Losing its direction

For six months or so I've been volunteering at a homeless shelter in Bristol. The £1.6million Compass Centre is pretty much brand new, opened last May with a flourish from the local council. But now it's closing. Despite the fact that more than 20 and up to 30 people sleep there every night.Officially, there are only two rough sleepers in Bristol, but I, and all the other volunteers, know that this simply isn't true. Any council member who bothered to visit and talk to the people it helps, the staff or the volunteers would have to agree. This isn't going to be an irate post - the takeover of the centre is a done deal - but why close a well-run, busy night shelter? Why close a shelter that people feel safe in, and instead consign them to the streets or a scramble for beds in the city's only other shelter? Is money that important?

Clifton Rocks Railway

A secret railway? Hidden in the rock? Abandoned since WWII? Intriguing. So when I heard the Clifton Rocks Railway, billed as the only underground cliff railway in the world, was open for one of only two days this year I decided it was worth a look. Sadly the Banksy effect seemed to have taken hold, and the queue snaked round the corner and down the road. Time to head to front of the queue and peer over the railings instead. Would queuing be worth it? Hard to tell. To one side, a man is talking to a crowd, reeling off slightly too many Rocks Railway facts. To the other, erm, not a lot. The start of a railway? A brick wall? A friend asks one of the enthusiastic volunteers what else there is to see. Yes, the talk. Yes, the start of the railway. Anything else? A display board. We head to a patch of grass to lounge in the sun. Sometimes it's best if secrets stay that way.

Top tips

Eat lots of sweets before you start writing. All that sugar will fill your head of crazy ideas.
Wise words for aspiring young writers in The Times today. Maybe I'll take up this approach...

Bristol versus Lyon

Is British food really that much worse than French food? Two years on from my French sejour, I've returned to a question that I was often asked in Lyon. Well, actually, it was most often less of a question and more of a snigger; I'd be required to defend the food of our little island - our pies, jars of Marmite, bowls of jelly - to sophisticated Frenchies with palates more accustomed to fine foie gras than fish fingers. Oh, and insist that no, we Brits don't eat cooked breakfast every day, or stop to have tea and cake every afternoon. Just the other day I was asked what the food specialities were in Lyon, so I thought I'd write a gastronomic head-to-head for Lyon and Bristol. And seeing as I'm British, the conclusion should have been foregone. It all started well. Lyon's andouillete - a tripe sausage - is a local favourite. But, come on, who actually wants to eat pig's intestines? Which means that the intestine-free sausages served up by the brilliant St Nicholas Market suasage man win hands down.

Bring on the rest of the main courses. In Lyon, a wise diner would choose one of the more generically French dishes but someone hoping to sample everything Lyonnaise might succumb to the lure of the pike quenelle, another much-hyped speciality. Don't be fooled. Creamed fish bound together with egg yolk, boiled, and smothered in cream sauce? I'd take a Bristol Pieminster pie any day.

On to pudding. Ah, here I thought, Lyon would take a leap ahead. Chocolate fondant is hard to beat, although its richness might defeat you. But then I discovered the best chocolate brownies ever in the Lansdown pub which threw this conclusion into doubt. And THEN I discovered large drifts of unpicked blackberries in Ashton Court and on the Avon Gorge riverside path. Stand aside Lyon. Just as paper always beats stone, blackberry and apple always beats chocolate.

With Bristol clearly in the lead, it was time for a moment of reflection. Could little ole Bristol beat the so-called capital of gastronomy? It was then I realised it couldn't. OK, so some of Lyon's signature dishes might not be to my taste, but if you avoid those you'll feast like a king for not much at all. Fondue, foie gras, salade lyonnaise, pain perdu. Cheese, croissants, baguette and coffee. (It's not exactly a healthy diet!) Take your pick. And, best of all, lunch breaks really are breaks, not huddles behind computer screens with sandwiches, and people not only eat, they talk. Ho-hum. Perhaps it's time to move back to France?

A piano with a view

They're here! 16 pianos are now on the streets of Bristol...

The Year of the Flood

If the words 'book signing' say endless queues, a brief, bland encounter with a writer and a hastily scribbled signature to you, here's an event to prove otherwise. Margaret Atwood's current tour for her latest book The Year of the Flood is oh-so-much-more than your bog-standard book signing. The required reading becomes a performance, narrated by the author, starring local actors and musicians and with a specially commissioned score. An interview follows, as do appearances by local green groups - turns out Atwood is pretty keen on her environmental friendliness - and that's before the 70-year-old Canadian even picks up a pen. Phew. Watch this space for more - Atwood's coming to Bristol this Wednesday. Or for a real writer's take on it, Atwood's blog is here.