Canal Tunnelz. 


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Stoopin.

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They built bunkers for themselves,  quite happy in the knowledge they would be safe while the rest of us burn.

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Thorpe Park, a new meaning to Fright Night.


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Getting up.

 

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Exiting an abandoned station on the London Underground, emerging from the echoing tunnel into the cold night. 

 

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A rickety condemned staircase will take a brave few up to the top. I however, was happy to sit this one out.


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La Petite Ceinture, the disused railway track that circles Paris. It now provides illicit access to the Catacombs; if you know where to look…


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The flooded lower levels, holes in concrete floors and crumbling masonry make this like a level in an adventure game.


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Under the city there exists a constant hum of machinery keeping things going, unknown by most, yet essential for modern living. 

 

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Quietly watching the city from above. The rain softly falling like a mist, gradually soaking us through. Still we watched. The lights of the city glimmer the further away you are. 

 

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Crunching ballast beneath my feet, so much more relaxed than my home metro system. 

 

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Creeping up the stairs to the top of the stadium, 80,000 empty seats surround me. No cheering, no chants, just bated breath and determination. 

 

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Climbing down a pitch black shaft in a damp, dark underground passage. Distant drips can be heard and the rumble of a passing train far away still gets you to turn and gasp. 

Cut.and.cover