The space time continuum was askew, explorers suddenly vanishing and reappearing from the black void. One such explorer was sadly forever lost to us while buying food from a train station, Monsieur Marc. We looked up and he was gone, the empty cardboard box from his chicken supreme the only proof that he once existed. With heavy hearts we eventually gave up the 5m search radius and slipped off towards our next location. Bon voyage Marc, until we meet again.
In Europe its always the small remote villages that seem to have seedy secrets. You know the ones where everyone’s related to each other and if your car was to break down your legs would appear in the butchers window the next morning. I’ve seen the movies so i know this to be true.
Much like Mcdonalds in America and England Belgium is mostly populated by one fast food chain, Quick. The golden Q lights the way for weary travelers who wish to satisfy their mighty hungers. Sadly, much like Mcdonalds 95% of Quick’s burgers and meals taste like they just floated out of a nearby sewer, do you want fresh with that? Oh well it was a choice between that or a baguette coated with cheese that smelt of a lumberjacks nutsack. Chicken Supreme it is. Fuelled up we marched on to our nights adventure. I’m not entirely sure what it was, but it had ships, planes and tanks. Well that’s good enough for me.
Belgium, the land that knows not of security, monarch fences or monitored cameras. The last time i visited this fine cheese eating country we were blown away by the sheer size, quality and ease of nearly all the locations we visited. Belgium and Brussels are perfect examples of what happens when your government isn’t trying to shove a bible sized wad of paper entitled ”Health and Safety” up your ring piece. We hatched a rough plan with some crayons, coloured in our road map and packed our bags. De muscles in Brussels was a go!
For over four years now, myself along with many others have stooped, stomped and slipped under and across london’s bowels, through sewage, grease, fat and mystery content “X”, always wondering what the next bend had to bring. Our deep fascination with the history that Victorian sewers had to offer encouraging us to brave even the most poopiest of pipes. But what happens when the sewer is less then a year old, holds no immediate constructional intrigue and has a historical value of 0. What then is left to tempt the bright eye’ d traveller into its depths?
I hated Strata, each time we ventured into London it smirked at us as we drove by. Every attempt to climb it ended with the same wailing siren of ‘You Lose’. Over the years the furthest i had made it was the ninth floor when situations out of my control had forced us to leave. No more, tonight we would reach the top, dragging the entire security team at our feet if we had to!