Grindle
I travel alone. Wanderlust
Let’s start with the last snapshot. Not a very good image but the only one I have because.......
.........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 now 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 decided to scramble 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 ( did people really do that in the real world?) 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.
So back through the nettles and the muddy fields I walked.........
.......so what was in the cottage?
Grot, lots of lovely grot, if you want to do sterile and sanitised go join the National Trust, I tell folk when they ask why I do what I do.
I did manage to get upstairs, little bit of effort and a lot of prayers to Ganesh
The floors were very sketchy and not much worth rummaging through. Getting backdown I think Ganesh was sleeping as things started to slip and slide. In reflection it’s probably all the noise that generated that attracted Mr Welly to my hole. Return to start!
.........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 now 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 decided to scramble 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 ( did people really do that in the real world?) 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.
So back through the nettles and the muddy fields I walked.........
.......so what was in the cottage?
Grot, lots of lovely grot, if you want to do sterile and sanitised go join the National Trust, I tell folk when they ask why I do what I do.
I did manage to get upstairs, little bit of effort and a lot of prayers to Ganesh
The floors were very sketchy and not much worth rummaging through. Getting backdown I think Ganesh was sleeping as things started to slip and slide. In reflection it’s probably all the noise that generated that attracted Mr Welly to my hole. Return to start!
