Rotherham, South Yorkshire - famous for its shit football team that consistently fails to get out of 'League 2', the bottom-most rung of respectability and a pedophilia ring scandal in 2010 that made headline news.
I also worked in this small town for two years during the period 2007-2009. Compared to most gigs I have done, it paid poorly but covered the 'Great Recession' period and kept me in work.
During this period I never set foot in the town centre, my work being on the outskirts of this shanty town so the status of 'Bank' was unknown to me.
We had walked through the centre in search of an abandoned nightclub that had caught fire and had been thwarted by people. The club was there, obviously fire-stricken but milling around it were masses of people like a throng of ants.
Climbing was out of the question and no doubt would have been met with a challenge from one of the many potential busy-bodies so was had to sack that one.
Bloody shoppers, there's barely anything left to buy!
'Bank' was a different matter, standing alone and distanced from the high street riddled with a mix of boarded-up shops and numerous pawn shops which are a statement of England's fading retail business.
It simply stated 'Bank' as though it was the only one. Built in 1913 and of Edwardian architecture it is now a forlorn image of a past age.
'Bank' was formally the NatWest bank, and closed its doors to the public in 2014. Despite efforts from Rotherham Council to buy the building and renovate it, the private owners have refused.
I hope the council are stuffing them for council tax, fucking retards.
Aside from personal options, how could we get inside?
The side door was securely fastened, with the finest tin holding it in place. This wasn't going to work.
The back gate looked more promising and boasted the most insecure gate I have ever seen. My ageing mother could climb over this useless barrier that featured perfect footholds and not a single spike to be seen on the top for slicing into your manhood.
Once over and out of sight, we noticed these rigid steel bars had been pulled back by the local Superman and a chunk of wood placed to keep them there. It was awkward but by crawling head-first under the slab, one could slide sideways between them and into the basement area.
I might be getting fatter, but it's not quite come to the stage where I can't do my shit and fail due to extreme obesity.
What connection a bank has to the RSPCA beats me. If we were going to find a decayed skeletal corpse in the vaults then I would assume it could be the charity collector who had overstayed their welcome on the day of closure.
I was under no illusions that we were the first explorers to set foot in here. Stupid stickers, need I say more?
Do banks retain your records indefinitely? Do they fuck, and if they lose your information then you lose your cash. 
Imagine getting locked in there, with steel inches thick complete with bars. If Urban Exploring was not a thing, it would be a perfect place to kidnap and hold some poor soul.
The basement was more like a bloody jail and reminded me of the odd Police Station we had done in the past.
Barred gates, and thick doors everywhere to keep your loot safe.., I mean their loot. Did I ever mention I fucking hate banks?
I would personally go for the one on the right, but each to their own.
This was where the main business events happened day to day, but you would not guess. It's now a derelict mess with nothing worth seeing.
We started up the stairs and the offices. Maybe some sacks of gold had been left when this former 'NatWest Bank' locked its doors for the final time in 2014.
It's quite green but you would not guess the level of stench this gives off from an image. As well as the floor being weak in some areas, I was using a makeshift gag now, while my comrade staunchly refused to follow.
Dead birds don't exactly help when mixed with their excrement. They are dead bodies after all and add to the wonderful intoxicating pungency levels.
They never seem to learn and love to inhabit these graveyards. Old banks are not home and will kill you.
Not my best broken-glass shot, but I always try for a decent one.
Would you walk the corridor? It's not the most pleasant of experiences.
In 1913 the Edwardian architects felt the need for a roof. What for? Well... I don't know, maybe it was fashionable in those days. This was one part of the old bank we were unable to access. Locked tight, well shit.
Not the best of stairs, and with something to hold if you like your hands to get caked in shit.
Possibly the front door through these graffiti-laden ones. No chance of exiting that way, it was 'The Crawl' but in reverse for us.
What a mess, it's been empty for ten years or so but hasn't fared well at all.
One would think we were in Europe somewhere, not dingy Rotherham.
This wonderful building (including all the shit), is up for sale at £225,000. What a snip!
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