isn't the lack of genuine, well-funded pathways to any meaningful career, regardless of gender. But hey, at least her daughter made it to university after skipping her GCSEs. A true testament to… well, something. Maybe it’s a testament to the fact that the system is so broken that even going around it can work.

Then we have the University of Bristol’s grand gesture: a micro-campus in Hartcliffe. Short courses, youth training, and space for new businesses. How wonderfully philanthropic! One almost forgets that these same institutions contribute to the very debt that shackles so many graduates. But hey, at least they’re trying, right? Even if their 2018 research on the lack of A-level opportunities and poor bus services feels a tad… belated.

Cllr Shona Jemphrey, she of the pioneering litter picking and purveyor of opinions on that Bristol radio station you've definitely never tuned into (much like the Green Party's wider appeal, frankly), bless her little cotton socks, is wringing her hands again. This time, it's the shocking lack of trained folk for retrofitting our homes. "We need to retrofit all our houses, but we do not have enough trained people to do the retrofitting that’s required," she declares. Yes, Shona, well that's Bristol’s NEETs sorted then, isn't it? Good luck with that one.

Kerry, meanwhile, hits the nail on the head: "All that hard work and aspiration, and they’re in the same position as if they didn’t go to university.” It's a tragedy, isn't it? A tragedy that the Green-tinged utopia they promised is just another shade of the same old mess, with a few extra bike lanes and a lot more hot air, because, quite frankly, Park Street is currently centre of their universe. Oh, and unicorns.

So, here's to Bristol, a city where good intentions are as plentiful as the potholes, and where the only thing greener than the councillors are the faces of the young people they’ve left behind.

Meanwhile, in other non-Bristol related news. Yes, there is such a thing!

Ah, London. Where else can one witness a performance art piece so exquisitely executed that it involves a lone figure, a clock tower, and a profound misunderstanding of both gravity and public transport, and potentially a rather extreme exhibition of potential that was designed to reach the producers and talent scouts of the ‘Big Brother’ series for a one off titled ‘Big Ben’? Or, better still, audition for a role in a modern retelling of "The Hunchback of Notre Dame," only this time, the cathedral was Big Ben, and the hunch was less a physical deformity, more a profound lack of common sense. Meanwhile, while the rest of us just carried on, debating the merits of sourdough versus ciabatta.

Anyway, our intrepid mountaineer, clad in the latest "stealth ninja meets festival attendee" ensemble (all black, naturally), decided that 7:24 a.m. on a Saturday was the perfect time to commence his "protest." What exactly he was protesting still remains a mystery, perhaps the price of a pint, or the sheer audacity of pigeons. Whatever his grievance, he chose to express it by scaling the Elizabeth Tower, barefoot, and waving Palestinian flags like a particularly enthusiastic street magician making pigeons disappear by their hundreds, because no white doves were available.

Negotiators, bless their patient souls, were forced to engage in a 16-hour dialogue with this architectural critic, who, we can only assume, was delivering a scathing review of the stonework. "If you come near me, I'll go higher!" he reportedly threatened, presumably unaware that the tower doesn't actually extend into the stratosphere. One can only imagine the internal monologue of the emergency services: "Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's just some pillock who forgot to take their medication."

The resulting chaos was, of course, a masterclass in urban gridlock. Traffic ground to a halt, tours were cancelled, and presumably, a thousand tourists missed their afternoon tea reservations, all thanks to one man’s desire to become a human weather vane.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, our protagonist descended, presumably after realising that his phone battery was about to die and he couldn't live-stream any longer. He was promptly arrested, and one can only hope that his next performance involves a less precarious stage and a more coherent script.

The police, in their infinite wisdom, assured us they had "deployed specialist officers" to minimise risk. One imagines these "specialists" included a very patient therapist, SAS-trained officers and a large net, just in case our tower enthusiast decided to attempt a dramatic leap of faith.

So, next time you're feeling a bit down, remember: you could be the person who decided to climb Big Ben, barefoot, and wave flags. And then, you'll feel much better about your life choices. Trust me. On the bright side, though, at least it wasn’t a Green flag waving Bristol Green Party member, promoting the benefits of a Park Street reconfiguration for this summer’s incoming tourists.