Within an hour of touching down in this here city, I discovered, to my horror, that the English call diluting juice “squash.” Pray tell, squash what? A fly? A foe? As it happened, this was the least of my problems. Bristol is a linguistic wormhole. For the first time in my life I encountered people from places like Surrey (God forbid) who said things like “peng”. Forget Oxford commas, Bristol has its very own student language. So, here’s the only lingo you need to survive Clifton, conquer Southville, and drink cider like a *insert West Country accent proper local. I feel I should preface, so as not to offend true Bristolians, that this guide to lingo is from a studen perspective and is therefore not wholly representative of the actual community.
Brizzle/Brizzy/Bris
First and foremost, I don’t think I’ve heard anyone call this here city by it’s government given name in many years. Instead Brizzle, Brizzy, and Bris are used as cute little pet names to address the city that we love so much.
Rah
The origins of this highly versatile word appear to trace back to Surrey and select zones of West London, before being imported into Bristol by the original settlers of Stoke Bishop (who, folklore suggests, arrived in urban cargos and a josie top). Now widespread across the city, “rah” finds its natural habitat in the North Village, the UoB psychology building, and Coombe Dingle on a Wednesday, where its cry can be heard echoing across the playing fields. The beauty of rah lies in its adaptability. It may convey:
- Shock: “You’ve run out of chicken wine, rah?”
- Disdain: “This house party doesn’t even have a DJ, rahhh.”
- Pure joy: “They’ve put Lurpak on nectar price, rahhhhhhhh.”
Freshers are advised to attempt integration by sprinkling it liberally into casual conversation, ideally while adjusting a schoffel or loudly lamenting the price of ski passes.
Cheers Drive!
The sacred incantation shouted at bus drivers. This isn’t optional. Forget it once, and you’ll feel the icy glare of every Bristolian onboard. Forget it twice, and you’ll be exiled to Wales. The horror.
DnB
Drum and bass. Bristol’s unofficial religion. You may arrive at uni as an innocent Taylor Swift loyalist, but by second term you’ll be in Motion in aviator sunglasses and balloon pants at 3 am. A canon event I fear.
The ASS
Ah, the Arts and Social Sciences Library, undoubtedly the greatest of all UoB libraries (in my humble opinion). Appropriately abbreviated to “The ASS”. Appropriate because the ASS flooded with sewage, yes actual human waste, in my second year. Sigh, the good old days.
Gert lush
Roughly translated as amazing, fabulous, lovely, 10/10. That first cheese and curry chip after a night out? Mmmm, that is Gert lushhhhh. It is only acceptable when one adopts a heavily put on Somerset accent. Sorry Surrey girlies, the aforementioned “rah” accent will not work on this one.
Turbo Island
A legendary slab of concrete in Stokes Croft. It truly does defy description, existing somewhere between a local landmark and a truly frightening fever dream. If you know, you know. If you don’t, go. Preferably in daylight. Needs to be seen to be believed.
Sainos
Sainsburys. Obviously.
Scrumpy and Glider
If you’re going to integrate yourself as a proper Bristol local, you’ll need to get accustomed to the occasional pint of cider. It doesn’t matter if you hate it, just lie back and think of England. Should you dare decline, expect to be immediately besieged by an angry mob of pitchfork-wielding West Country farmers, all demanding you down some apply goodness. Both of these frankly delightful little words refer to cider. Scrumpy is the rough, traditional sort, while a simple glider (pint) of cider will do if you want to walk home without assistance.
Jason Donervan
No not the Australian pop star, but the famous late-night kebab van that seems to appear from nowhere, like a mirage, as you drag yourself back to the U1 having suffered through a sweaty night at BP (Brass Pig). It is the mecca of the drunken Triangle pilgrimage. The men who own this van are genuinely Bristol royalty, so show due reverence.
Clifton tax
When you pay eight pounds for a pint just because the pub is in the yummy-mummy stronghold which is Clifton Village. Consider it cultural immersion.
WG
Used to refer to the W.G Grace, or rather, the only relevant Spoons in Bristol. Sorry Berkeley you do do a fabulous pre-La Rocca tequila shot but ultimately you smell of pee. Will re-think previous statement if V-Shed ever gets that rooftop bar.
Sussy B
The Suspension Bridge. To be honest I think this one is just me but I’m really hoping it’ll catch on.
K-hole
Officially a “ketamine-induced dissociative state”. Welcome to Bristol everyone!
