You climbed the greasy pole.

You opened all the doors.

But corridors of power got slippy floors.”


Steve Dixie 1968 “Live in the trench” album.


CHAPTER 53 FILTON


The small three bedroom terraced house where Alex Holder once lived, crowded in with his Grandparents, his Sister and Mother and sometimes his Father had been divided into two even smaller apartments. The downstairs flat extended back into the small yard. The upstairs extended into the roof space and used the flat roof of the downstairs extension as a place to put flower pots and a clothes line.

It was in this up stairs flat that Bill Darbyshire said “By God you looks good with a tan.”

His wife smiled with delight. “You ain’t so bad yourself you know.”

“Huh!” Bill didn’t expect to look good. “Well. Back to bloody work then. That’s the thing about holidays. They gets over too quick.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” They exchanged kisses and Bill went down stairs to the tiny hall where another door led to the lower flat.

Then he was trying to remember where he’d parked the car last. It wasn’t in this street of course, there was never room to park a car here. He found it two streets away, started up, and listened to the traffic warning.

“are experiencing difficulty with flood water in low lying areas. And this morning’s high tide is still affecting Bristol Centre with traffic still able to drive slowly along Saint Augustins Parade and into Baldwin Street to Bristol Bridge. Redcliffe Bridge and Princes street Bridge remain closed at the Queens Square end. The upper level flyovers at Cumberland basin are still passable between Hot Wells and Ashton Gate, but the Portway is completely blocked and all traffic for Avonmouth is advised to seek alternate routes via the M5. All motorists are advised to stay away from The Queens Square and Cannons Marsh and City Docks in general till the tide drops in another two hours. The shops of Broadmead are having to cope with.…”

That meant he could still drive along Coronation Road, round the park, and across the flyovers, rivers and lock gates at the end of Avon Gorge. The radio was right about the water. He’d never seen it this high in the Cut. Cumberland road along the opposite bank was completely under. You could probably go from there into the Great Britain dock by boat. But once the Severn Barrage was finished it would put an end to all high tides for ever. If it ever was finished. They’d talked about it for centuries, since Victorian times. And twitchers were still complaining that the Bristol Channel becoming a bio-fuel algae farm would stop birds breeding or something.

This was probably one of the most beautiful city-scapes in the world. It compared with the Corcovado at Ipanema, or Manhattan, or Edinburgh Rock, or the Acropolis. Bill was just used to it. He paid more attention to the orbital sunshade, a deeper blue beyond the clouds, than to the Georgian terraces crowning the hill, or Clifton Suspension Bridge crossing the deep limestone gorge to the sea. This was just the bloody commute to work and the bloody diversion he did to pick up Anna, the bloody…..

Lord but the water was high. It was still coming up the gorge from the sea and pouring over the lock gates into Cumberland basin. They really must do something about it.

Bill drove into Hotwells, up Clifton Vale to Cornwallis Crescent, past Royal York Crescent to Sion Hill and into Caledonia Place.

Parking here was even worse than Bedminster. These were all four or five floored Georgian Houses like the ones in Bath, with a flat on each floor, and at least one car per household, usually two or three in an expensive area like this. They used to have mews lanes full of stables, but they were all converted into housing, and there was the Grand Spa Hotel on the lip of the gorge, and they had dances that attracted more cars in the evenings.

He really ought to go to work by bus. But it took so long and if he had to go anywhere on business, well…..Maybe if he got more organised.

He could see Anna Mazzotti easily, waving across the roofs of parked cars. She was standing on a stone mounting block, thoughtfully provided by the 18th century developers so residents could get onto a horse easier. Shame they hadn’t put in multi story car parks as well.

“Good morning,” he smiled as she got in.

“Ugh,” she said in a


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