I just checked when we visited ‘Park House', and it was one month before it got torched. Lucky again, but it was inevitable looking back at what we witnessed.
I was told about a ‘derelict nunnery’ by 
The digital newspapers describe ‘Park House’ as a hospital. It does look like one and formally that could have been the case.
It seems like MFRS had to cut through a wooden board to gain entry to the building before using high-volume pumps to put out the flames.
They could have asked me how to get in, it was relatively easy.
"Fuck, there's nowhere to park…, everywhere... yellow lines"
Yellow lines means no parking; if you ignore the lines, and park a virtual traffic warden appears out of thin air and issues you a £30 fine before you can blink. That is a fact.
After driving up several streets, we parked on a housing estate maybe a quarter of a mile away. What a pain in the arse some of these councils are. The local residents were giving me the eye and sharpening their Stanley knives as we left.
...this is Liverpool…, expect a big fucking scratch on your car, that's if your car is still there on return...
The price I pay to get inside a Nunnery, and there are no guarantees.
After a slightly awkward climb which involved shimming across a wall, and landing on a barrel that decided to collapse under my weight, we were inside the grounds.
“You goin’ in there like?”
A scabby teenage girl with around six of her equally scabby mates was addressing me from the outer wall.
I could barely understand the dialect, so thick it was, and guessed that was the question.
“Yeah, if we can get in”, I replied.
...be a teenager, be one of them...
I have learned this from experience. If you are no threat they won't tie you up, or subject you to torture with cigarette burns, before raping you anally with un-lubricated bright pink dildos.
I hastened after
scabbygirl and her pals somehow teleported inside the grounds and similarly followed me, much to my dismay. How did they get in so quickly?
After bypassing several overhanging trees, derelict ground, and pools of stagnant water I spotted the window
scabbygirl was not letting up, and I could hear her gang pursuing me through the same window, hopefully, to get in the building and not to subject me to sustained torture.
I quickly caught up with my colleague who was snapping away, oblivious to the rampaging horde on my tail.
“Give them a smoke or something will you, or we won’t get out alive”, I suggested.
… but the horde had vanished into another part of Park House. Maybe now we could get down to some good old-fashioned exploring.
Had they been here before, was my arse safe?
The inside of ‘Park House’ was less than pretty with lots of long dark corridors as well as the distant noises of scabbygirl and friends.
Nothing was left on the shelves and a view of the old front entrance. Notice the 5* rating. That's usually for dispensers of food and drink.
A comfy chair for the receptionist as well as some Costa coffee; what's next to it looks like uneaten porridge..., tasty.
A card for ‘Sister Immaculate’ as well as some secret plans for ‘Park House’. That's some title, and confirmed to me, nuns were here and that it was no simple hospital.
What became of 'Mr. Sands and his accident? Was it one of those ‘Owwww… my neck’ claims for whiplash?
We came to a fork in the building.., down there looked to be a chapel.
...that way, another log corridor with endless rooms that looked similar.
… aaarghhh, scabbygirl was on to us with what looked like a mummy wrapped in white swabs accompanying her. (zoom in.. and you will see).
Quickly backtracking we made for the chapel, only to see these once lovely stairs with stain-glassed windows en route.
Why not use the fireplace if you want to start a fire?
The chapel could surely be a place of sanctuary for us at least for a while.
Is it possible that something had survived the mindless vandalism?
Closer inspection revealed all was not as it seemed. Someone had pulled the top off somehow or rather smashed some holes in it.
I am not a religious man, but I remember all this from when I was small, at school, and forced to go to church.
It would have been impressive once. I can only guess what it looks like now.
Heading up some stairs I was shocked to see a semi-working piano. Hitting a few notes we were interrupted by a middle-aged bloke who came out of nowhere.
“What are you doing here?”, he bellowed at us angrily.
After a brief discussion about Urban Exploring, he seemed to buy our excuse and focused on the banging and smashing noises coming from the depths of ‘Park House’.
"Those are the ones you need to check on", I suggested woefully. With that, he vanished as quickly as he appeared.
We heard raised voices a few minutes later, and the sounds of destroyed windows, furniture, and doors momentarily subsided.
"We need to get this done quickly and get the fuck out of here”. I suggested to
This VHS tape seems very apt considering where we were.
Leaving the piano behind which only half-worked, as well as ‘The Nolan Sisters’, we moved on to the next area, systematically searching for anything of interest.
I wish I could say it was authentic and from the 1930s, but it looked like a forgery.
Close the door while having a shit or everyone can see.
It reads of good spiritual harmony themes. The sisters liked to write messages and leave them around.
I for one am relieved I missed the meeting. Sounds super boring.
How big was this place, hopefully, scabbygirl was over there somewhere and far from us?
Safety was not an issue, no water, no holes, and no bad stairs. It made a refreshing change.
You have to expect Hymn books in a nunnery. They are part of the furniture.
Reading about the Plague in Lisbon could have been fascinating, but for fuck sake, use some paragraph breaks. It makes for tough reading.
The odd priceless painting could be found in ‘Park House’. You needed to have your wits about you.
Microwaves generally survive in explores. This one had been burnt out, and placed on one of those nice chairs, systematically destroying it too.
We made out way out of ‘Park House’ noticing the bangs, crashes, and smashes had resumed. There was to be no respite for the nunnery until every window had been destroyed.
On exiting we found the middle-aged bloke fishing in a nearby pond. He told us tales of scabbygirl, the ringleader and her lieutenant, the mummy (who was visiting from Egypt), and his fruitless attempt to stop them from destroying ‘Park House’.
“It’s fucking useless, one day it will go up in flames”, he said reflectively.
No shit, it was about to happen.
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