cane hill | syringes on sunday

Finding our way down the stairs at the end of the ward, we entered the unexplored depths of Hill/Harvard. Who knows what further treats Cane Hill had to offer? But this was the sum total of our explorations that day.

Now - I could leave the tour there, leaving you hoping for more. And I guess you assumed that we just quietly slipped out of the hospital?

No. Quite the contrary.

We walked through Hill/Harvard, reaching the furthest day room. I was cursing my camera - I’d misplaced a memory card, and wanted to take a picture of this ward. It was great - all the wallpaper had peeled off the ceilings, being captured by the fluorescent light fittings so it hung down in huge sheets. All the wallpaper - it was a suburb shot.

Whilst I was fiddling with my camera, Offkilter looked out of the window. He motioned Laurence to take a look. Then they asked me: “Simon, what do you make of this?”

I looked.

Outside the window, sitting on the ground was a large tripod. It proudly held aloft a huge foam microphone from which two huge antenna sprouted. Contented to the microphone was a stout wire, leading to a metal briefcase marked ‘Surveillance’.

“We’re leaving. Now.”

We legged it. And then legged it back to grab Phil. And then we legged it again. And because of all the rotten floors, we took a torturously convoluted route around the hospital. In fact, we even ran headfirst into a group of other explorers - what a busy time Cane Hill was having that day. We exchanged pleasantries - and legged it.

I’m not messing with anything that looks like, or is even marked, surveillance. And with that we took leave of Cane Hill that day, but I think I speak for the group in saying that we saw what we came to see.

© Simon Cornwell 2003