Rooftops of Shrewsbury: The Bingo Hall again

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose  location or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.)

A quick heads up- In Shrewsbury, my chums at Adorn, the body art place on Mardol, are accepting donations on behalf of Cuan Wildlife Rescue, who take in injured creatures and nurse them back to health. Donations are accepted in the form of cat food, dry dog food, kitten biscuits, stuff like that, and if this is something that you want to help with, then contact them on 01743 343330.

Meanwhile, today we're celebrating. It's my 200th blog post, and it's the rooftop of the Bingo Hall again. I've been up there before, but given that I've grown and changed since then, and also given that I wasn't too happy with the blog post last time, I decided that it needed covering again.

The bingo hall is important, because in Shrewsbury I've climbed pretty much everywhere- St Chads, the Market Tower, St Julians, the parade shopping centre. But for some reason, we never could figure out how to climb that damn Bingo Hall, and to me that's hilarious. Was this my unconquerable foe? Not a church spire, but a bingo hall. Needless to say, getting up there scratched a major itch, and it was kinda fitting that when we did finally do it, it fell coincidentally on my 100th blog post, and it's almost a complete coincidence that my return visit would mark my 200th. But by almost I mean, I did cheat a bit. It was a complete coincidence that this one was going to be my 199th blog post, but for the sake of synchronicity, and to round things off, I bumped my McDonalds shoot with Katie up a bit on the schedule.

Having once more scaled the bingo hall, it's time to celebrate another hundred adventures on the blogs. Check out the view!

For any who don't know, those streaks of light are traffic. The pictures are taken on a long exposure, and anything thats in motion will come across as a blur. The individual cars tend to be in and out of shot before the shot has finished being taken, but the photons emitted by the headlamps have already made their way into the camera, such is the speed of light.

Up there's the castle.

For me the whole rooftopping thing came about as a coping mechanism, although my studies into PTSD suggest that it might in fact be an adrenaline addiction. But whatever the subconscious machinations of my brain, I very much know that this particular means of escapism was due to disassociation. I'm completely lacking in a feeling of belongingness. It's not so bad. The truth is, to "fix me" would rob me of my quirks and eccentricities. And that for me is an unacceptable nightmare scenario. I'd never have climbed anything cool, I'd just be sat at home reading about other people doing similar things and, heaven forbid, watching Love Island.
It's very convenient, being eccentric. It allows me to be who I want to be. I'm quite happy to admit that I'm bonkers, and so when I'm climbing a building, or painting my arse blue for some reason, the world simply says "Oh that's just what he does."
When you accept your weirdness, the world conforms to you.

My mind works very unconventionally. It's well documented by medical professionals, but so far my refusal to go for the full pharynxal rope burn has kept them from offering any form of insight beyond putting emotions into a chemical restraint, which isn't for me. When I allowed that to happen, I became a shadow of myself. I like my emotions. The enjoyable ones, and the others. I don't want to call them good or bad. They're valid, even when they are unpleasant to experience, and I think self acceptance is really something one needs first and foremost. It's the foundation of self love. If you can't love yourself, at least accept yourself. Self acceptance promotes contentment, and makes you invulnerable to those who seek to pull others down to feel powerful. It levels the playing field somewhat when you realise that you are just one example of a species of primate, and that every other example is insecure, foolish, flawed and gassy, just like you.

The Bingo Hall does have one very intriguing secret, and I've touched on it before, but it would be wrong to climb up here and do a blog without writing on it again.

 The Bingo Hall opened its doors in 1934 as The Granada Theatre, and it lasted as such until 1973. If you face it from street level and look right at the top, the old "Granada" lettering can still faintly be seen on the brickwork above their decorative pillars.
In the buildings time as a theatre, the Rolling Stones and the Beatles performed here. In fact, the Beatles wrote their song "From me to you" while on their way to Shrewsbury for that performance in 1963.

But what few people know is that only about 30% of the building was converted into a bingo hall, and the upper levels, accessible only through rooftopping, are still that of a theatre frozen in time. 

Isn't this insane? Each seat has a layer of dust completely untouched for years. Because smoking indoors was still acceptable when this place was open, each chair has an ashtray built into the back, and look at this!

Vintage ash! On the last night of the place being open, it must have just been left. But that is not all.

Further back, the old lighting equipment is still up here.

And these customer toilets, long since out of use but still in better shape than the toilets in some pubs and clubs, have bottles of alcohol resting on the windows, likely purchased at the bar on the last night, and left here, never to be cleaned up.

