As I was adjusting my camera seconds after the above shot a black welly appeared the other side of the hole, then a head, then the immortal words were shouted “what the bloody hell are you doing in there’
It’s amazing how quick the brain works, the options considered (bearing in mind that was the only way out)
A) be your normal charming aggressive self
B) passive aggressively tell whoever it is to ‘fuck off”
C) hide
D) was he alone,doggedup,shotgunned up
“Taking photos mate” I replied, for once discretion being the better part of valour won out.
‘I think you better come out’ said the talking Welly for that’s all I could see.
Still keeping the urge to go all Alan Partridge and suggest
A) why don’t you go and unlock the front door for me, or
B) are you going to give me a hand up, it’s a hell of a fucking climb
I scrambled from a rather rickety old table and squeezed myself out. When talking welly, who was about 4ft13’ tall and, well if his clothes were wet his weight would have doubled, realised he wasn’t dealing with kids and before him stood an old bugger 6ft tall, built for comfort not speed,unshaven, and bereft of a haircut for 4 months, he moved away and started to social distance to the tune of about 5 yds.
Welly: You shouldn’t be in there
Me: No signs saying I can’t
Welly: It’s not your property
Me: Is it yours
Welly: What you going to do with the photos, are you one of those Facebook explorers
Me: I don’t know yet, and no I’m not a Facebook explorer (ffs!)
Welly: you shouldn’t be breaking into property
Me: (getting bored now) There is a fucking big hole in the wall ( well big to him, small to me), perhaps you should fix it.
Welly: well you shouldn’t be here
Me: you are quite right I don’t need to be here now.
and off I trotted, so what did I enjoy in the cottage?
Nothing of architectural importance, just lots of grot and memories of times gone by.
It was just a simple two up two down hill farmers cottage, no central heating no bathroom. It would be just a tin bath in front of the fire on a Sunday after chapel for these folk
in the Kitchen just basic supplies, and a Wonderful old mangle.
Getting upstairs was a bit of a bugger, the stairs were in bits, coming down even worse, as my makeshift steps gave way , I guess the noise alerted Mr Welly to my presence.
I should have asked my welly what he was doing, as it’s nowhere close to any other dwelling, perhaps he was a Facebook explorer in the making?
