Unca bunker
Aug. 17th, 2009 08:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hirezI'm writing these in the wrong order because my brain doesn't work. I also may have told this story before.
Years ago, self, fish-boy, Steve, Withy and Andy beetled off (Well, Steve's aged Dihatsu 4wd) to the Phoenix festival. (Fall, HMHB, Shellac, last Stuffies & PWEI appearances, etc) A fine time was had by all, and Monday passed in a bit of a haze. When I came home, I found Steve had bunked off work early and was sitting on the lawn in the evening sunshine, staring out across the valley and slurping tea. I brewed up another mug and joined him. Fish-boy, who shared a cottage a few yards down the road, pitched up more-or-less coincidentally with Withy. Andy turned up last, but then he's always late. So there were the five of us, just sitting there quietly in a line. I asked Steve what he was doing. I already knew the answer, but I felt the postmodern need to drive the story along by providing dialogue.
"Waiting for the bands to start," he said.
Which was true.
(Later, we prevailed upon Rob to drive us to the pub, where drink was taken.)
So right now I'm in that kind of state. I'm poking at the internet a bit and wondering if I should slope off to the lockpicking tent via the bar, before the techno and lightshows start in our own field.
This image has little to do with the preceding text. The road to Harwich passes conveniently close to the Kelvedon Hatch bunker. Since we'd been turfed off the ferry at some dreadful hour, and the bunker didn't open for visitors until ten, there was plenty of time for sleeping in the sunshine and quiet. That corner of the world is remarkably pleasant once one gets away from the built up bits.
Years ago, self, fish-boy, Steve, Withy and Andy beetled off (Well, Steve's aged Dihatsu 4wd) to the Phoenix festival. (Fall, HMHB, Shellac, last Stuffies & PWEI appearances, etc) A fine time was had by all, and Monday passed in a bit of a haze. When I came home, I found Steve had bunked off work early and was sitting on the lawn in the evening sunshine, staring out across the valley and slurping tea. I brewed up another mug and joined him. Fish-boy, who shared a cottage a few yards down the road, pitched up more-or-less coincidentally with Withy. Andy turned up last, but then he's always late. So there were the five of us, just sitting there quietly in a line. I asked Steve what he was doing. I already knew the answer, but I felt the postmodern need to drive the story along by providing dialogue.
"Waiting for the bands to start," he said.
Which was true.
(Later, we prevailed upon Rob to drive us to the pub, where drink was taken.)
So right now I'm in that kind of state. I'm poking at the internet a bit and wondering if I should slope off to the lockpicking tent via the bar, before the techno and lightshows start in our own field.
This image has little to do with the preceding text. The road to Harwich passes conveniently close to the Kelvedon Hatch bunker. Since we'd been turfed off the ferry at some dreadful hour, and the bunker didn't open for visitors until ten, there was plenty of time for sleeping in the sunshine and quiet. That corner of the world is remarkably pleasant once one gets away from the built up bits.
