“The factory closed in 2007 when production was transferred to France”
This is what I read when trying to discover a little history regarding the former Alcon Pechiney plant. Well, that's not quite correct as I found evidence of inhabitants from 2008 within.
It’s long enough for security to leave, and the securities management to not bother paying them anymore.
While it can be fun trying to evade security, that isn’t the case when 
‘Alcan Pechiney’ was a drive-by. The masses of smashed windows immediately alerted my ‘abandoned senses’ and caused me to swerve violently into the only parking space available.
Right outside the front gate; it was here or nowhere and nobody seemed to give a damn.
“Want to join me”, I said optimistically.
She didn't, it was far too creepy looking. Yes, it was, I had to admit but creepy is what I do, and alone at times.
...how the fuck am I supposed to slide through that gap?...
Talk about tight. This was worse than the late Mary Whitehouse’s vagina. It was October, and I had to strip down to a t-shirt and hope my skin would not be shredded.
To date, that has been the tightest yet and I could feel my chest prickling in anger with the added scrape marks.
The medical department could possibly find a method to shrink my size thus making it easier to escape ‘Alcan Pechiney’ when I was finished?
Hopefully, I stepped inside expecting a cohort of nurses to give me aid. My expectations were dashed when I saw the state of it.
The paperwork could have been generated yesterday, it looked brand new (if you overlook the rusty staple).
It was a mess in the medical department, but there was paperwork knocking about. Having limited time and seeing the size of ‘Alcan Pechiney’, I did not dither.
Where to start? The 'Finishing Area' looked promising. Bend down, walk forward and you are in.
…’Alcan Pechiney was unnerving. I don't generally get the willies but I was feeling it'…
They used to manufacture parts for the aviation industry. I could imagine full planes being in here once.
Thankfully the warehouse was empty. I had visions of a gang of thugs emerging all armed with crowbars, a combined gleam in their eyes and a scream of 'GET HIM'.
Beyond the enormous warehouse was yet another. I backtracked, walked around the front of the building noting the 'Main Office' sign, and approached it from the opposite end, giving pause to wave to my wife.
'yeah, I survived the first part and am still breathing' - came the unspoken words.
It could have been some sort of reception area once and before the fire hit.
The melted intercom gave the game away, along with blackened walls. I zoned in on the 'red book'.
This is why you need to ensure your fire alarm is working correctly. It was being noted as 'faulty' daily.
Otherwise, your reception area becomes a blackened shell just like this.
The sign looks as new as that paperwork I spotted earlier.
Large areas of ‘Alcan Pechiney’ have been demolished. I was quite glad about this. Now it would only take me 2 hours to explore it all shaving around 4 off.
Which window to climb through? It was overwhelming and I wished I had all those hours to look around.
I decided to walk up this dodgy alley with the hope I wouldn’t get jumped.
Entering via a window gave a feeling of safety somehow. Walking past the power boxes I found an office with some more interesting artifacts.
The shelving looked to contain some kind of paperwork.
I was not expecting hand-written industrial orders regarding 'Transformers' from 1956.
They didn’t half write differently in that decade, very cursive. Are 'I.Kelly' and 'J.Walling' still in this world? I very much doubt it.
This office was wrecked just like the others but had been spared the fire treatment.
I exited and walked further up the 'alley'. It didn't feel right and I was experiencing some tension.
The 'Central Engineering Department' was much like the rest of what I could see, but with goodies everywhere.
They had hardly made any effort to clear away all the old crap before leaving for France.
£24,000 for a Hydraulic Grip Cylinder? It does weigh over a ton, I guess you get something substantial for your money.
I could have spent some time here; there was no shortage of incriminating paperwork.
When you get bored, simply walk through the door into the next office as my predecessor did. No need to open it.
I am guessing there was all manner of confidential information sitting about waiting to be ingested.
There was no need to jump through the windows, every door was wide open.
A rusty filing cabinet crammed with British intelligence secrets. 
One doesn’t know what to photograph when so many documents are on show.
The view from above; note the table and chairs where the 'hard-workers' would sit, play cards, read The Sun, oogle at the Page 3 girl and drink tea… all day.
There was plenty more to see, 
Getting out was even worse. Had the bars gone slimmer in anticipation of my exit?
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