Things had changed, the shrubbery had been cut back and you could now walk around 'The Church of Christ the King' without being shredded to ribbons.
While some may hail this as a good thing, it's hardly a welcome sight and is the first stage of an internal clear-out or worse, demolition.
The latter word strikes a sense of fear and doom into Urban Explorers. Another location gone forever replaced by a row of plastic houses made out of ticky-tacky. That’s from some song I remember as a child, they were doing it even then.
Three years ago, 
...'better days when 'old' people used to attend and the inside didn't look like a complete shithole'...
Source
The former Church of Christ the King, between the Leeds-Liverpool Canal and Bradford Road in Sandbeds, near Bingley, has been empty since it shut in 2006.
The church and land was sold at an auction for the guide price of £700,000 in early 2024.
£700,000, it’s not a bad price considering the amount of land this includes. According to the article, 13 houses 'could' be built on the land. Note the emphasised word, I never believe what they say.
We scoured the back in vain, noting the faded worn look on the wooden coverings and hoped someone had yanked a rotting board off; no such luck.
Our break came on the front, a most unusual access point and in full visibility of passing cars and the nearby Karen’s from the housing estate located to the right.
“Must be the demented demolition team who pulled this one off", I mentioned in a passing comment to 
From the inside it looks easy but from other side there was no step to assist unless you call a sloped stone jutting edge ‘help’ and the climb was taller than what you see.
To make things worse, this was thin but strong wood, making a nice slice in my ball-sack, well… this again, it’s hardly the first time and fortunately, I have no future plans to have more children.
While the old church was showing more than elementary signs of decay, it was also covered in extremely crap graffiti telling me the local wankers have been inside on numerous occasions.
If I adhered to all these helpful 'instructions' given to me within abandoned buildings, I would be missing numerous limbs and wearing a permanent eyepatch a la' Long John Silver.
This is the scene you would be looking at if praying from the back of ‘The Church of Christ the King’. Myopics could feasibly mistake those badly drawn feline images with Jesus himself, and the extremely long and thin cock for a red divine godly rod.
…’too long is not always better I have been told from my female friends…, it kind of hurts’…
Don't ask.., as you won't believe my explanation.
The books were so badly mashed it was tough to figure out their contents. One appears to contain funeral advertisement and diocese annual reviews, the other a barely identifiable bible.
From February 1993, here’s a selection of the services on offer. I thought the dedicated went to church only on Sundays.
More reading material and it’s of the correct literary type being present and strewn on the floor.
A close view of where your local vicar would lead his flock. I am not sure whether that is a cock or not, looking a little closer.
What was catching my eye was that ladder. If only it had been on the other side of that bastard window, I would not be leaking sperm again from my balls. I made a conscious note to grab this handy climbing aid for an easier escape.
Empty and desolate; the main room of worship within ‘The Church of Christ the King’ emitted some atmosphere despite the despoilment.
This was not one of those churches where the priest, vicar or whatever else they are named live there. Besides this filthy tearoom, there was little else to it.
Further advancement into this room required you to be a skinny bastard. It would be woeful and miserable experience if ‘Father Fatty' was posted here by the regional diocese board.
Then again when the room beyond is like this, there’s little reason to breathe in hard to rummage about.
These churches generally have fancy organs, this looked a little on the cheap side and you can forget even a single note coming out of it.
Totally fucked, though I did have a go.
This hymn book has miraculously escaped the vandals and was quite intact. I placed it next to the window so the next lot of dickheads who arrive can redeem themselves with heavenly prayers and hymns.
These dusty, cobweb-infested stairs looked promising but led to a super small room with absolutely nothing worth wasting phone space on.
Where were the church bells, you can’t expect the flock to attend without those?
Let’s say that getting out was a fucking lot easier than the painful entrance. We left the ladders outside but hidden under a nearby bush. The next lot of explorers may notice them.
Vandals, paint-sprayers, thieves, general cunts don’t have the aptitude to notice such aids.
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