|The long-vanished hospital shop of my childhood, teenage years|
and young adulthood. Demolished sometime back in the '90s
I've a nagging suspicion that I may've told this tale
tions that we were agents of U.N.C.L.E., or The Three
Investigators, or 007 - or any fictional characters
with whom one associates 'living on the edge'.
any place we shouldn't have been, we were on it like a rash.
For we were - The Adventurers! (Seriously, that's what
we called ourselves. Or maybe it was just what I called
ourselves and the others merely humoured me, but
hey - that still counts in my book.)
our moments, and one such moment was this.
I could check to see if it had any U.S. comics or black and
white mags that, for some reason, weren't regularly or
readily available from other newsagents.
|There used to be more trees here, but they were felled to make|
way for car parking areas. Again, none of this exists today
decided to investigate a ground-level out-building par-
tially concealed by a wooded area. It was one of several
annexes once used as wards (I think), though at the time of
this tale, used mainly for storing medical supplies and may-
be also by administration staff. We gained entry through
the door, which yielded (undamaged) under the slight-
est pressure from our inquisitive selves.
what sounded like soft, slow footsteps, stealthily
we were merely indulging our over-developed sense
of curiosity by doing a bit of exploring without criminal
intent? My friend (as usual) sh*t a brick, but I was made
of cooler stuff. I'd noticed a pair of small surgical scissors
in the bag my pal had been looking at, so I extracted them
and quietly cut the string around the handle, replaced the
scissors, then we both made a rapid escape through the
open window frame and vanished in a cloud of
dust over the horizon to freedom.
but then again, I always was a bit of a nutter.