John Hawkes-Reed — Pump House Farm

The navigation lights on the transporter bridge came on as I walked down the hill into the centre of Newport. In the evening light, the half-dozen dirigibles moored up looked as if they’d been beaten from copper sheet. I grabbed my phone and wrapped the suckers of its octopod round a lamp post, fiddled with the position ‘til I was sure that the bridge was in the view over my shoulder, then put on my blog-face.

“OK. Right. So this is day two of my secret mission. After yesterday’s blogcast, I blagged a lift down from where the motorway used to be and, well, here I am. In a while, I’m going to be meeting these two way cool guys who’re going to fly me in to a secret location where I’ll get to find out what the government doesn’t want you to know about the Somerset Levels Wetlands Reserve. Anyway, this is Dave Bryce, live and direct from… well, you’ll just have to work that out yourselves, right? Reporting for Planet Bryce.”

I worked on the recording as I walked; cut out a few pauses, top and tail it with my ident and theme, then upload for my following. When I looked up again, the clouds had drawn in and the airships were now dark blobs illuminated from below by the floodlights of the customs sheds.

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