“Through the trees.., it’s over there…”
Very well set back from the roadside... lay a forlorn-looking house, and likely our target. ''Prancing Horse' was the codeword given to me by 
Hallelujah for an 'A' road. The 'The Taylor Residence' was most definitely not in the middle of nowhere making parking easier than usual.
Still, there were no great spots so the car had to be abandoned and I hoped it would not topple into the nearby roadside ditch while we were away.
Then there’s ‘next door’ to deal with which happened to be close, but a handy huge hedgerow sat between the properties. No dogs with their extra keen ears, please?
We figured it to be around 100 yards to the next house but still, it was a case of creeping up the lane, avoiding broken bracken and watching where we were going. God forbid, one kick of a loose stone, bloody 'Fido' wakes up and the never-ending barks commence.
Using all of our sneaky experience we snuck past the left side of the house and approached the rear. Anything else was just about impossible due to the density of ‘green shit’ growing just about everywhere.
The plan was to do a one-eighty and make our approach hopefully finding an access point arse-end. We underestimated the sheer amount of greenery and even though we knew it was there, this house was adept at evading us.
Once we found it, we also found many sealed-up windows and doors. Surely there was a way in?
This time it was on the front side of the house, a window that once would have yielded a view of the roadside, but now was almost invisible.
While the window was easy enough to navigate I try my best not to wreck what’s on the other side, this time a table filled with clutter and not really designed to hold the weight of intruding explorers.
I hope those past viewers were not scraping 'Nutella' out with their fingers and licking them while watching Coronation Street. I quite like the stuff, but it’s much better on toast.
Kings of Leon were to have critical success with their next album, and this one did well also. I did try and listen to ‘Only by the Night' but besides the singles, the band didn't work with my choosy ear.
This is when 'The Taylor Residence' started unravelling its secrets about one Timothy Taylor, the presumed ex-owner who has probably done a runner.
As well as a £517 demand debt he was signing on for Jobseekers allowance. The future was hardly promising in 2012 for 'The Taylor Residence'.
There’s always an easier way out, an old motto dating back to prehistoric times, but could we get past the dense jungle and find civilisation again that way?
Both drinks are concentrates but without running water to add, sampling either offering was out of the question.
It's not my preferred angle to watch the TV, but each to his own. I would have thought the cushions would be better on the sofa not under it. Even sofas need comforting too I guess.
The stairs were surprisingly sturdy but the upper landing quite bare.
Plenty of crap left behind, ‘Great Horror Stories’ would not do it for me, unless James Herbert is part of the narrative.
Now that’s a lot of correspondence, maybe if I looked hard enough I could find some Ferrari parts aka
What's a 'social fund payout' I wonder? In any case, our new doley and host, Mr Taylor will have it docked from his meagre Jobseekers Allowance. What a bunch of mean bastards they are.
The next one was even more telling; a demand for over £12000 in tax, and Mr Taylor is registered for self-assessment. Let me tell you, not everyone in the UK is registered and this is primarily for peeps who earn money outside the 9-5 regular job or are self-employed.
It speaks volumes. Mr Taylor once had a Ferrari (
Meanwhile, he can't pay the massive tax bill and has other debtors up his arse. Fuck knows what else was in the pile of papers, but it's likely more of the same.
This is a far cry from speeding at 90mph down the adjoining A-road listening to Kings of Leon at deafening volumes. It's enough to make one end it all.
One of the upper windows was missing glass. No, I am not going to jump.
A few holes here and there, if Mr Taylor did a runner in early 2013 you can’t expect the house to be in great condition.
Now then, was there a Mrs Taylor or did young Tim just love to shave his balls?
Even thick wooden boards can't stop the advancement of nature poking through the gaps.
It’s quite rare that we ever come through the front door, there always tends to be alternative entrances.
I think Timothy Taylor is now sitting on a beach in Pattaya, sipping cocktails, happily dreaming about 'last nights'.. four in a bed... while lamenting about that pack of Veet he left back home in Wales.
'…my balls are getting real itchy.. well bollocks…'
Errr.., where can I buy Viagra?
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