A pork pie or a pork
pie?
Or something else?
I’ll start by saying that we Brits are known
for many things: lots of red on the map when my Dad was a lad;
being as arrogant as our nearest mainland European neighbours;
always supporting the underdog; enjoying nothing more than forming
an orderly queue; having less than sparkling cuisine and terrible
teeth. And finally for telling it as it is. For not
bending the truth, not embellishing things, in short, not
lying.
The last national trait ends right
here. If logs for this cache are not at least patent untruths
and preferably complete fantasy they will be disallowed (or at
least looked down on).
So anyway, to get on with it. I laid
this cache last week. Well I think it was last week.
It’s really quite difficult to tell because time seems to have
moved into a completely new dimension.
I had staked out the site and had a normal
ammo box full of tat ready to deploy. Armed with my trusty
GPS, I arrived at my destination, suddenly a vicious cold wind
sprang up out of nowhere and a strange, lurid, pungent powder was
blown in my face. At this point I was overcome by the fumes
and blacked out.
I woke up in a blindingly shiny room (how
much later, your guess is as good as mine), surrounded by men in
black suits, trilbies and dark glasses. I was paralysed, I
couldn’t move, talk or even reach back for my GPS. I felt
utterly powerless.
The men were discussing what to do with me as
apparently my box location was a threat to a secret nation that
lives within the human race. Not L Ron Hubbard lizards but
much, much worse. And more real. All of a sudden
they seemed to lose interest in me and threw themselves flat on the
floor.
All at once the walls swung back and I was
lifted up by four eagles with faces reminiscent of Diana Rigg in
her leather-clad heyday (this may, of course, simply be wishful
thinking). They dropped me at my original location, gave me
their phone numbers and told me to be quick. Oh yes, and they
gave me £5 million in used notes “to encourage caching in the
UK”.
I have conveniently taken that to mean buying
a big house and employing lots of “chambermaids” without telling
Mrs N where I am five days a week, rather than letting her in on it
and seeing it all get converted into stilettos at the nearest
branch of Jimmy Choos. Needless to say, I tend to be “away on
business” quite a lot at the moment. And am still trying to
explain why my face and hands are dyed a brilliant
purple.
Please feel free to pop in – who knows what
may happen here.
Some of the following is untrue:
Contents include a FTF prize of a 256 Mb MP3 player (if you don’t
need it someone else will take it – no swap required), the
Koh-i-noor diamond (as Mrs N has one already), a toy car, a voucher
for a week at the Ritz, some crayons, a bottle of Chanel No 5 and
the keys to a Ferrari (finding it is the object of another
cache).
And, by the way, a word of warning - watch
out for the trolls, dragons and triffids on the top of the highest
mountain in Cambridgeshire.
I’ve classed it as a difficulty 1 so as not
to attract undue attention to it, but don’t be surprised if it is
much much more difficult than that.
Start by working out the street name
obliterated in the picture (ABC DEFG ). It’s really, really
difficult and can’t be done just by looking at Google Earth on the
interweb thingy, oh no. When you’ve done that use the street
name to find the cache at N52 19.AB(C-2) W00
05.G(B-C-D)(E+F). You need to decode the street name ABC DEFG. As
usual in these puzzles in the alphabet a=1, b=2 etc and where the
number of the alphabetic position of the letter has two digits use
the second, eg j=0. Co-ords a bit difficult to get accurately -
hint fairly specific as a result.
Good luck, and I look forward to your
visit logs.
