"I'm leaning on a lamp post on the corner of the street, in case a certain little lady comes by. Oh me, oh my, I hope that little lady comes by"
Sang George Formby, a British comedy actor of the 30's through to the 60's
I wonder what lies beyond?
Well I too was leaning on a lamp post, in the middle of the street, not waiting for anyone in particular.
Attempting to look nonchalant.
Right hand holding my phone to my ear: "deep in conversation".
Left hand behind by back furiously fiddling with a strand of galvanised wire that was securing the Herras fence panel to said lamp post.
I had to stop every so often, and walk about, you know like those ignorant fuckers who believe they are the centre of the universe do when they are using a mobile.
Dom Joly got it so right all those years ago.
15 minutes of fiddling later.
Ooer missus
c'mon
LET'S MOOCH
G Yorke and sons, broom makers were based here from when the company was founded in 1931, until it vacated sometime in the 1990's.
In 2005 the business was renamed "all swept up" and is still an active listed company, but in June 21 only showing assets of £85k and just a sole employee.
Me thinks: tax fiddle.
Me very cynical
A storage area, complete with broom heads that will never be bristled.
Up the old stone steps and into what might have been a weighing room, for what I wouldn't know
Vintage balance scales, quaintly marked to ensure the correct weight was achieved.
Green door, what's that secret you're keeping?
Not a lot in all honesty, rubbish strewn floors and benches, brooms in the making that will never be used in anger
I didn't fall
I didn't stumble
But I discovered that stepping on the discarded broom bristles carries a risk of a slipping, and a sliding due to their structure and small surface area with the floor, there was very little friction.
Thankfully my URBEX footwear has sound and solid treads, which helped me stay upright
That bloke off the telly, one of the most over rated actors ever, but there again I might just be a Philistine, I have never understood the concept of dressing up and pretending to be someone else. Thespians don't do it for me.
Now this looks interesting: at last, treasure.
Industrial treasure
Machines that made brooms, neglected, rusted, rainwater through the missing roof
The last die.
toasting marshmallows on a night shift, maybe
Having wandered around what was left of the manufacturing bit, I had forgotten about the row of terraced houses that fronted the factory, going through the massive fire doors, weirdly led me into them, it seems they must have been used as offices.
Nothing of interest upstairs
Welcome to Stoke! Toilets optional.
So now I leave, having had one fiddle today I was exhausted so I didn't in all honesty re-secure the fence, it just makes it a bit easier for the next bunch of trespassers to get, in their excitement,
"All swept up"