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The Brentford Mercury

The Charabang Report

Another write-up from Brentford

by By Karl Macnaughton

 

The Ministry

It was a warm day to begin with. Very warm. And it didn’t get any cooler, either.

In fact, upon arrival at Mornington Crescent underground station to find nobody there it was a reasonable assumption that several people had been there earlier but had since sublimed in the heat. But no, they had just been waiting round the corner where we were supposed to be meeting up.

There was the normal gathering, gassing and scrabbling for ID badges and then things were underway.

Everyone having been deemed an honoured guest of the Ministry of Serendipity, the station master came out with an enormous grin on his face and started talking about all of the wonders that lay beneath the stone flags of Whateverthehelltheroadwe’re standing on is Street and all assembled were divided up and led down into the depths of The Ministry’s headquarters.

There were doors and tunnels and secret passageways galore. There were even a few hypnotic green lights that flashed on and then, wait for it, off again. Wonders were beheld. The stationmaster-cum-tourguide’s ever-present grin explaining what lay behind each wall and door, and beneath each step. Going through he first door and descending the creaking spiral instilled a sense of reverence. What would we find further down?

It was quite strange entering by one door, walking what seemed like mere metres in the darkness and then exiting through another. Then across a tunnel filled with bustling passengers and the sounds of approaching trains, and into another short tunnel.

There were so many tunnels, trains, doorways, nasty looking aliens, flashing lights, staircases, rats, officials, grins, ‘passengers’, banisters lined with thick black dust, secrets, and darkness that, although on ascending the stairs back into the light of day everyone was left with a sense of awe and wonder at what they had just seen, at the same time it was difficult to work out exactly what it was. Obviously a cunning ploy to make us all forget what lay beneath.

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