Visiting the nextdoor neighbour. Wales

So the semi on the right it is then. Unlike the more hospitable neighbour, this was far more difficult to get into.

See that green door, you know; the one that's keeping secrets from Shaking Stevens.

There ya go. Sometimes the body needs to be more "Stretch Armstrong", it would make life so much easier.

After a quick check to make sure there were no shards left in the frame, as I really did not want to leave my testicles behind in place of a calling card, I slithered in head first

C'mon Let's mooch

Urbex Rule: No 11, allow your eyes to become accustomed to the light before you get stuck in.

If you fail to prepare; you prepare to fail.

Or in this instance FALL Several times, in my haste to "get stuck in"

Sang the musical voice in my head

"Been spending most of life Living in a hoarder's paradise"

Nope, nor me

A sign of things to come. There be lots of treasure in here.

If only I could stand up and keep my balance everything would be fine,

God only knows what is buried beneath my feet.

Yup stood on these, couldn't help it, sorry.

Another room, another, "jesus where the fuck do I stand", or perhaps more a "I hope it's a soft landing"

But amongst all the grot, those cotton spools actually look virtually new and unused.

Some clues 2019, and "Irene", was this the home of the spinster of the parish?

For "International Medium", read a charlatan that preys on the gullible and needy and goes to Benidorm for his holidays, paid for by your kind donations. In 2002 it cost you £6 to be amazed by bullshit, I did some research, he was back in the area in 2016 and charged £18, cheeky bastard.

I'm thinking super fan Irene caught up with an ageing Marty Wilde somewhere, before the days of the selfie.

Well I have sat here for hours trying to work out what is going on in this note book, I have given up, it has turned me to drink

Speaking of which, the nectar of the gods, Wrexham lager, brewed in the town since 1882, drunk by me since 1972, it was easy to pass for 18 in some of the pubs in Wrexham.

Could go out with £1 in your pocket, buy a pack of 10, No6 fags, get pissed (it was only 11p a pint then), and still have enough for a bag of chips on the stagger home.

Unless of course ya pulled, then it was slow down on the lager, oh and a babycham for my squeeze please landlord.

Happy Days.

I love clowns, but dolls are spooky.

I actually made it across without falling over once!

Totally in awe at the mug mountain, I mean how many mugs does a person need in their life?

Shall we go upstairs? I know you want to.

Oh and that's a phone, quite novel in its day, it moved away from a "ring-ring" sound to one that went "chirrp-chirrp", Oh how we loved our technological advances in those days.

Getting here would be fun if you had a dodgy curry the night before.

Two bedrooms, I was not expecting to see kids things, I am truly stumped.

Complete and utter decay, the air damp, the clothes damp, mould everywhere. Compulsive hoarding is a clinically recognised mental disorder.

"No, I am not very happy, would you be? Stuck on this shelf whilst everything crumbles around me, look at me look! I am covered in dust and crap, I can hardly breathe I'm wedged in here like some stuffed toy, now take your snaps and FUCK OFF"

"OK"

"And mind your nuts on the way out"

In conclusion I am happy to report that my dangly bits survived and are in fine fettle.