Love don’t live here anymore sang Rose Royce, they of the car wash fame, Back in 1978; but we not talking car washes here; we are talking quaint little love shacks deep in the Welsh countryside.
I mean come on you are driving along, glance to your right and see this what do you do?
A) carry on driving
B) screech to a shuddering stop
I think I my skid marks were about 50ft in length.
Now we face the dilemma of where to park; thank you for only being about 1/2 a mile out of the village. So begins the walk back nonchalantly slip passed the car shuffle through a wooden gate hmmmmm, surely it’s got to be worth further investigation, doors locked windows locked, oh no oh Lordy, this one isn’t. In we go, landing in the front room, parlour, (lounge if you are posh).
A complete mosh mash of stuff in here, hippy chick springs to mind, but a hippy chick who
A) thinks her electrical wiring skills are suitable
B) has a death wish
In comparison to the other room the kitchen is relatively grot free lots of exotic food stuffs.
Up the stairs we go. Tilly liked to surround herself with Knick knacks and lots of little trinkets, the local charity shop/Civic amenity site will be overloaded at some point.
Even the bathroom remains untouched.
These enamel signs were genuine and must be worth over £3k, surprisingly not a bed to be found in either rooms, though the wardrobes were full of clothes
And so Miss Tilly, what has become of you? What has become of the psycho you dumped?
who knows.