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As least the elegant, central watertower was intact, disguised as an elegant clock tower, the faces all displaying
different times. Was the time of such importance to the patients in an asylum? I thought not.
We returned to the buildings a couple of weeks later, a mournful Monday, trudging through more mud.
There was no sign of any security at all. And again, open doors offered tantalising entry points, a chance to
quickly dive inside, safe from prying eyes.
Now searching for official permission to film inside, we opted, again, to behave. Being caught trespassing
would certainly scupper our chances.
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