sometimes even with my experience, it's jaw dropping, really seriously jaw dropping.
this is the reason i do what i do, i kiss so many frogs, then along comes this princess.
i shall try and stay focussed as i upload each and every photo ( this is photo heavy, i have trimmed the snaps down by half, but i can't bin anymore). this isn't treasure island; this is treasure on the island.
this door was wide open when i arrived, i did my best to close it up when i left, the first things that hit me were a minging old coat and yes upon inspection some ladies undergarments on the stairs.
i couldn't hear the sounds of sex wafting on the breeze so i turned right. some well preserved vinyl discarded on the floor.
so our first introduction to Ann, an obvious art lover in the making.
i wonder if she was the muse or the artist? watercolours nicely done
cupboards full of craft materials, food and ornaments
Ann must have enjoyed these comics as a youngster maybe?
i was around in the 70's and i never dressed like a twat, seriously? ffs get real a belt is to hold your fucking trousers up.
some snaps of the downstairs rooms and big spiders webs
correspondence from friends 2004/2006, more artwork
step carefully upstairs, someone has nicked the handrails
window views
a lot of photographs to peruse i the bedroom, are we looking at Ann through the ages?
Membership to a Wigan disco 1974.
80's pornstar look or one too many brandies and babycham?
grab a granny?
a selection of knickknacks gathering dust
Noddy the tennis rackets and a big fuck off spider.
just before i leave the house for the static. If you remember my post from a few weeks past i waxed lyrical about the joys of a 13yr old lad spending time in my mates shed perusing his dads hidden stash of men's stuff.
I remarked about the joys of one such publication "Titbits". i ever thought i'd ever come across one again, here is a glimpse of my mis-spent youth!!!
The house contained everything, draws, wardrobes cupboards full of women's clothing, nothing to indicate there was a man about the house. The static similarly stuffed full of a life's memories. it's as though the resident just upped and left, i can't see it personally. If Ann was the spinster of the parish then perhaps her possible demise left no one to take ownership.
no guard dogs, no wet feet, just an absolute fantastic couple of hours spent at Ann's place.
