Sweet megabus! How I adore thine shot suspension and unadmirable ride quality. In our times apart how I miss your smelly passengers of which I am sometimes numbered. You are ever bumpy and dirty, never hasty but available at a price for which Teh Otter and I would spring to spend 9 turbulent hours nestled in your deteriorating foamy seats. Destination: Bradford and Leeds, Mission: drains!
Remove your shoes. Undress. Before you is a small concrete slot 30cm high and 50cm wide. 5cm of clearish water flows over what appears to be a brown mossy fungus. Repeat until believed and internalised: "It's only moss". Take a garbage bag, tear open the bottom and fashion yourself a makeshift toga or swimsuit. Take another and create a kilt if you wish. Pandora cares not for catwalk fashion though Harold would approve of course.
pic: Otter
Pandora's Slot calls to you, what charms does she conceal behind that concrete portal? Drop your knees into the icy water, arch your back then slide your hands through the slot. Feel the velvety moss brushing through your fingers. Tense your abs, keep your nipples above water and scramble for traction with your toes. Push push push! Dip your groin in the water and you'll catch the aids! Here the Otter demonstrates his natural disposition towards this kind of thing.
Following Pandora's Box for a way from her slot leads eventually to the overflow of a disgusting trunk sewer, lovingly named Pandora's Arsehole. A large room of balconies overlook the sewer, like a viewing gallery of sorts. DDT and Little Mike had requested we bring some climbing gear to augment his clothes line knot ladder to negotiate the 4m drop into the trunk.
pic: Little Mike
Rigged and kitted we climbed down and began upstream in the thickest man mud miasma yet. Small droplets seemed to hang in the air quickly dampening the bandanna I was breathing through. It's no P100 respirator but improvisation has quickly become a trademark of the North. Clothes line ropes, seriously. The sewer terminates in a 4 story tall junction roaring with the sound of a thousand flushing crappers. Tightly grasp the ladder rungs, feel the thick man-mud sludge squish between your fingers and climb upwards. From the top catwalk this is the view into the biggest whirling turd-vortex yet.
pic: Little Mike
Macro, 'glorious culvert of the north against which all culverts are measured' goaded us into her musty depths once more with promises of a foray into her branch known as 'The Academy'. Amusingly 'academy' is ye olde school slang for a brothel and I was more than ready to plunge balls deep into the sewerfresh filth. Being at its termination a mega sewer overflow this is entirely conceivable, more than you were probably crediting me for rather thinking I was merely looking for an excuse to mention brothels, sewerfreshness and balls deep withing a dozen words of each other.
Academy branches from the mainline of Macro at the much photographed archway room then runs promptly to a massive staircase. Staircases are so common these days, how long until someone discovers a drain elevator? Follow the stairs and you'll arrive at the gigantic overflow chamber.
A curry and a sleep at Little Mike's house refreshed us for a rainy Leeds day of busting up Masticator. Masticator is a long meandering canal/culvert similar to the area around Maze in Melbourne. There is lots of graffiti for the eyes, debris for weary feet and rain for the ears. Our eventual journey was halted by rising water levels but Masticator is a relaxing walk if you so desire, and a challenging ninja obstacle course for those keen to boulder. At lots of points you can scale up the walls then traverse pipes, slippery bricks and other obstacles. DDT of the Spiderkin demonstrated the techniques and I absorbed the styles like a sponge.
Those who live in the North and haven't yet discovered the joys of Northern draining are sorely missing out. Those of you who have recently begun their draining 'career', welcome. The North delivers every time with big drains, tasty curry and good adventures. What more could you ask for?
Remove your shoes. Undress. Before you is a small concrete slot 30cm high and 50cm wide. 5cm of clearish water flows over what appears to be a brown mossy fungus. Repeat until believed and internalised: "It's only moss". Take a garbage bag, tear open the bottom and fashion yourself a makeshift toga or swimsuit. Take another and create a kilt if you wish. Pandora cares not for catwalk fashion though Harold would approve of course.
pic: Otter
Pandora's Slot calls to you, what charms does she conceal behind that concrete portal? Drop your knees into the icy water, arch your back then slide your hands through the slot. Feel the velvety moss brushing through your fingers. Tense your abs, keep your nipples above water and scramble for traction with your toes. Push push push! Dip your groin in the water and you'll catch the aids! Here the Otter demonstrates his natural disposition towards this kind of thing.
Following Pandora's Box for a way from her slot leads eventually to the overflow of a disgusting trunk sewer, lovingly named Pandora's Arsehole. A large room of balconies overlook the sewer, like a viewing gallery of sorts. DDT and Little Mike had requested we bring some climbing gear to augment his clothes line knot ladder to negotiate the 4m drop into the trunk.
pic: Little Mike
Rigged and kitted we climbed down and began upstream in the thickest man mud miasma yet. Small droplets seemed to hang in the air quickly dampening the bandanna I was breathing through. It's no P100 respirator but improvisation has quickly become a trademark of the North. Clothes line ropes, seriously. The sewer terminates in a 4 story tall junction roaring with the sound of a thousand flushing crappers. Tightly grasp the ladder rungs, feel the thick man-mud sludge squish between your fingers and climb upwards. From the top catwalk this is the view into the biggest whirling turd-vortex yet.
pic: Little Mike
Macro, 'glorious culvert of the north against which all culverts are measured' goaded us into her musty depths once more with promises of a foray into her branch known as 'The Academy'. Amusingly 'academy' is ye olde school slang for a brothel and I was more than ready to plunge balls deep into the sewerfresh filth. Being at its termination a mega sewer overflow this is entirely conceivable, more than you were probably crediting me for rather thinking I was merely looking for an excuse to mention brothels, sewerfreshness and balls deep withing a dozen words of each other.
Academy branches from the mainline of Macro at the much photographed archway room then runs promptly to a massive staircase. Staircases are so common these days, how long until someone discovers a drain elevator? Follow the stairs and you'll arrive at the gigantic overflow chamber.
A curry and a sleep at Little Mike's house refreshed us for a rainy Leeds day of busting up Masticator. Masticator is a long meandering canal/culvert similar to the area around Maze in Melbourne. There is lots of graffiti for the eyes, debris for weary feet and rain for the ears. Our eventual journey was halted by rising water levels but Masticator is a relaxing walk if you so desire, and a challenging ninja obstacle course for those keen to boulder. At lots of points you can scale up the walls then traverse pipes, slippery bricks and other obstacles. DDT of the Spiderkin demonstrated the techniques and I absorbed the styles like a sponge.
Those who live in the North and haven't yet discovered the joys of Northern draining are sorely missing out. Those of you who have recently begun their draining 'career', welcome. The North delivers every time with big drains, tasty curry and good adventures. What more could you ask for?
