While our first trip was undoubtedly successful, our drain-lust satisfied for the night, it’s ending was still an annoyance; just a couple of hundred metres from the outfall chamber the flow began to increase, forcing us to make an exit. Our second visit would commence exactly where we left off, leading us to the southern-most reaches of the system.
The Fleet Sewer, Part One
When I think of draining in London, I think of one particular choice comment made by a passerby: ”I’m glad I don’t have to do that for a job!” Little do you know, we do it for fun. I guess it takes a particular breed to enjoy being in a sewer – I never found it that difficult, and got used to the shitsicles hanging from the ceiling pretty quickly. The bubblebath icebergs get more attention, floating by as if oblivious to the filth below that carries them.
The discerning drainers first London hit, the former river Fleet now exists as one of central London’s largest sewers. What little fresh water there is remains only to pollute the mix of urine, detergents and faeces (plus a few tampons/condoms, wall-climbing ninja rats and the notorious fat reserves) that the Fleet comprises today. It also stands as my first Victorian sewer, having only hit modern systems previously (more on that later).
Planning in advance, I had an entry lined up 3 weeks prior to our first venture. If I was correct it would drop us into one of the largest sections of the fleet, and give us a mile or so walk to a good exit downstream. I headed out with my usual drain companions, hoping for their sake my research was solid. We weren’t disappointed!
Borders
This is the result of a weeks roadtrip across Belgium and Germany. Being my first trip abroad for the purpose of exploration I spent most of the road hours considering theoretics; how we build relations with what we know to be so fragile and temporary, particularly relevant given that we would leave each place behind so rapidly, covering 2000 miles across the duration of the trip. We learnt to trust places quickly, to develop and deep relationship for just a short period of time – then move on as abruptly as we came. I don’t have any delusions about preserving these places with my work. I’m there for the experience, the envelopment, the atmospheric textures. What I produce photographically is a crude attempt to share the resulting emotion with others.
This is a service tunnel at a kokerei running along the train line that once delivered coal to the plant. This building was very live, offering both a guided tour of the original facility and a modern solar power station on the roof. While making our way in, we saw workers, tourists, photographers and other staff around this building. Here we remained silent, concealing ourselves in the darkness as workers moved just around the corner. (more…)
A London Theatre
Well, this is definitely one of the more powerful interiors I’ve witnessed. Can’t believe its just rotting away in the back like this. Nevermind, how about we sleep here sometime, that’d be fun right? (more…)
Adelaide
Back to some old fashioned highrise – climb the exterior, get to the roof and soak up the atmosphere. We spotted this while driving past and figured a route, knowing how good a view across the Thames it would provide. We hit a crane later that night too, one we had passed by too many times.
Springfield Hospital
A medium secure mental hospital in south London. 30 patients have escaped since 2005. Alone, I attempt the reverse – quietly seeking out entry to the single disused ward.
Having had issues with drug addicts, squatters and even patients breaking in, much of the ground floor is blacked out by boarded windows, whilst other areas have been emptied, reduced to a shell of broken radiators, askew doors and peeling paint. Upstairs feels like a different place entirely, with beds, cupboards, suitcases and clothing strewn across the wards and corridors. There’s also a basement level which I didn’t know of until I made an accidental discovery on a return visit.
Stormcloud
It rained all night – it always does here, seemingly every time I and others have ventured up what is now the city’s tallest. 44 floors, just a few from topping out, it’s presence undeniable as it edged past 30 St Mary Axe and Tower 42; we were drawn to it, magnetically attracted. The 650ft+ vertical stair climb exposed to the beating precipitation was but a scratch upon the desires we harboured. Arriving at the summit soaked, windswept, our bodies burning under cover of darkness, we were at once alive.
This pretty much sums up the experience – wet, windy, a vertical drop capable of inducing nausea. For a moment I was very much inside my own head, which spun at the thought as the city skyline burned its way into my eyes – we all were, probably, searching ourselves in hope of finding some pointer as to how we’re supposed to react. Breaking out of our shells we felt once more energised by the scene, dancing, playing, exposing ourselves to the elements. Then this happened:
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Battersea Power Station
Arguably the last of London’s great 20th Century ruins, Battersea’s white chimneys dominate the west London skyline. Once a symbol of our industrial prosperity, she now lies in the dirt as if tossed aside, clothing stripped, ravaged by the years of weather now penetrating into its foundations and framework. Many expect it will stay like this until it crumbles into nothing, despite the various plans drawn – the curse of a listed building in the hands of hungry developers. Its past finished and future determined, its present is an anachronism, a half-existence spent awaiting organic demolition. It is transience in brickwork, a building bereft of time and purpose; the architect’s nightmare and our wet dream.
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Brewery
It sat on our doorstep as we waited for it to close. A giant, the last remaining production in a town now consumed by the offices of Thames valley. For someone who could probably rub one out to greasy, rusting machinery this was like heroin – untouched virgin industry, it could make our eyes roll back. Despite having not the faintest interest in alcohol even I was salivating.
Only 5 days after they cease production and there we are on the perimeter, lying prone in cover whilst scoping out the area ahead. An hour or so passes and we’ve moved maybe 50 yards, more cautious than usual. We think we are the first to attempt infiltrating the place. Time passes and we form a plan – knowing all we need to we descend upon the nights prey, creep to internal cover where we can begin to relax.