Down these stairs, which still look very Theatre-like, I'll no doubt either find a fire exit or find myself in the still occupied part of the bingo hall. And that simply doesn't interest me. It's the history that I love.

I kept my poke around the theatre to a minimal but would honestly love to have another look. I'm sure there's more to see, but I would ideally prefer to seek permission for it, given that the lower part of the building is still very much active.

Anyway, that's all I got. Share this blog where you want. It'll be the last one for a while, as my next two are on my international blog- first a derelict retail unit, and then a derelict church. Until then, follow my Instagram, Like my Facebook page and follow my Twitter so that you never miss an update. Thanks for reading!

Abandoned holiday home

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose  location or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.)

Just a heads up before we get to the juice- my friend Eve is running for cancer research later this month, and trying to raise some money. It's a great cause that is personal to so many of us. We all know someone who has had it or has lost someone to it, and it's definitely something I support. And it's a 5k run too, which is impressive by my standards. I can't run that! I'm spectacularly unfit! I run like mascara- Just sloppy and all over the place, often requiring a trip to the toilets to get my shit together. But I digress. If you'd like to support Eve's charity run, click here. 

Now today's location I discovered when I came across an article called "Holiday Shak." My first thought was "Oh, there must be a rapper called Shak, who is releasing a Christmas album."
But I was wrong! It turned out that some guy just didn't know how to spell "Shack."

We contemplated carrying the tradition forward with similar spelling errors. I was thinking going with "Holiday Schack" on the blog title to give it that essence of angry German, while Jess could go with "Holiday Shaque" on her video to bring about some eloquent French. However, my second language is Russian for some reason, and they made it challenging to spell Shack incorrectly, because they actually have two letters for the "sh" sound, so no matter which I went with, I was doomed to a 50% success rate. Luckily, they have "ж" which makes the sound that "S" makes in words like "Pleasure." To the unknowing, it could be used in the word "Shack" but wouldn't be right because it's more commionly used instead of the letter J. That works for me!

"So, how was your holiday, Jack?"
"It was terrible. I typed the wrong location into the Sat Nav because I can't bloody spell."

The Holiday Jack has allegedly abandoned after a fire. However, the original article is quick to insist that it wasn't arson.
Some might say a little too quick...
Look at it this way- If you go into a shop to buy nail varnish remover and you just randomly say to the person behind the counter "I'm not going to drink it! It's for my nails! Seriously!" That person is at least going to raise an eyebrow.

In the past when I've found places that have been set on fire, I usually just say "There's some fire damage here," unless I know what caused the fire, then I'll specify that. I don't go into a building and point out what didn't cause a fire.
And let's be honest, I'm not expecting the most skillful cover up from someone who sets fire to things. Something tells me his day job probably doesn't involve calculating launch trajectories or removing temporal lobe tumours. But in his defence, me neither!
Unless my handlers have put an alter in my mind that I'm unaware of. 

But no, the "official" story is that a spark from some nearby railway tracks caused the holiday schack to go up in flames. I did some research and while sparks from this particular railway line did cause a fire in some grass a few years ago, the news article didn't mention property damage.

Entry is obvious- the holiday shaque was accessed through the fire damaged roof, bringing me into what looks like a bedroom, but is probably really an old bathroom, going by the cabinet and contents. One wonders who brought a bed in here...

There appears to be a picture of a steam train on the wall. That's ironic if the trains did cause the fire.

The bathrooms stock of toilet paper survived the fire.

Entering into the lounge, the ceiling has completely collapsed and nature has taken over, making this once homely lounge look somewhat more outdoors. Presumably there once would have been a sofa in here, but that has gone, which isn't that much of a surprise- they are awfully flammable.

 Sitting in a little pot on the shelf is some leftover jewelry.

Quite peculiarly the lounge leads into the rest of the holiday shlac through a sliding door, which leads into an oddly immaculate vintage kitchen, perfectly preserved...
I was cautious. With such a small gap exposed to the elements, it was possible I'd end up trapped in a kitchen with a horde of angry pigeons. I much prefer them on rooftops where they can just fly away. Luckily the local wildlife havent moved in though, beyond the lounge anyway.

It sure was nice of that chaotic, accidental fire to stay so localised...

 The kitchen was a time capsule. There's something eerily vintage about it. It has a minimum of decay but what decay is here seems to be natural.

