"I don't know where 
Not a sound came to my ears, besides the gentle undulating breeze of summer.
Despite having shit hearing, I can still cope especially when no other sounds are interfering with what I am trying to listen for; people and their movements.
From this distance, I spotted holes in the roof, but getting past this rusty tanker was the immediate priority.
I suppose having your own source of fuel is not a bad idea, so long as it's full of gas and magically keeps full, whether that be petrol or diesel.
If this was to keep us out, it was pitiful and doomed to failure. There were other ways in and plenty of them.
Keep away from the nettles, and 'Gypsy Farm' would be a synch compared to some of the other places we encountered in Anglesey.
Inside was well and truly fucked, but did contain some goodies such as this upright piano, flanked with bright red wallpaper.
With half of the upper floor masonry finding a new home, no keys were ever going to be played again on this ex-musical instrument.
A shame, as I was dying to give it a crack and hammer out the intro to 'She's Like the Wind'. I can't remember much more than that, having no keys at home to practice.
Front doors are generally locked, and there would be little need to climb through that broken window panel. Other access points were hardly difficult to find.
This room proved a little surreal to me, though from this angle you may not know why. When the upper floor is completely gone, then those books don’t have any right to be there.
They should be buried under all the crap yet I was seeing David Eddings’ fantasy classics I read when around 18 years old and James Clavell’s ‘Shogun’.
In such bad shape, and yet still revealing lots of items, I edged past the stairs and into the dining room.
Someone has given the place a right going over, what a sight and it was not to end here.
This view intrigued me, especially as the window was almost gone.
With the witch hazel and iodine perched on the ends of the shelf, so close to 'outside', a harsh breeze would be enough to topple the bottles and yet they stood firmly in place, as though glued in place.
Wouldn't you like to sample what was being cooked in there? I am guessing human flesh seasoned with garlic and onions.
The HP sauce as ever and these Gypsies liked their coffee. Instant it may be but not that shiity Nescafe.
One of those no-go areas; there's far too much junk over there and a microwave oven is your prize for the pointless climb.
Very abstract walls, it would probably win a prize in those weird art shows.
It reminds me of a Venus fly trap but for humans. Once it's devoured that metal bucket any explorer who gets too close will be eaten. Tilt your head to the left and you can see the eyes, waiting for a victim.
CRT TVs, a few more books as well as a large amplifier. Some arse had kicked a hole in the large speaker.
Alien and Predator books, a sci-fi Gypsy freak once lived here.
Bikes as well, and from the mid 80’s; a small picture about the ex-inhabitants was starting to form.
A single bed; I doubt it was just a couple living here, likely a family and a big one if they were real Gypsies.
A peek in the loft revealed a partial drum kit. With the piano downstairs, at least part of this family had some musical flair, and maybe talent.
19th-century American history? It's a strange topic for a regular school kid, and yet the red writing reminds me of a school-type marking system. It's a little harsh.
A teenager wrote this? maybe one in further education. I was never taught stuff like this in school, it was all English history about the industrial revolution.
This brings me back to the surrealistic visual I mentioned earlier. This is taken from the first floor and as you can see it is non-existent, with me perched on the edge.
It’s all very well going upstairs in a fucked house, but you have to expect to not be able to get to certain places.
While having forty winks on that bed could have been an idea, I am quite certain my sleep would be compromised by a sudden downward movement followed by a concussion at the very least.
Likewise taking a shit in the upstairs toilet would prove to be more than perilous. Quite drafty on your balls too.
Who would have thought the house was in such bad shape looking the other way and this perfectly normal upper staircase?
There's even a rare bannister, but sliding down could have been going a little far and asking for trouble.
Given a dose of Mr Sheen, this could be a perfectly decent antique set of drawers. In a more urban location, it would have been nicked years ago.
A time capsule? No doubt about it, and these are the types I prefer.
Nobody died recently, it's not full of police stickers, it's not for sale and there's no angry farmer hanging around threatening us with a shotgun.
Full of crazy sights and so far out of the way to avoid spray painters and graffiti hounds. We left in search of more.
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