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Already scratched and stung, we studied our options. Huge industrial buildings rose up
in waves, all interconnected by huge blue-painted metal pipes, walkways, gantries and ladders.
It looked excellent. However, to our right was a relatively new building, planted within its
own compound, emitting the unmistakable whine of a jet turbine. Cars neatly parked in front
of the building, and gleaming in the sun, painted a knowing picture of a building in use.
It was a similar story to the left. In front of us was a perimeter road, then about fifty
yards of exposed gravel before we could get to the cover of the first pipes and buildings.
There was nothing else for it. We got as close to the road as possible, shielded by some small
asbestos sheds and then legged it. A furious run later, and we were into Pyestock proper,
vaulting small pipes, rushing down pathways, and leaping across concrete crawls and sumps.
Eventually, we judged it safe to slow down, take stock of our surroundings, and start photographing.
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