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Report - JLBT, CP, St Jo's, PB, Fosters - Manchester

Discussion in 'Other Sites' started by dsankt, Oct 1, 2008.

  1. dsankt

    dsankt si ce que tu dis est vrai
    Regular User

    Aug 13, 2006
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    quantum-x can be a stubborn bastard, a year of gentle prodding and my imminent departure from London finally provoked him to throw down the Eurobucks to revisit nodnol, a place he holds no love for.


    With final goodbyes to my workmates and the best job I've ever had, qx and I left my office for the Victoria coach station, snaked the megabus queue, reclined our well worn seats and settled in for the ride. Manchester, here we fucken come. Four hours passed easily with musings on life, exploring and future trips... things are going to get loose. Elevate your game.

    Snaptacle, gracious host number 1 and all round elite legend scooped us up and bounced on over to Userscott's gaff. The jumble of bikes, ropes and climbing gear hints at a bachelor lifestyle, the contents of the fridge seals the deal. Four bottles of Asda pasta sauce, two blocks of cheese and bottles of the 25p lemonade Scott religiously guzzles for breakfast, lunch and tea.


    This is the fuel which powers host number 2 and the final member of this elite northern demolition squad. Snap and Scott are fucking kings. Scott resembles a younger, dirtier jesus with a rope bag slung lazily over each arm large enough to store a dozen lead lined kiddy coffins. To those who've never handled one they're about the size of a double thick violin case. With all the rope there's rarely space for a camera which suits him fine. He's here to explore, not machine gun out 10 stop HDR monstrosities of lonely chairs to get his eWang fellated.


    Plans made and a River Fleet of shit talked we boarded his red shopping cart weapon, helmed by a madman with a go-kart steering wheel and blasted cityward scaring bystanders with the omnipresent whubwhubwhub squarksquarksquark dubstep backed with hearty braaaaaaaapppppppps at the shirt-lifting populace. A neat little abandoned crane (deathtrap anyone?) was the warm up for a ballsier climb some are no doubt familiar with - JLBT.

    Jodrell Bank Telescope (JLBT. wait, jailbait?)
    As a chemistry and physics loving nerd at school I took great delight in practical experiments, obviously the greater the chance of explosion the keener my interest. Unfortunately connecting 1f capacitors in reverse was as close as to self-destruction as we got. Contrary to what the internet persona might suggest I took prac seriously, woe be to he or she who adversely affected my experimental results. So with a large dose of hypocritical cringe, apologies to whoever was collecting data at Jodrell Bank this night if the gravitational fields of our massive fucking nuts produced outliers in your data.

    Mounted on a large circular track, allowing the entire telescope assembly to rotate freely makes the drive and attempt at JLBT potluck. Fortuitously the telescope was positioned ideally. Spured by the negative publicty of the previous climb the structure is now alarmed and locked. Both are easy to avoid if you know their location, or you have the brazen stupidity to make multiple attempts/retreats/counter attempts across a brightly lit yard, in view of the control building, up girders painted white in what scientists are calling incremental advancement by trial and error. Bricoleurs, onwards.


    Inside the flanking towers which suspend the dish are the motors which control the minute motion needed to track objects through space. The dish is oddly quiet most of the time, when these motors frantically start up watch for brown stains in your strides cap'n. The bearings on which the dish rotates vertically were sourced from two british battleships, which delights me no end in believing all professional scientists to be certifiably mad and willing to realise their creations by any means possible.

    The famous "Mark I" telescope, now known as the Lovell Telescope, was the largest steerable dish radio telescope in the world, 76.2 m (250 ft) in diameter, when it was completed in 1957; it is now the third largest, after the Green Bank and Effelsberg telescopes. Part of the gun turret mechanisms from the battleships HMS Revenge and Royal Sovereign were reused in the motor system for the telescope.[18] The telescope became operational in the summer of 1957, just in time for the launch of Sputnik 1, the world's first artificial satellite. The telescope was the only one in the world able to track Sputnik's booster rocket by radar; it first located it just before midnight on 12 October 1957. wikipedia

    Photo: quantum-x

    St Joseph's Seminary
    I haven't seen any of the Harry Potter films but St Josephs, completed in 1883, is often compared to Hogwart's. With so many photos circulating online this was a strange explore, feeling like I was merely putting names to familiar faces. Access was a breeze for the northern bustup alliance, cameras be damned 15 minutes from arrival we were amongst the quiet wooden corridors rocking our best vagabond swagger. The building and internals are both gorgeous and creepy, from the creaky floors to musty books and taxidermied animals watching over you. We considered napping on the upper levels, until qx's fidgeting little fingers got the clock bells clanging two dozen times and we hightailed it down the ladders and stairs to our exit.



