st. crispin | red fences and red tape

Leaving the bemused guard in his den, we marched past the drab Administration Block, completely featureless and lacking the architectural flourishes of the rest of the asylum. With the water tower as our central marker, we walked along the back of two and three storey ward blocks, strung out in a straight line.

Clearance of lesser buildings had already started, leaving more mud and orphaned bricks, ugly brown scars on a dingy grey day. Red plastic mesh fence emphasised open areas, quick bolt holes into the buildings themselves.

But with the security guard warning us away from the buildings, and the fact that we were behaving our- selves, we pushed on. I took consolation in the fact that the light was rapidly failing, and an infiltration would leave us walking the corridors in the dark.