Tales of the Urban Explorer: The Dudley Pretty Bungalow

“Razor’s been at it again, finding brand new derpy shitholes.., let me see if I can track this one down”

The title stated boldly…, 'Abandoned Hidden Dudley Pretty Bungalow Barlaston Staffordshire'. Hidden my arse, It would not be hidden from us for long.

I was chatting to @anidiotexplores over Facebook Messenger. Balaston, Staffordshire, is not a large village so this should be quite easy.

I watched the YouTube video, more for location clues than its actual content. What do I care about the mess he was showing? All that was of interest was where it was and how to get in, the latter point being moot.

‘I can hear a train going past guys’, rambles Razor the Goth unassumingly giving away a massive clue. There wasn't going to be TEN train lines crossing this village and within minutes I had found, pinned, documented, and sent it across to my comrade.

"This is a 3/10 mate.., for when we visit Stoke and the surrounding areas".

I know @anidiotexplores will be laughing while reading this and will remember our chat only too well.

This is one easy way to find locations. UK YouTubers tend to give away lots of clues, some more than others.

…“Well today guys, we are in Liverpool guys, and guys, don’t forget the bell guys, and guys, don’t forget to follow me, guys…”…

All this and they are standing outside the property filming themselves with the street sign of ‘Crapper Street' in full view. Well, that's given that one away, hasn't it?

“That level crossing is a fucking pain in the arse”

I was bemoaning to @anidiotexplores, that we had to park on the WRONG side of the crossing and had picked the worse possible time; the train was a goods version with around 120 carriages, the type that never end.

There was little in the way of closer parking opportunities and so we sat down furtively thinking would picking our noses or scraping the scabs from our arseholes be more productive?

The fencing was not as bad as it appears to be, and only part of it contained both a wooden and herras deterrent.

I peered through the fencing and spotted the prize. There it was in all its glory, 'The Dudley Pretty Bungalow', isolated from society and left to rot away.

@anidiotexplores was starting to climb over the slightly flimsy fencing, leaving me looking around for on-lookers. I am sure I get lots of laughs from them looking at me less than elegantly floundering over these five feet high obstacles.

I have given up caring. I always get over, sometimes with a few scrapes here and there.

What I was seeing was a property very similar to my own, even down to the styling over exposed lower brickwork and the white-coated area for the rest of the bungalow.

This could not have been older than around 1990, the same year my property was built. How could it possibly have gotten into such a state?

The ex-owners had taken time to name it, though it’s a bit of a girly one in my opinion.

Access was hardly going to be an issue. While the doors were locked, the windows proved accommodating, complete with ‘aids’ to help bad climbers such as me.

What I saw inside was shocking. This should not happen to a property in the region of £300,000. The location, the land around it, and the distinct lack of neighbours would surely elevate this bungalow into that price realm.

Other rooms had fared better and displayed the typical rot of a property left open to the elements.

In a bungalow this new, it would not be a real fireplace and would have housed a gas fire in its place. You don’t find chimneys on new properties.

What had caused the roof to collapse? This is the touch of death for any property. Could it have been a fallen tree? There were plenty of those close by.

A few vandals had visited but there was a distinct lack of graffiti.

It looks suspiciously like wallpaper, but who would paper a ceiling? The walls look like they once housed quite colourless paper.

I tried in vain to find something or some clues about what had happened to 'The Dudley Pretty Bungalow'. All I could find were instructions on how to use your hob and other appliances. All of which are now destroyed.

The inside space was remarkably small and the property didn't have a conservatory, a typical 'add-on' stuck onto the side of these two-bedroom bungalows to enlarge them.

We exited and decided to have a scout around the external areas. What was I saying about 'no chimneys?'. Was it real and functional, or some plastic fakery?

That lovely asbestos, those fumes.. ahhhh…..

Mr. and Mrs. Pretty didn't like fags at all. They made it easy for smokers to eradicate them before entering; a little strange for a private residence?

I noted the surrounding land that was pure jungle, large and vast. Whoever built this house had likely done so privately. This was no participant in any housing estate.

I felt sad looking at ‘The Dudley Pretty Bungalow’, perhaps because it was almost the same as my own. The owner had possibly died, with no relatives and it had been left alone, to collapse and die.

We exited the grounds via a much easier route. No climbing and no bloody train this time.

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