I don’t generally go back to old explores; once they are done, then it’s over, we are finished and it's time to move on.
To term an analogy of the gigolo and their bedpost scratchings would be accurate. Once they are laid, you move on to the next crack. Crude, but it gets the point across.
The odd occasion I have returned is when I have missed something, or it was sealed the first time around.
Mystique hardly ticked any of those boxes but as 
'I can wait outside'...., or so I thought.
On viewing the original entry point, and then the new improved one it was a case of, 'I may as well see what's has changed', and to check out the attic area I missed in July 2020.
“So there was a reason to return, albeit a very small one’
At least entry was much easier now than sliding down that lethal metal sheeting hoping you were not going to break your ankles at the bottom.
How things can change in just eight months. I was not going to snap anything but when I saw the wreckage and ‘new look’ the phone came out right away.
What the fuck happened to the roof? It was sketchy in 2020; now it was caved in and the sun streamed through throwing Mystique into a completely different light.
’...bad pun, I could not resist...’
…'one stormy December night at the stroke of midnight there was a huge crack and Woah betide if you were in here exploring at that moment'…
I had heard no recent reports of crushed explorers in Huddersfield, it’s just as well.
Heading for the attic and hoping it was still there I climbed the steps. There was little I had missed in 2020 besides a purple wall which 
Perhaps I should check if any homeless were crushed instead?
Fortunately for me,
Descending the stairs I looked upon the old bar, or what was left of it.
I once described it as ‘the bar from hell but missing the zombies’. All that atmosphere was now gone.
I looked around and couldn’t believe the difference. It was truly unrecognisable to me and my past memories.
Walking around I tried to get my bearings on what was once a clear picture of the doomed nightclub.
A few glasses remained on the burnt bar with the orange juice carton. Gone was the ‘cup of penicillin’ I was so tempted to drink from.
The stripper’s pole remained along with the comfortable seating in which leering blokes were trying to suppress their ‘wood’.
This one was going to be quick I could see. I had no desire to re-visit the bogs that are decorated in the colours of Cadburys chocolate.
I exited through the bashed-down doorway and spotted
It was just a question of me scaring the shit out of him now with an extra loud ‘HOY’ in my best policeman voice. Some things just have to be done.
My original visit to 'Mystique, The Gentleman’s Club', can be found here.
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