Its fair to say within exploration a great deal of what is accomplished is down to luck. Are the cameras being monitored the moment you dash past? Did Granny Baggins glance up from her knitting as you climbed the fence? Was that suspicious pedestrian actually an undercover cop? Unfortunately there is no way of knowing until its too late, a series of uncontrollable factors you must push to the back of your mind if you want to proceed. As Dsankt infamously put it, grit your teeth and ”roll the dice”.

Now that’s not to say everything relies on luck. Certain locations require different skills, be they climbing, knowledge of SRT or generally just being small enough to fit in the “no fatties” access points. All of the above do however require one thing, confidence. Without the confidence to take the risks, push the boundaries and throw caution to the wind your going nowhere except your local asylum. So when you loose this, you have a big problem.

Over the past few months the LCC has torn through the final challenges London had to offer, its reluctant “Grails” and “Epics” conquered, the path set for others to follow. Unsurprisingly our confidence was at an all time high, we weren’t just pushing the boundaries, we were punching through them, once impossible obstacles now lying helpless at our feet. But then it all went wrong, the world slipped sideways, our luck had run out. While on what for some was the final true mission, we were caught, arrested and sent to the cells.

Now this is not the first time I’ve been arrested, a few years ago myself and Userscott were caught running the Milan metro system, presumably spotted as we left the station. The Italian authorities didn’t mess around, shutting down the entire line and recalling the trains to the nearest station, eventually commandeering one to come and find us. Needless to say being faced with a slow moving train we ran, curious onlookers diving back into the trains as we re-entered the station, a firmly readied gun accompanied by angry Italian gibberish ensuring we were to go no further.

We were booked, processed and sat in the superintendents office, our minds left to contemplate the best and worst case scenario of what was about to unfold. Conversations were minimal, our Italian about as good as the officers English. Trains, tunnels, photographs and hobby were some of the few words that received a nod or two, the questioning officer seemingly understood, I think.

Eventually were handed a form and asked to sign, being told we could leave as soon as we did. The document was in Italian with no English translation available, two bold figures at the foot of the page the only aspect recognisable to us, €12,000 & €35,000. We could be signing anything, a confession of murder for all we knew, the supervising officer simply saying it was a routine legal document, or at least that’s what I think he was trying to say. Reluctantly we signed and with that he left, another officer returning our passports, handing us a fine and kicking us out into the rain. What was surprising to both of us, even with all the disruption and chaos we had caused our punishment was simply a bench for twelve hours and a €35 Euro fine, €10 of which was due to crossing the lines during our failed escape. European justice.

This was a far cry from our treatment in London. After all its England, you can fart in public and be suspected of terrorism. We were booked, held for 24 hours incommunicado and interviewed on several occasions, our homes were raided, possessions confiscated, bailed, bailed again, bailed a third time and now still await the verdict, our heads remaining on the chopping block after three months.

I feel I must point out that those I had contact with, be they the arresting officers, sergeants or detectives that investigated us had no illusions that we terrorists, they were polite, generally understanding and quickly realised we had no criminal intent as to where we were caught. Unfortunately protocol and unavoidable pressure from above ended up dragging out something which should ideally have been over in a week or two.

Regardless of the punishment I am to receive, the irrevocable damage has been done, the confidence built over six years gone. Now even the thought of entering the Underground I have spent the past four years of my life wandering, makes me sick to my stomach. I never want to go through that again, unfortunately the only way to completely avoid this, is to stop. The effect this has had on my life, my studies and even my career has been unbearable. Even as I write this I realise its not over, no guarantees that it will end when I next answer bail.

My only consolation is this happened at the end of a long journey. Sure there are still a few locations and oddities in London that have yet to be seen, but given we’ve already cracked and seen the best, I’m more then happy to kick back, relax and await pictures from those who step up to the challenge, setting my personal sights on pastures and countries anew. With that out of the way the only thing to do now is to look back and remember the good times, the times when I wasn’t immobilised with fear of the risks or consequences, the most notable of which being St Paul’s Cathedral, Wren’s masterpiece.

Designed by Sir Christopher Wren construction began in June 1675 on Ludgate Hill, the highest notable point within the city of London. It would take twenty-two years before the still unfinished Cathedral came into use on the 2 December 1697. The cathedral was topped out in October 1708 and later declared officially finished by parliament on Christmas Day 1711. This however was not entirely true with construction work continuing for several years after, the cathedrals statues and gargoyles only being added in the 1720′s. As of 2011 the total cost of construction is £147 million.

For the past 15 years, St Paul’s has been hidden behind wave after wave of scaffolding, a climbers dream. Unfortunately being a national monument the cathedral and its scaffolding was well protected. Vibration sensors littered each level with the lowest also accommodating a perimeter bank of PIRs, effectively stopping would be explorers reaching its roof. The little fact that its also one of the more popular tourist destinations in London kept the human traffic high, the chances of slipping in undetected slim.

For years myself and Site had laughed at suggestion to climb the structure, much like the tube it had a stigma attached to it that bad things would happen were you to be caught. We seemed to pass it on every expedition into London, its looming white stone taunting us, challenging us. Eventually on a night with countless failures we decided to bite the bullet, now or never.

It had been a while since I was last this nervous, my mind was telling me to go home, that this was bad news, yet the adrenaline running through my body had other ideas. Reaching the scaffolding was simply a case of timing, waiting for the pedestrians and cars to vacate the area then climbing and running to the shadows.

As previously mentioned, the scaffolding was belled up more then a museum, forcing us to climb externally. Now I’m fairly good with heights but when your several floors up, keeping an eye out for pedestrians, spiky fences below and ensuring you don’t clang and shake the vibration alarms, your brow starts to sweat. Progress was slow, really slow, taking us almost forty minutes to get to the roof, looking like rejects from a 1950′s horror film by the time we arrived.

I could go into details about whats up there, but i think the pictures show it all and as such, there is little more to say. St Paul’s for one night was our playground, a perfect location to kick back, take photo’s and enjoy a slightly different view of London’s skyline.