I think it was an abandoned pump station. Lifting water from the Ovens river up a steep embankment to the town.

Now it is an architecture of decay.

That liminal space between the encroaching wild green creep and peoples last-gasp attempt to imbue some sort of symbolic claim.

Just enough interesting graffiti and intact technology to make the whole place cucumber cool.

The problem was that as I was crouched down amongst the twilight detritus of the far back room composing a shot, somebody else (a young girl) walked into the front room to investigate.

How to make myself known as a harmless dude simply taking photos without scaring the silly string out of them.

I loudly cleared my throat and made harmless sounds as best I could before stepping out to introduce myself.

In the spooky setting of the pump house I may as well have been dressed in a clown suit.