    Pleasure Beach
    I'll let you in on a little secret. Contrary to popular belief the best time to visit a themepark is not during the week while all the kids are at school and parents at work but late at night. There are no crowds, no double wide fat women pushing triple wide prams of snotty kids; it's bliss. Sure the rides aren't running but you can climb them at will and dodging security will pump way more adrenaline than riding the Pepsi Max ride for the 216th time. Yes forum nerds I'm looking at you.

    photo: quantum-x

    So find your local theme park, hide submerged in the lake breathing through a straw or jump off the haunted house ride and hide with the zombies or man up and jump the fence and wonderland is all yours. Who knows, play your cards with killer confidence and you may bump into security carrying a 3ft tall plushie and waltz off without so much as a second look. Additionally said plushy's 4inch wide DIY rectal cavity could be the perfect place to store trinkets and squids. Hokusai and the fisherman's wife declare Brap brap fucking brrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaap.


    Fosters, bro
    "Leave nothing in the car, nothing. This is foockin Mosside." For the first time Scott and Snappel had serious looks and stern words. qx and I exchanged cocked eyebrows and got the skinny on Mosside, the English Compton - Dre, Ren, Yella and Cube optional. This was all fine though, the fatass Canon 1ds was too heavy to pack for an infiltration where our exact plan was explore as much as possible until security and workers chase us out. Pose your nuts.

    High above us amongst chimneys pumping steam into the chill air a blazing blue Fosters sign spilled light over the ghetto. Neither qx or I drink much beer and certainly not the piss-through-a-sock Fosters foreigners have been led to believe all self respecting true-blue fair-dinkum cobbers put on their weetbix breakie cereal, mate. However a photo in front of that sign would be the perfect end to our Manchester adventures.

    Even late at night the brewery is manned and active so we strode confidently in a pathetic effort to look like we belonged, threading our way eventually to a concealed and conveniently unlocked door. with a deep breath we hurried through the potentially O2 depleted rooms and out into a corridor. Like a tacky spy movie we crept the corridors, peeking around corners and scampering across slippery lino floors from the occasional worker. None caught sight of our 007 hijinks so we kept this up until we crossed the roof, posed with the big F sign and ventured down towards the main control rooms.

    The main foyer is a tall spacious affair, with a wide staircase leading up into the glass walled control room of computers and data readouts. To the right of the stairs is large corridor lined with valves and pipes. Our group crept up the stairs, Scott taking the point, myself near the rear. A blue boilersuit clad worker strolled out the side corridor in our direction, I grabbed the shirt of the person behind me and yanked them out of sight. Up ahead Scott reached the control room, unsurprisingly discovering workers monitoring a bank of computer screens. Caught in an unintentional but effective pincer movement between boilerguy and control staff we took the best option, run. Bounding down the stairs we surprised brother boilersuit, who stared dumbfounded as 4 black clad ninja look-a-likes sprinted through his foyer leaving only the booming echo of a hastily yelled "see yas later!".

    photo: snappel

    An unrelated aside and word of advice, when yelling "stop looking at fookin child porn ya fookin kiddie fiddler" from a rooftop check below you for bobbies first because chances are they'll think you're yelling at them. This is not an ideal outcome and will likely result in 4-6 vans of bored police swooping on your location. If you're quick you'll haul from the building past the incoming police in such a rush they'll not join the dots, if you're slow... well that's an experiment for the reader. Let me know how you go.

    Shouts to elite legends Scott and Snapsnap, shame yall couldn't bounce the bus with us for the next stop. There is the tale of a ruddy-cheeked northern lass eager to be told. ds, sfp xoxo. 2008

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