Over two years had passed since our visit to ‘Abandoned Scan’, in which we found a massive warehouse full of junk, valuable stuff; I don’t know what you would call it.
I do remember it taking my breath away, one of the delights one can sometimes experience when doing this quirky hobby of mine.
Now we were back, not for a revisit but to try and find a way into the social club at the entrance. Last time, we had our fill of the warehouse and the two buildings, though they appear connected from a bird's-eye view, they are not.
British Aerospace Dynamics Limited (BAe Dynamics) was a specialist division of British Aerospace, focused on the research, development, and production of guided weapons, missiles, and associated defence technologies - Source
I figure this whole bad-looking block likely belonged to British Aerospace before they leased it out as a warehouse. We had done the large section, now it was time to visit where the employee pissheads go after a long, hard shift after crafting those supersonic missiles.
...'The Social Club is the small area on extreme left, the rest is 'Abandoned Scan'
‘British Aerospace Defence Dynamics Social Club' is that little square building at the left-edge, the rest of it is... or was 'Abandoned Scan'. We were not in the least interested in a revisit of that one, as good as it was.
Whereas ‘Abandoned Scan’ had been a trip through the local jungle and a backbreaking exercise getting through a small window (before realising an external door was open), this was going to be a whole lot easier, firstly due to the new housing estate right next to this dump.
I can’t imagine the new owners of these ‘little boxes’ types’ house not being particularly impressed at this derelict mess next to their brand new ‘castles of joy’, but I was.
Look at that lovely gap created, just for fat-bellied, BMI stretching me. That fence was lovely, fine and big, but effectively useless now.
Our luck was growing by the minute, a little squatting and we could be inside, unless that dank hole led to a toilet brimming with last year's vagrant-donated watery diarrhoea.
Not quite, but inside was a lot worse than I expected. This happens often, with the respectable exterior façade masking an interior that resembles a smelly cheese-caked, well-worn vulva.
Many empty and sodden boxes, they went back a long way, but I didn't fancy climbing over them to find a big nothing.
Clothing... had to be with sizes. Even if there was any inside, it would stink of smelly old ladies by now, the type that sits on the bus next to you, making you silently gag.
The fire alarm going off tends to piss people off, as 99% of the time it's either a drill or some cunt over-frazzling an item in the toaster. Interrupting a room full of missile-building blue-collar workers when four pints in is severely bad practice.
It was bigger than it looked from the outside, with distinct classic 70's working-men's club features, which made me want to run and hide. I detested these holes when I was younger, something I have probably mentioned before.
Just look at that floor, every step produced a cracking noise... like stiff cardboard breaking. You've never lived until you have stood on a floor like that.
The local entertainment made their stance up there. Although a blue-chip company, 'British Aerospace', it wouldn't surprise me if strippers have found their way up and onto that stage at some point.
Pass me the fucking bucket. This sight epitomises these decrepit old 'cheap' beer-houses where, if you are a member, you can buy discount slop at around 75% of the going rate.
Yes, it was always watered down. What do you expect?
See all the shelves on the patron side of the bar? That's where you place your twenty empties after picking up pint twenty-one. These social clubs were designed to drink continually and do little else, besides falling over unconscious. No women allowed.
The toilets; don’t tell me this is all ‘natural decay’
Whenever I see one of those squashy grey pipes, I tend to think, ‘dope farm’. Tell me I’m wrong and it’s some type of air conditioning unit?
A view through what was once some type of window. Was this where the exclusive members sat (also drinking their twenty pints of beer)?
From the perspective of the barman, little was left in this section.
Any furniture, of course, was destroyed. It's to be expected.
'Emergency Exit', give me a break. You're going to run into a well sealed front door, and lose some teeth if your moving quick enough.
See, it really was a rocket building manufacturing slum house.. once.
The recovery seats, where you dragged your unconscious comrades and then celebrated as they were going to buy the beer for tomorrows'.. 'heavy session'.
That’s not a radiator, it’s the rusty imprint of the one that used to be there before some tosser pulled it away from the wall and hurled it across the room.
I left ‘British Aerospace Defence Dynamics Social Club' with mixed feelings.
The positives that the unfinished business of 'Abandoned Scan' was now complete, mixed with the old horrors of losing my friends who had barely turned 17, and were more content in continual, persistent drinking than hanging out with me.
Shudder..., memories I wish I could erase from my head.
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