Tales of the Urban Explorer: Parkfield Mews
We had finished “The Artists House” and were en-route to Liverpool. You might be thinking of The Beatles if you live outside of the UK.
In truth, I was thinking I hope no bastard nicks my new car. Liverpool is, or used to be famous for having your car stolen. This statement may well be dated in today’s world, I am no longer sure.
Parkfield Mews was another drive-by, and close to the Toxteth district, made famous by those riots of previous decades.
"an old Victorian house", I exclaimed to @anidiotexplores who was already vacating the car and running off to scout before I had switched the engine off. Talk about enthusiasm!
It did look impressive from the roadside as I peered through chained gates to the property beyond.
I have gotten used to external sights like these being great and disappointed with what was inside many a time.
@anidiotexplores was already within the grounds, gave me the thumbs-up, and despite the fearsome looking chains I was in the grounds within seconds.
Moving closer I could hear noises coming from the inside that broken window. @andiotexplores was nowhere to be seen.
I walked past the open window casually glancing inside. Four teenagers were sprawled out on the dusty floor and looked the worse for wear.
I didn’t want to stop and stare as scouser teenagers are feral animals, and what had been a normal situation would have quickly turned into an episode of The Hunger Games.
'Let them get pissed, and I will avoid that room', I thought.
There was no shortage of entrance holes and after scrambling up a door caked in dirt, I was in and looking for @anidiotexplores who had seemingly vanished.
It looked bare inside and I groaned. It was one of those stripped houses with little to see.
I inadvertently walked into the room with the four teenage pissheads and was immediately put on the spot.
“Er… have you seen another dude in here, short, wiry, and never stops talking?", I said trying to compose myself.
’I could find myself surrounded in minutes by these snarling animals intent on tying me down, and slicing my limbs off, one by one’
“Yeah man, he went that way”, one of the lads pointed, upwards which brought on a torrent of laughter from the others.
I said my thanks and wondered how I had managed to escape alive.
We had established a connection, the threat was gone and they didn't give a shit. That's how I like it.
What struck me about this house was the stairs. Just how many do you need? It was a decent size but this was over the top.
Let’s take a shit together, how romantic.
Now that’s better. I prefer to do my unloading in private thanks.
As for the rest of the house, it just was not interesting. I looked at room after room and saw the same old shit. ('how dare you be so fucking boring... house')
Finally, I met up with @andiotexplores who told me he had given the rabid beasts downstairs some cigarettes. It was kind of like an entrance fee to keep us safe. Those who remember prohibition will understand.
The house must belong to someone and could well be renovated. It wasn’t a damp old mess like some but the roof won’t last forever without work.
I suppose it's a little late to dump some of the staircases. It could well be the original owner in the 1800s had a fondness for them and wanted to boast he had more than anyone else.
If I didn’t spot the external plaque this would have certainly been named, ”The House of Stairs”.
We crept out avoiding the open window and silently made our exit.
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'Tales of the Urban Explorer'
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