Noel Chidwick, 28 Nov '12

Look. Don't blame me. I told my boss and he told his boss, and his boss told his boss.

All I said was: is that pile of sand shrinking? We were just taking a breather—it's hard work with the jackhammer, trying not to hit Edinburgh's precious tram lines. All the while you can feel the eyes of the Princes Street shoppers on your back.

Me and Joe took a closer look at the sand. A pile twice as high as a man, shaped like a volcano. Sure enough, as we watched, the crater at the top was slowly getting bigger and deeper. Joe and I climbed up the slope, thinking we'd take a real look, when there was a massive bang and I was knocked off my feet. The sand was falling from under us, taking us with it. Where? Underneath the road, that's where, pal. We were dragged along, in a cascade of noise, and swirling sand as the whole bloody lot vanished under us. Joe saved my life. Just as I was about to be dragged down like a spider in the plug hole Joe, grabbed my boots and held on for all he was worth. He earned his pint that night, all right.

I was head down in a huge space, sand pouring over me. Finally it stopped. Joe dragged me back up, and we peered down into a hole the size of a skip, right opposite Jenners. We thought it was yet another uncharted cellar, but there was an eerie sound echoing around like the moan of something large and sickly, and the draught up out of the hole was deathly cold. It took a while for our eyes to adjust to the dark, but there was a red glow, way, way down. Hamish—my boss—ran over, shouted at us to get away from there.

Quickly we erected screens: more rubberkneckers with camera phones we did not need. Some more of the lads had gathered round. Hamish asked for a couple of volunteers - yes, paid as overtime, he said. Joe and I were up for it. They brought over the big crane, attached a large bucket and before we knew it, we were lowered down. Did I say this space was big? It was huge. I've seen the Grand Canyon. Imagine a chunk of that, roofed over. That's what's under there, right under Princes Street. We had torches, but we couldn't make out much. But the red glow was getting bigger, flickering. It was a fire, right at the bottom. We smelt the smoke. We shouted at Hamish to haul us out of there pretty smartly.

No you won't hear about the canyon under Edinburgh. They've patched up the hole, hopefully even reinforced it.

Two things I'll tell you. One, I won't be riding a tram. The other? Oh, the smell of the smoke. Bad was it? No, I think it was bacon, or pork: someonewas cooking something down there.