I was scrolling through my feed when I got to 
Maybe I should give this Urbex malarkey a bit of a bash?
After all, I often found myself at a loose end on a Sunday and no amount of furtive masturbations in the toilet seemed able to liven up this dullest of days.
Fuck it, yes. I'm in.
I raced about the house and got my gear together.
Torch, beige clothing (preferably loose), trainers that looked like boots and a black woolly ski mask.
There, that would do it.
I had had my eye on an old and majestic house nearby where I lived for some time.
Although in a state of some disrepair, It still retained an air of grandiosity and after some cursory googling seemed quite unknown to the Urbexiteer crowd.
This was it. I was going to be all over it like a cheap suit. My new hobby was a go.
In my head, I envisaged myself and slobberchops high fiving over the back of a Columbian hooker surrounded by piles of cocaine, discarded dildos and grubby used banknotes.
My induction to the Urbex halls of fame was almost complete.
I grabbed a camera and headed out to my target. Once there, I walked past the house several times looking for a way in.
Despite the ramshackle exterior, the place was pretty secure looking. None of the windows were broken and a tall stout fence secured the sides and back. There was an attached garage to the side of the property and propped against it an old wheelie bin.
Aha, a wheelie bin. Known in the trade as an urbexers ladder.
Chuckling, I hopped up on to the bin and scampered over the garage roof and down the back wall to the enclosed back garden.
This was more like it. I could see an opened door leading into the back of the property.
Getting my camera out of my bag I pushed my way in.
The place was in pretty good nick. It wasn't like some of the urbex tours I had seen on the Hives. There was carpet underfoot and no graffiti to speak of.
I plodded through into what must have been a living room at some point.
This was more like it, there was wreckage strewn all over the floor and a blanket lying haphazardly over an old and battered-looking sofa.
Perhaps a tramp was dossing here?
Turning, I decided to see if the stairs were safe enough to go up.
WHAT IN THE FUCKING BLAZES ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!
There was a woman in the hallway staring at me in horror. In her hand, she held a cup of tea. She must have been the tramp that was squatting in the living room.
I tipped an imaginary cap to her.
Don't worry, darlin. I'm an Urban Explorer!
I said brightly. Maybe she wasn't a tramp and she was like me, trying out this Urbex lark. Maybe we could team up in the future? We could be the Glasgow Urbexiteers or something.
Maybe we would end up high fiving over slobberchop's back surrounded by all the dildos and cocaine?
Life can be funny that way.
GET OUT!!! GET OUT OR I WILL CALL THE POLICE!! HARRY, HELP!! THERE'S A BURGLAR IN THE LIVING ROOM!!
There was a thudding from behind her and then a man appeared.
WHAT THE FUCK?! COME HERE YOU BASTARD!
He threw himself at me, his fists raised.
I danced out of his way.
It's ok?! IT'S OK!! I'm an Urban explorer!!?!
I repeatedly dodged punch after punch before smacking one back on Harry's big red face. He thudded straight down onto the carpet and I kicked him in the head with my trainer that looked like a boot.
OH MY GOD, HARRY!!!
The woman came barreling in now, screaming like a Viking.
Fuck. Discretion is the better part of valour, so they say.
I shoved past her and ran.
Before escaping, I stopped at the back door.
What's your problem anyway We take nothing but photos and leave nothing but footprints!?!?
I yelled back at all the commotion.
In the distance, sirens could be heard. They were getting closer.
I fled.
I don't think this is the hobby for me.
