The sidekick at work had been dropping hints and anecdotes about this sort of stuff for months now. So, with ever increasing interest some research into ROC posts revealed one not far away.
A quick reconnoitre during lunchtime and it was found but we had a teleconference, or some other such nonsense, to get back to work for and going down there ‘business casual’ wasn’t really on. There are enough clues in this account and around the site to find out which one, and where it is, and surely that’s half the fun of the chase.
It’s been well reported on before so maybe here’s some finer detail on a few odds ‘n’ ends found a few days later.
These shafts really are a tad deeper than I’d expected.
There’s a surprising amount of stuff lying around. The map was missing from the wall on the right, and much wailing ensued over that.
I don’t know where my common sense was when I though these were petrol cans, but I guess that drinking water had to be held in something. Good to see the label that showed someone had refreshed it every two or three years as well.
So many depressing documents and forms to fill in, lying around the place. Most of them dealing with how much ‘dose’ the occupants had been subjected to or referencing blast information and fallout. This would always have been a real fun job.
Especially since there’s another one of those steam locomotive pictures lurking beneath the Ground Zero Indicator paper. There’re more of them on the wall and the floor. Imagine reading that paper and trying to fill out the latest bomb blast info and updating your dose records, only to be reminded that you’re stuck in this Hobbit hole for the rest of your life with rusty tea and a train spotter. I do admire some bloke’s insistence on trying to make the place a little more homely but he was probably trying to recreate the interior visage of some memory distorted caravanning holiday when he was a young lad, and to be an engine driver was the pinnacle of WW2 manhood next to being a Spitfire pilot, of course.
Ah, and as for these NBC boots. What the blazes did they expect these things to do? Half your face might be dripping off but at least your loafers won’t have your own flesh plopping all over them. It took some fathoming just to unfold the things and find where your foot needed to go. Even then, I doubt the brambles outside would have much trouble ripping these into something resembling seaweed.
An’ another thing, how small does a mini cooker really need to be? You might cook a tiny tin o’ beans on this but you’ve had you aint warming any pizza. If I translate that Spanish correctly, this is a ‘mini little oven’ and your average toreador aint cookin’ no paella either. Maybe it’s this size so that you can’t make anything hot enough to melt any holes in the NBC boots.
This odd upside down socket made us think there was an external power supply for this post. There was said to be a brick structure nearby but the overgrowth made it tricky to get to.
I rampaged through the brambles like a midget armadillo whilst buddy boy waltzed around the outside and through the gate like any civilised country gent ought to do. It’s bricked up, but there’s enough room to stick that camera through. It might have been generator room. There’s a steel tube that might have been an exhaust pipe, coming out from the roof eave on one side and what looks like marks from an old base frame on the floor.
That wrapped it up for the day. And remember, the hat stays in the picture.
A quick reconnoitre during lunchtime and it was found but we had a teleconference, or some other such nonsense, to get back to work for and going down there ‘business casual’ wasn’t really on. There are enough clues in this account and around the site to find out which one, and where it is, and surely that’s half the fun of the chase.
It’s been well reported on before so maybe here’s some finer detail on a few odds ‘n’ ends found a few days later.
These shafts really are a tad deeper than I’d expected.
There’s a surprising amount of stuff lying around. The map was missing from the wall on the right, and much wailing ensued over that.
I don’t know where my common sense was when I though these were petrol cans, but I guess that drinking water had to be held in something. Good to see the label that showed someone had refreshed it every two or three years as well.
So many depressing documents and forms to fill in, lying around the place. Most of them dealing with how much ‘dose’ the occupants had been subjected to or referencing blast information and fallout. This would always have been a real fun job.
Especially since there’s another one of those steam locomotive pictures lurking beneath the Ground Zero Indicator paper. There’re more of them on the wall and the floor. Imagine reading that paper and trying to fill out the latest bomb blast info and updating your dose records, only to be reminded that you’re stuck in this Hobbit hole for the rest of your life with rusty tea and a train spotter. I do admire some bloke’s insistence on trying to make the place a little more homely but he was probably trying to recreate the interior visage of some memory distorted caravanning holiday when he was a young lad, and to be an engine driver was the pinnacle of WW2 manhood next to being a Spitfire pilot, of course.
Ah, and as for these NBC boots. What the blazes did they expect these things to do? Half your face might be dripping off but at least your loafers won’t have your own flesh plopping all over them. It took some fathoming just to unfold the things and find where your foot needed to go. Even then, I doubt the brambles outside would have much trouble ripping these into something resembling seaweed.
An’ another thing, how small does a mini cooker really need to be? You might cook a tiny tin o’ beans on this but you’ve had you aint warming any pizza. If I translate that Spanish correctly, this is a ‘mini little oven’ and your average toreador aint cookin’ no paella either. Maybe it’s this size so that you can’t make anything hot enough to melt any holes in the NBC boots.
This odd upside down socket made us think there was an external power supply for this post. There was said to be a brick structure nearby but the overgrowth made it tricky to get to.
I rampaged through the brambles like a midget armadillo whilst buddy boy waltzed around the outside and through the gate like any civilised country gent ought to do. It’s bricked up, but there’s enough room to stick that camera through. It might have been generator room. There’s a steel tube that might have been an exhaust pipe, coming out from the roof eave on one side and what looks like marks from an old base frame on the floor.
That wrapped it up for the day. And remember, the hat stays in the picture.
