I thank the driver for the free ride and get off the bus.
That’s Bristol dialect.
I remember hearing someone say that in Bristol.
Bristol’s got a lot of weird dialect.
Alright my babs.
That means gorgeous or delicious.
The bus stops at the bus station.
I reckon half of the 50 people sleeping on the seats are travelling and half homeless.
I follow the signs.
To get to the airport you gotta take a lift down, then walk through the tunnels.
If you want you can take the moving sidewalk.
(I don’t know when I started using Americanisms. Probably from teaching English for ten years with American books. Or from binge watching American TV series like Dexter or The Sopranos. I don’t know if you noticed but sometimes I spell color without a u.)
I always remember the scene from The Sopranos when all the old boy mafia bosses are sitting around chatting about how disgusting it is to go down on their wives, and mocking each other if they do it. I’m like…what? Are you serious? That’s my favorite hobbie. That’s the one place on earth I feel at home, where I never want to leave, where I love to be.
I’m on the moving sidewalk now.
I remember the time when Razor, she made me wait 3 months, just to make me hungry – that’s how cunning she can be – and then lies down and tells me come and fuken get it.
I goes down and suddenly she screams, gets up and runs to the bathroom.
Have you been eating fuken chilli?