Earlier this week, someone described this blog as being ‘full of anger’.
Whilst, in this case, it seemed to be a positive remark, I don’t want people reading to get the impression that I’m in some sort of perpetual state of rage. So, allow me to present a post marginally different to the sort of thing I usually write:
Anyone who has ever observed me standing on one leg, my other leg resting on a window sill behind me, phone in one hand, morning coffee in the other, will know that I’ve got some sort of interest in figure skating. (That or they’ll just think I have an odd way of standing.)
Having never lived less than about an hour from an ice rink, I looked forward to having a rink nearby when I moved to Bristol. Sadly, the Bristol rink closed barely a month after I moved. Upon arrival I had but time for a few brief skates before the rink closed for good – after many years, it was to be turned into student accommodation.
Fast forward a year and a bit to earlier this week. I find myself in a multi-story car park, a few levels up, and look out over the city to see this:
Those who have been there in the past will recognise the remains of the ice rink on Frogmore Street, Bristol. This sight was one which I found somewhat saddening – thought my visits to this particular rink were infrequent, I spent many an hour in this building, waiting to skate for a few minutes then travel home. It plays venue in a number of memories, and I know I’m not only one who’ll miss having a rink in Bristol.
Yes the ceiling was mouldy, yes the ice was brittle, but, farewell Bristol Ice Rink, you’ll be missed.
I guess this post was sort of about anger…