st. crispin | red fences and red tape

I abandoned trudging up the new muddy path cut through the hospitalís grounds, and we returned to the car. Iíd spotted a gap in the fence; admittedly it was a set of open gates, leading to more parkland pathways, but it did represent a way in.

Confidently I drove into the secure heart of St. Crispinís, driving past derelict lodges and boarded outbuildings, plastic red fences making a mockery of the original airing court design.

The carpark, slippery with grey slurry, was empty. The asylum stood before us: all doors were open.

We had to behave ourselves.