I survived the nuclear bunker experience

…and all I got was a lousy badge, some essential oil and a CD of slightly racist folk music.

You know what it's like: it's Saturday night, you're having a couple of bottles of wine with your friends, watching a bit of television – and suddenly someone suggests bidding for a Nuclear Bunker Adventure on ebay. What could be better than a trip to the Yorkshire Dales, with the added novelty of sleeping over in a genuine nuclear bunker? Fresh air, wholesome activities, hearty pub food and a little piece of Cold War history into the bargain. And ebay being what it is, it doesn't matter that it's one o'clock in the morning and you're a bit inebriated: you can still book a holiday.

This is how I found myself, at half past four one cloudy afternoon in October, sitting in a tiny room 15 feet underground with two friends, Jan and Richard, while a rather rotund middle-aged man, who has already ranted more or less incomprehensibly about Tony Blair and his "Marxist" government, tells us without any trace of irony that he is a clairvoyant. "I'll heal you with this hand", he grins, "and I'll shoot you with this one. A ha ha ha ha ha!"

Our host – described as a "terrifying extremist" by someone much wiser than me who warned me not to go on the trip – is Ged Dodd, nuclear bunker enthusiast, keen potholer, conspiracy theorist and proud holder of some extremely right-wing views. And clairvoyant, of course. He spends his days selling essential oils over the internet, sending weird emails to various political and religious groups (we didn't quite establish with what aim in mind) and occasionally hosting/terrifying groups of crazy people who decide that spending a night in a nuclear bunker might be a fun holiday. He has a lot of stories and theories, which are scary whether he is telling the truth or whether they are in his head, and jumps between topics so fast that we have difficulty following him even if we try, which we stop doing after the first couple of hours. He also laughs a lot, not so much the evil laugh of someone who is plotting to take over the world as the hearty laugh of someone who knows that he has powers and that the world is his for the taking should he ever decide to use them. As the trip wears on, this laugh starts to sound amazingly sinister.

We all laugh a lot too, nervously, and try not to look at each other or at our host, letting our eyes wander over the bizarre contents of the bunker. Between the two tiny sets of bunkbeds there is a small "kitchen" area, with several small shelves stacked haphazardly with tinned food and a little wood-burning stove with a chimney running up to the outside world. Ged delights in feeding the fire with plastic bags and other nasty black smoke-producing fuels. At the other side of the room, next to the narrow bench where we are sitting, there is some kind of complicated-looking radio apparatus and two CCTV screens showing black-and-white images of the area surrounding the entrance to the bunker. The walls are covered in postcards, almost all of which are nuclear-related and many of which seem to be anti-nuclear. Hoping to divert his attention from talking about clairvoyance, I comment on them.

“Ah yes, they were designed by a lecturer at Leeds Metropolitan University,” he tells me. He pauses. “Of course, he came out as an agent of the KGB the next week. But I knew all along that he was.” Awkward silence. But one that was quickly filled by Ged. “So go on, ask me questions! What do you want to know! I’m an encyclopaedia of information!” We all look at each other, but he doesn’t wait for us to answer. “So what are your hobbies, what do you like doing?” he asks us.

“Well, I play the guitar…” I venture. This was the wrong thing to say.

“Great, what sort of stuff do you play? I’ve made some records you know.” He hands me a CD. “I’ve done songs for everyone. Greenpeace, the BNP, whoever they tell me to.” (At this point we all start getting worried about his continuous references to this unspecified “they”.) Ged continues, “I’ve just written a song for the town of Keighley, against the pedi-o-philes.” The what? “The pedi-o-philes. There was a ring of them there you see, but it all got covered up by the police.” And why was that, we ask? “Racism. They were all Asians.” Oh. “I always say, I’m not racist – I’ve nothing against the Welsh. A ha ha ha ha!”

