Pyestock was changing. Slowly, irreversibly and terminally it was changing. More windows were being smashed, more
doors were ripped open, more graffiti was appearing and saddest of all were the smashed bulbs and dials of the
Plant House control room. (We were going to have our lunch in there again but found the room
vandalised, covered in glass and full of flies; it was all a disgusting, saddening mess). Of a more worrying nature was the appearance of
the new fence, a hastily but firmly erected wire mesh fence of multiple panels. It didnít stop anyone getting in but it slowed us down
and made some buildings more difficult to get to. The fence itself wasnít a worry but its appearance definitely was: why had this suddenly appeared?
The day was hazy but bright, the air becoming quickly hot and humid. The trees were bursting into leaf, undergrowth was reappearing and the Buddleia
bushes which grew through the cracked concrete of Pyestock were beginning to flower. It wasnít a perfect day, but it was a good day.
So far, everything had gone to plan with Alex (a friend who was getting his first taste of urban exploration),
Major Tom and I arriving at Fleet Pond at the prearranged time to find Marlon and fellow explorer Strangely Brown
both waiting. Pleasantries and introductions over we quickly navigated the woods, avoided the over-chatty dog walkers (who weirdly questioned
Marlon as to where the birds had all gone as their ferocious dogs jumped all over us in shows of aggressive friendliness) and then
quietly slipped into Pyestock.
It was unusually quiet: Sigma was locked up, QinetiQ was silent and the only noise was the hum of the CEBG transformer park.
We observed the new fence wryly; it held us up and caused us to alter our usual route into the site but soon we were on the gravel by the pipe array
of the Air House. The full scale of this corner of Pyestock started to register
on Strangely Brown and Alex: "Wow."
The new internal fence taken by the Ceca drying plant. This was taken on a later trip a month later.
23|05|07 © Simon Cornwell 2007