M32, A Sentimental Journey

Sarwat Siddiqui

A personal account of moving to Bristol from North West London and finding places in the city that feel familiar.

Further Info

This story was made on a five-day training workshop for staff from the City Museum and Industrial Museum, who aim to become digital storytelling workshop facilitators, led by Dani Landau, Liz Milner and Alison Farrar.

The course took place during Aug 2005 at the City Museum and Art Gallery and was supported by Bristol’s Museums, Galleries & Archives.

Transcript

M32, A sentimental journey. London, the old familiar, has been in my blood since my earliest memories. So, as I was driving down the M32 towards Bristol at the end of my holiday, you can imagine how suprised I was to suddenly feel an overwhelming sense of coming home, of the old familiar: That’s the exit for Easton - not quite the same as Ealing Road, but there’s an Ambala there that I go to when I really need to taste some proper Indian food. And there’s the sign for St Pauls - not quite the same as St Pauls Cathedral, my favourite building, but a reassuring symbol of this city’s diverse population. And there’s St Agnes church on the right, where I’ve met some really interesting characters.

And now there’s the sign for Clifton and the bus station - I don’t suppose they’ve managed to finish rebuilding it while I was away? Nope!

And now past the BRI - haven’t had to go there yet, thank God, but it’s good to know it’s there, even though I have heard lots of stories about the dodgy doctors.

Through two sets of lights now, in the right hand lane and turn right. Brace yourself? A slow crawl in second gear up to the top of St Michael’s Hill. Wow! What a view you can get up there, even though it’s played havoc on my gears and brake pads. Straight through the roundabout [sound of tyres screeching] (why do people in Bristol find these so difficult?) and into Hampton Road, past lots of gorgeous Victorian villas with riots of flowers. I used to live in that road, near the garage, but now I’ve moved further up, and here I am, in Redland Village. There’s the bakery and the garage and up that hill there’s the most gorgeous little village green, and a twee little church, and up there is my flat.

I used to look forward to seeing all the old familiar places in London - my old home - but now all these places are equally familiar in Bristol. It’s good to be home.

Credits

All media not otherwise credited created by the story author, or permission obtained, used under copyright licence.