Rave New World: Bristol's Green Party Discover Flood Defence Is Just A DJ Set Away.
Bristol's Green Party turn the climate 'crisis' into a day party.
[The Green Party leader takes his own advice, joining the boogie rather than confronting it.]
So we’ve had the heat wave here in Bristol. Now we’ve had the cool spell.
Next up? Another heat wave, obviously. And then the floods — same as always, same climate crisis playing out on the same six-month loop. Because, you know. Everything’s a crisis nowadays. Isn’t it? And you watch, the ark-building kits on Amazon will sell out again. They always do. Though. Don’t quote me. This is The Almighty Gob, and this is where we do the maths nobody else in Bristol bothers with. Don’t we?
The Forecast, Such As It Is.
However, here’s the silver lining, and stay with me on this one: boating holidays are about to have a moment. Forget Andy Burnham’s two-quid bus fare — people will be paddling into Taunton on the Somerset Levels instead, once flood defence has quietly given up and gone home.
There’ll be no shortage of boats, mind. Because, well, we’ve got plenty landing illegally on the Kent and Sussex coasts already, haven’t we? Just repurpose those.
The Vintage, Years Away.
Meanwhile — and I want you to sit with this one — wine connoisseurs in a few years will be swirling a Bordeaux round the palate, saying “ooh, this one’s fruity, but there’s definitely notes of forest fire, with a finish of climate change.”
And the estate agents? Already ahead of you. “Taunton — waterside living,” the listing’ll say. They’ll just quietly drop the word “unintentionally.” As one does, you know, to understate.
Enter the Rave.
Now, notice what’s happening as all this unfolds — Taunton, genuinely underwater, the Somerset Levels doing what the Somerset Levels do. What do you reckon everyone else is doing about it? Go on, guess.
Dancing. That’s it. That’s the plan.
Spare a thought for Green Space, then — the Green Party’s fundraising and events arm — because they’ve found a way to solve the climate crisis that doesn’t involve sandbags, years ahead of schedule, no less. Mind you, everything’s a crisis these days, isn’t it. Depends which one’s got the best DJ.
They’ve been out proving that Bristol politics doesn’t have to be “dry, dusty and dull.” How did they go about proving it? A day party in St Jude’s. Drum and bass, communal art, and a chap called Niall who went to university here once and has decided ever since that Bristol “epitomises” whatever it is he’s selling this week.
No one ever really knows what they’re selling, though. Never has. So. That’ll be another Niall in the coffin of Green politics, then.
What’s actually being epitomised, do you think? Sit with that for a second. I’d offer it’s the gap between a £37,000 door-take and the billions actual flood defence will cost to stop the West Country turning into Venice with worse bus routes. Somewhere in a future Taunton, there’s a woman up to her knees in her own kitchen who’ll be thrilled to hear it.
The Boogie, Deconstructed.
The line-up, by the way, promises “softer, more groovy things” alongside talks from environmental activists — which is a gentle way of saying tomorrow’s flood defence is being crowdfunded via jungle set today. Nothing says systemic change quite like a communal art table and a decent bassline, does it?
And Zack Polanski — Green Party leader, admired, apparently, for confronting hard truths — turns up at an event whose strapline is “they’ve got the billionaires, we’ve got the boogie.” Say that one out loud. Go on.
Notice how little weight it actually carries — the rhetorical force of a wet paper straw, which, given the forecast, feels about right. Somebody workshopped that line. Somebody got paid — possibly in exposure — to workshop that line.
They reckon all this builds “a community of love and joy” that turns, eventually, into “healthier politics” for Bristol and beyond.
It won’t. It never does.
What it turns into, if we’re honest with the evidence, is a mailing list, a hangover, and a press release. The Somerset Levels will settle for a working pump, mind you, but you use the community you can afford — and right now the going rate is a day ticket and a decent DJ.
Still — and I’ll give the Green Party this, credit where it’s due — they’ve correctly identified that the wealthy have bought the political system outright. Full marks for diagnosis.
And their response? Not confrontation. A bar tab, well in advance of the flood. Genuinely, it might be the most honest thing said in British politics all year: we know exactly what’s wrong, and we’ve already decided to dance instead.
The Bog Roll of Honour.
And if the House of Commons can have a bar — why not a rave too, eh? I reckon the Green Party’s version will be the House of Commotions. Make sure you italicise the “motions” — that’s the strapline of Bog, the promoters best known for livestreaming DJ sets from a bathroom, which does at least explain why they were the right men for the job here.
Streamers replaced by bog rolls flying through the air. Please, not the recycled ones. Nobody knows where those have been.
Maybe we should just paper over that one — as they do so often, for those who follow politics.
There’s a merch line in this somewhere, surely. Limited-edition wellies. A “Ministry of Finance” (Ministry of Sound being so retro now) branded life jacket, for when the pound actually does go under. Public water, present or future? Call Bog — he knows all about that stuff by name alone, and apparently he knows how to mix things too. Dress code: hazmat suits.
Green Space has had its critics, mind — people who reckon all this is a bit too frivolous for serious politics. Sour grapes, I’d say. Though given what’s happening to the actual grapes this week, it’s maybe not the complaint I’d lead with if I were them.
Still — at least the raves remain full-bodied.
Doing the Actual Maths.
Do the maths, though. Go on, humour me. £37,000 raised across London and Leeds combined. The Green Party’s entire first-quarter fundraising this year: £250,000. Reform’s, same quarter: £9 million. Funny, that — you’d think with that kind of war chest, Reform’s lot could stretch to a rave of their own. Rave to the grave, and all that. Though perhaps not, given the average age in this hypothetical room.
At the St Jude’s rate — and this is very much back-of-a-beer-mat(hs), not theirs — that’s roughly 243 raves needed to match Reform in a single quarter, which, funnily enough, is about how many boats it’ll take to get Taunton to the shops once the Somerset Levels are properly underwater. Some crises really can be solved with better logistics.
At the St Jude’s rate, though — and this is very much back-of-a-beer-mat(hs), not theirs — that’s roughly 243 raves needed to match Reform in a single quarter, which, funnily enough, is about how many boats it’ll take to get Taunton to the shops once the Somerset Levels are properly underwater. Some crises really can be solved with better logistics.
So when the ark kits finally sell out, when every boat off Kent and Sussex has been requisitioned, and the wine’s got its notes of forest fire and finish of climate change — the Green Party will still be dancing. That was always the plan, remember. And credit to them: at least they’re honest about it.
Sources: Ursula Billington, ‘There is a community of love and joy building in politics’, Bristol24/7, 22 July 2026 — the fundraising figures, Green Space and Green Party quotes, and event details referenced throughout are drawn from this original reporting. Wildfire and Bordeaux smoke-taint reporting: The Drinks Business, 27 July 2026.
Image: Green Space day party, Sawmills, St Jude’s — Bristol24/7, photo credit Christopher Werrett / Colm McCarthy.
© 2026 John Langley aka www.thealmightygob.com. All rights (some lefts) reserved/deserved. Whatever. You know what I mean. Dont ya.