We were heading for a pub lunch and a well deserved pint having been out on patrol, the boss in the turret and me driving, when the clouds parted and the sunlight revealed this fantastic scene. We nearly jumped out of our skins!
Two quick photographs later we were out of there before the gloom and moaning wind came back. At least it wasn't getting dark, thank goodness.
But who lives there? H P Lovecraft or perhaps a descendant of Bram Stoker or Mary Shelley? Why are there two large, sharp wooden stakes across the gate.
When we've plucked up enough courage and grabbed the garlic maybe we'll go back. Well, perhaps not, and if I've cut myself shaving that morning definitely not.
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