Although it kinda looks like someone was preparing to come back and make a fire in the kitchen sink.

Honestly, I was not expecting something so quaint in comparisson to the lounge. But one thing I love about doing this blog, and living my excellent life, is that I could be exploring an ugly 1960s building one day, and then just down the street there's a cellar which dates back to the 1200s. And sometimes I'm just chilling on a roof. And now here I am in some kind of domestic time warp. I never really know what to expect.

 In this drawer are two points of interest- a really light-damaged photograph and a metal first aid kit.

 Now the first aid case is definitely old, but I wasn't expecting it to be as old as it is. A quick bit of research into vintage first aid boxes revealed that this little thing is from the 1960s.

 And look! It's still got a bunch of stuff still inside! Even mundane stuff from the 1960s has a cool vibe to it, and this also helps paint a picture of who last occupied this place. Anyone who had a holiday shaak in the 1960s is probably old now, or maybe even deceased. In which case, was this place just sitting here empty all these years until it was made accessible by a fire?

I sure hope this isn't the future of urban exploring. Can't get in? Just set the lounge on fire and climb in after the roof collapses.
Yeah, that's not what urban exploring should be about. 

 This is all so eerie and immaculate though.

 Check this out-

 Vintage tea bags and sugar. Yum!

Oh look, a fire extinguisher. What an ironic addition to the household.

 The first bedroom seems to be used mainly for storage, given that it's been cluttered with furniture making the actual bed inaccessible.

Hanging on the door is all the different kinds of pigs.

 This is one of those useless information books. Open it on any page and you'll find some random trivia like what happens to the baby kangaroos piss and poop if it sits in the mothers pouch all the day. Sadly nowhere in the book does it say how to spell "Shack."

 Another vintage fire extinguisher.

 Here's a weird, 3D plastic poster of a dog.

And here's Jess's hand, with some cologne.

 The room was decorated with plates on the walls.

 And here are some collectable model vehicles.

 The last bedroom was somewhat more eerie. It had the same clutter and dirt that indicated that this wasn't being used anymore, but the bed was made and placed on it, clearly staged, was a cuddly dog.

 Somehow the amount of, and age of, a lot of the stuff left behind is indicative that this house was being used by an older person, prior to its abandonment and the fire, whichever came first.

 Here's a "chromonica" which I understand is a harmonica with a button on the side which, when pressed, creates a different range of notes than when it isn't, allowing a musician access to a wider range of magic things I don't understand when playing. I don't actually have a musical bone in my body. Even when dancing I look like a coma patient who has been stood upright and jabbed with a cattle prod. But I do have musical friends who will no doubt correct me, or elaborate on what I've said.

 I've got a funny feeling that whoever lived here liked dogs.

 Ships and trains too, and I must admit, this ornamental ship made out of shells is quite cool.

 All these treasures are left behind along with kitchen appliances. I presume if there was a TV it died in the fire, but one thing that is missing is a computer, again possibly telling the age of the former occupants. Even an old box-shaped monitor would be expected. I've come across plenty of those on my travels, in places far older than this. But it seems that whoever lived here was still experiencing linear space-time rather than the passing of continuance in the form of a vertical or horizontal scroll-bar. Good for them. The generations of the future who use the internet to research the 21st Century probably won't be laughing at their mundane Twitter and Facebook posts. The rest of us are fucked.

 Curiously, and adding to the suspicion that whoever lived here was elderly, there are bathroom facilities in the bedroom, which I guess are a common occurence when onesnot so good at holding it in anymore.

The toilets of a similar design to the kind you get in nuclear monitoring bunkers, albeit more  dignified, as it's not just a bucket with a seat. The link above actually goes to one of my most comically controversial bunker blogs ever, due to what I thought was a throwaway line which mocked the media.
Either way, it's still better than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

But that's all I've got. To conclude, it's pretty eerie. It's a mysterious time capsule in the middle of nowhere, accessible only because a chunk of the roof is missing, but bizarrely preserved in other areas. Is the previous occupant gone forever? Was the fire really accidental? We don't know. But it's bloody mysterious and I love it!

My next post will be over on the other blog, as it's out of Shropshire. But it's a derelict college and those are always creepy. After that, I'm back on this blog for some rooftop shots. It'll also be my 200th blog post. Happy times. In the meantime, like my Facebook page, follow my Instagram, and follow my Twitter too if you like looking at unupdated space for vast quantities of time.

Thanks for reading!