I thought I’d do a bit of anticipatory R&D for my residency today. I decided to take photographs in Cabot Circus, Bristol’s newly developed city center retail Mecca.

On Arrival I removed my diminutive digital camera from its case and scanned its impassive eye over the sparkling vista. An imposing three tiered labyrinth of meticulously measured design. Every element a considered statement. Every piece of sleek polished glass a porthole to latent aspiration. Every brushed chrome spotlight illuminating a foetal fresh desire. Every sculpted corporate curve a temptress seducing you with promises you both know she couldn’t keep. Every billboard an accusatory celebration of the human condition, and every person a guilty memorial to the conditioned human.

Before my camera had time to blink it was blinded by a looming physical obelisk. The only hint that he was a security guard was a barely visible FBI style ear piece with a coiled wire leading to what I can only assume was a matrix type socket somewhere along his cervical cortex. His look was discreet yet austere; he wore a long black coat and a furrowed brow, if you can imagine what the Gestapo might look like if they’d been dressed by House of Frazer, you’re in the right ball park.

In succinct language he stealthily yet firmly informed me that taking photographs was forbidden. I watched him walk away; he took about twenty purposeful paces before spinning on his axes and fixing me in his unflinching gaze. There he stood, righteous and proud, like a granite sentinel. Authoritative bolts of rectitude emanating from every fiber of his TAILORED BLAZER OF TRUTH. He’d done his Job, and damn it, he’d done it well.

I tucked my camera away, sat on a marble slab next to a colossal metal reindeer that appeared to have fairy lights for testicals, and under the ubiquitous watch of CCTV, scribbled these lines.

I did later manage to steal the following image from an upper level coffee shop terrace. We’re all in Starbucks, but some of us are looking out the window.

Mushy peace xx