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The unpronounceable Place

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I wasn't playing out this weekend, I'd been saying it all week then I was after all so I jumped on the Weasel waggon and it was heading for Welsh Wales to meet the undergrounders who call themselves Blober, Blacksnake and the young wippet like H.Darby

Fragglehunter and myself uncharacteristically arrived first and were tucking into eggs on toast at the delightful Lakeside cafe in dkjfnasdofnasdeofnasofna (well that's how it sounded to me) when the undergrounders turned up. After breakfasts were finished and insults were extended by myself to Mr Blober about the previous night's rugby (it's not often an Englishman gets to take the piss out of a Welshman about rugby) we headed for the hills and got our stuff out.

I had asked many questions the night before about kit, conditions, chances of dying etc and thought I had been given all the answers.

Then I saw wellies, "hang on no one mentioned wellies last night" 

"it's a mine, of course, you need wellies, I thought you knew that"

Then I saw waterproof rucksacks, waterproof trousers, waterproof gloves and what can only be described (and was described) as a rubber gimp suit, again waterproof.

Why was the Snake laughing????? Bastard!

" Oh you don't need all this stuff, you'll be ok you beat us at Rugby remember"


Fraggs had opted for the very unwaterproof boots and trousers.

So I carried my wellies which I luckily had in my boot up to the mine entrance and then put them on, once inside the very splendid chap Blober hid my walking boots in a safe place and assured me that nobody would poo in them whilst we were gone.

So off we went hard hats with team weasel stickers on them and everything.

Blober was a fantastic guide, he knew every inch of the place and was full of knowledge, Fraggs was full of water but said he didn't care.

Now you don't get a more stunning explore location than this.



Down the steps of death


To the bridge of death


Then to lunch time









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