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The tube and train take me an hour combined. It's a further twenty minutes on foot before I see the sign for East Thistle Industrial Estate.
The sky is fresh and clear, but the scenery grim. A sprawling old complex of concrete and steel. Trucks, vans and beaten-up cars parked outside faceless warehouses and yards.
The place is a maze. Long roads and avenues that all look the same. Articulated wagons rumbling past me every other minute. I should have stolen a set of wheels, but I'm trying to break the habit. People depend on their cars, after all. You know, to go to work. Pick up the kids. Do their shopping. Probably not fair, swiping their pride and joy from under their noses.
After a while, I find the place. It's fronted by bushes and trees. A wide two-way entrance with a fancy bla
