| Preparations
21 Firstly I needed to work out how best to record my experiences - and then how best to report and publish them without getting ripped off, dismissed, threatened, gazumped, killed, or arrested. I mean just how does one go about a covert investigation into the SAFETY and SECURITY of Nuclear Power? How could I get useful and insightful information without blowing my cover? And what would I do if I was found out before I was through with my research?? Well, one thing was for sure - The more unique the information I got, the better off and stronger placed I would be. I certainly had a good angle to get started on - 'TERRORIST IN NUCLEAR PLANT SHOCK!!!" There was however plenty more required before I could sell the story. Eventually, I would need some good sources, lawyers?? Motivators? God knows what. But that was all in the future. First I needed to get a better idea as to how the whole place was set up, and to sort out my methods of data collection. Given that making written notes would be far too tiring after a long day slaving over a hot kitchen, I decided the best way to record each day was to do an audio diary of my thoughts and observations. To complete this, I would need computers, large hard drives, a small microphone, blank CDRS, a minidisk and plenty of free minidisks. With these sourced, built and bought, I looked into miniature digital cameras, bugging devices and an assortment of other gadgets that might help gather extra information either live from the site or in the evenings at The Bass. All this taken care of as best I could with the money I had available, I moved onto transportation. 22 … Because the journey to Sizewell B by road was more than 9 miles each way - a distance that would add much more than a hours extra effort to what was already a very long day indeed, my daily commute would have to be more or less the same cross country route I'd used when I'd gone to take a look at the power stations, except I'd have to use a bike rather than my feet…. On paper that was no problem. I already had 2 pushbikes: A converted Falcon Banana Racing bike I'd used on several long distance cycle tours, and a black Saracen mountain bike I affectionately knew as 'The Tank' on account of it's weight. The Tank, with it's fat tyres, was clearly the better bet, yet due to a long term lack of repair ability - I'd let it slide into a bad state of function that might not cope with such a stiff daily exertion. In a vague effort to sort this out, I bought a few spare inner tubes and quick release bolts for the wheels. I pumped up the tyres, fiddled aimlessly with the gears and basically hoped for the best. The unfortunate truth was however that I couldn't repair bikes for shit. My dad is an excellent and professional mechanic, and every time he see's me approaching a bike with tools, he lets out a weary sigh of resignation - Not only does he know a disaster is about to happen that won't result in a fixed bike, he also knows he'll inevitably have to pick up the pieces in several fraught days time, by which point I will have denied all interest in what I'd started out doing.. So, basically, if anything did go wrong with The Tank - I'd have little choice but to use the thin-wheeled Banana and if that went the same way then I was in the shit. But fuck it, it'd be alright…Sure….if I'd spent more time studiously and patiently learning the finer points of bike mechanics from my Dad as a young man, rather than trying to save the world, I might have been better placed to deal with a puncture, but if I'd have done that, I wouldn't even have a story to start with…. 23
You see, that October night, the BBC were supposed to be showing the first episode of the dramatization of Gerald Durrells classic tale of boyhood nature 'My Family and Other Animals' My mother had suggested I watch it, but I didn't bother. I had no interest in it. Indeed at age 12 I'd mostly lost my young interest in birdwatching and nature altogether. The pressures of teenage life had instead, shifted my attention to trainers, cars, cricket and football. Indeed at the time, I was dedicating a large portion of my time to a letter writing campaign to get Puma to recognize Southamptons legendary goalkeeper Peter Shilton by naming a pair of football boots after him. Anyway, because of the storm having knocked out a lot of peoples opportunity to watch TV, the program was rescheduled to the Tuesday or the Wednesday of the next week and no doubt increasingly worried by my unhealthy interest in expensive trainers and the possibility that she might have to pretend to be interested in sport if I managed to make a career of it, my mum again suggested I watch it. For some reason, I put my campaign against Puma to one side for half an hour and I watched the program. And that was it…From being beyond disinterested, I became captivated by Corfu and Durrells idyllic childhood: I loved the beautiful weather, the sun, the pace of life, the people and most of all, the idea of collecting as much nature as possible and putting it in jars and tanks.
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