The Mean Streets.

So, there we were. Having booked ourselves into the only Hotel where the cockroaches feared to tread, a cross between Fawlty Towers and The Bates Motel, only without the charm, we were ready to hit the mean streets of Gainsborough.
There is a reason, dear readers, why they call it the mean streets. Now, I don't know if you have ever been to Gainsborough, but, for me, first impressions count. And, my first impressions were along the lines of "Oh my God, I'm going to get mugged!"
I am by no means a wimp. I have walked the streets of Crawley late at night, I have traversed the busy seaside towns of Brighton and Blackpool alone in the wee small hours. Hell, I even travelled the city of London in the early hours of the morning with my friend who was dressed up as Doctor Who (we had been to the Doctor Who Proms at The Royal Albert Hall) and we survived! But, never have I felt quite as fearful as I did that evening on the short walk from our cesspit, sorry, Hotel to our paranormal venue, via Tesco for snacks.
I am sure that Gainsborough has many fine qualities, and I am sure that, given more time there are plenty of interesting things to see and do there, but I felt that late at night, even the local gangs driving by in their cars were looking at us thinking, "Bloody hell! They're brave, to be out walking!"

Above is an image of our chosen paranormal venue for the evening. The Old Nick Theatre. An old police station transformed into a theatre for amateur dramatics. Interestingly, or not depending on what you are interested in the old police cells are still intact and we were able to use them as part of our investigation, but, that dear readers will be continued in the next installment. . . .