The conversation continues in this vein for the next couple of hours. “We lost the Cold War”, Ged tells us repeatedly, and makes Richard read from a laminated poster on his wall which lists Soviet plans for taking over the West written in 1949. “Corrupt the young…” reads Richard, certainly sounding defeated. “Get them away from religion, get them obsessed by sex…” Ged also tells us that he knows exactly what we know, because “I know who taught it to you”, accuses us of being politically correct, calls Tony Blair a Marxist some more, and tells us about the big riot that he expects in Keighley on November 5^th. “I hope I get pulled by the police, I really do, ha ha ha!” he cackles. “Look out for it in the news: Keighley, November 5^th!” Er, we will do. We really want this to be over.

“So, are we off down the pub soon?” suggests Richard, jovially. Ged looks annoyed. “Not yet. You don’t escape that easily, a ha ha ha ha ha!” That’s exactly what we’re afraid of. “I know, I’ll read your runes for you!” No, it’s OK, really…By the time we get to the pub we’re exhausted, and we still have a few more hours of this to get through.

To attempt to cover all of Ged’s political views would take too long and make little sense, but it’s fair to say that they are almost all bizarre and illogical, mostly contradictory, and sometimes fairly terrifying. It’s quite easy to laugh at someone telling you about (for example) a secret society who are controlling world events, but not when you know you will be spending the night shut in an underground bunker with this person. Also worrying were the aforementioned references to “they”. As it turned out, “they” meant alternately the government or whatever gods or spiritual beings Ged felt were acting through him. Sample pub conversation:

Ged: “They won’t let me win the lottery you know. Do you know why?”

Richard (by this point despairing of leaving Yorkshire alive): “Erm, because you keep picking the wrong numbers?”

Ged: “A ha ha ha ha ha!” (Slaps Richard on the back in a hearty fashion.) “Ha ha, you’re funny, I like you! No, it’s because they know what I’ll do with it. It takes a lot of money to bring down governments you know.”

We finally get back to the bunker at about 11. Time for bed, great! We get into our bunks and hear Ged locking the entrance. I close my eyes, enjoy the fact that I don’t have to listen to Ged talking anymore, and fall asleep.

I’d like to say that I slept soundly in my comfortable bunk, but in fact I woke up two hours later and started panicking. I’m in a bunker underground, I thought. But that didn’t bother me so much as the fact that the door was locked and I couldn’t get out if I wanted to. Which I suddenly did, more than anything. No one would ever find us down here...mobiles don't even work... “Is anyone awake?” I ask tentatively. “Yes,” answers Ged instantly. I wonder if he sleeps. Maybe he doesn’t need to. “Erm, can you open the door for a minute? I think I need some fresh air…”

To his credit, and my relief, he opens the door straight away and I climb the15-foot ladder and emerge into the outside world again. It is a beautiful night and I can see more stars than you can ever see in Manchester. Ged talks to me about constellations for a couple of minutes and I almost forget that he’s a terrifying extremist. When I go back down to my bunk, he agrees to leave the hatch open so I can get out again if I want to. This makes me feel a lot better, and I go back to sleep pretty quickly. Admittedly, I have nightmares about being pursued by a crazy man across the Yorkshire dales, but at least I’m not lying awake in a nuclear bunker with an overweight clairvoyant and an overactive imagination.

As we left the next morning, Ged gave each of us an “I survived the ROC 21/21 Nuclear Bunker Experience” badge. He also gave me a CD of his work and some lemon essential oil (he couldn’t resist, he said, because the oil had the same name as me). I’ve never been so relieved to be leaving somewhere. I’m a bit worried about having the CD in my house –I don’t think it would look good for me if the police ever had occasion to search my things. I’m a bit worried about smelling the lemon oil in case it gives me bunker flashbacks.

I’ve learned two things from this experience. Firstly, in the event of a nuclear war, you really are better off taking your chances on the surface. I mean, really. And secondly never, ever bid for things on ebay when you’re drunk.