But because of changes in the way TV and radio are broadcast around the world, it has changed a bit since.
And the opening of the new satellite array, plus the refurbishing of the existing big dishes was the reason I went back today. Also, to see if there are still traces of the old Crowsley Park to be found.
And yes, I went up there, because it would be rude not to.
We only walked in front of the dishes a tiny little bit.
Our technical teams - however - are made of stern stuff, and on close inspection, none of the dishes were installed upside-down.
The pure, undiluted Kimjongilist-Kimilsungist nonsense that this one dish has to put up with. I'm going to nominate it for some sort of medal.
But there's one thing missing when you compare-and contrast the top two photos on this post.
Where - I hear you ask - is the HF Tower? Where is the stonking great structure from which Tom Baker fell in his last ever episode as the Fourth Doctor in Doctor Who?
The HF Tower that - somehow, and for budgetary reasons I should think - doubled up as the Jodrell Bank radio telescope, from which the Doc made the ultimate sacrifice in defeating The Master?
And off we went down the field to look at the 10 metre dishes.
To save money and to increase their useful lives, Soviet Ghorizont satellites weren't particularly geostationary, which meant that a significant part of one's shift chasing after a sparkly TV signal.
All this was done from the comfort of one's vigorously air conditioned control room, and today was the first time I've seen it done for real, out the middle of a not vigorously air conditioned field.
There now follows a section of interest only to the old boys who worked at Crowsley Park (and because the staff was largely drawn from engineers, radio enthusiasts, and former armed forces signals types, it was almost an exclusively male preserve. It was only in much later years after Crowsley was converted to a remotely-controlled site that the patriarchy was finally smashed).
That's just the taster. Because there is no need for people to actually be there these days (but it is still staffed on a fairly regular basis because of engineering REASONS, and BBC engineers are made of stern stuff and can work even under the foulest of conditions), the following are all entitled "What have they done to my lovely..."
But there are still traces of the old place if you look hard enough.
A note on access: The site is privately-owned, but there are several public footpaths so visitors may go see by foot. Please keep to the paths.
Do respect the privacy of the households who live there; and do realise that the Crowsley Park reception building is fenced off with strictly no access to visitors - large and very serious people will come along at all hours and give you a good talking to.
And if the large and serious people do not find you, the wild animals who have evolved untouched by humanity on the site will, and future archaeologists may eventually find your broken corpse down among the cable ducts which still criss-cross the site.
PRO TIP: The lunchtime shift was obliged to bring cake from the shop at Sonning Common. So do bring cake.
But I've a) never worked so hard in a workplace and b) never had so much fun, and it genuinely has sparked life-long friendships.
So I'm glad to see it's still not dead, and still a vital part of the place where I work. As the misprint says: NO REGERTS.