Please, fast forward 2 months.

As mind’s eye pans over the green, leafy British countryside the rapid staccato percussion of a helicopter’s blades can be heard. As we grow closer, the chopper comes into view. Hovering, its illuminating search light pointed down at the ground.

On the ground firemen and other emergency-response types move around quickly, with purpose. An a-frame and winch is assembled, with a taut steel cable running from it down into a pit as dark as pitch.

One of the firemen activates the winch. After what seems like an eternity of grinding gears and the sound of steel plinking tightly a hirsute… thing is hauled out of the hole and quickly lifted onto a stretcher. Half man, half something, he — it — blinks in the bright lights.

As he is dragged away from you and into the back of an ambulance only one thing is heard, a slight mania in his voice: “I can lick my own elbow you know!”

And that, kind sirs, is my epic escape from the bunker in Day 37.

Below is the next installment of Day 37. The beardless aftermath that picks up the story again, a week or month after Sebastian has been rescued from a bunker that he was trapped in for 3 months. If you haven’t seen Chapters 1-3 of Day 37, I suggest you watch them first, as this one won’t make much sense without the back story!


On photos for sale, and my gaunt appearance
Winter falls to the inevitable onslaught of spring


I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.