The Colonists Chapel

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose  location and/or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.)

Hello Everyone! Todays adventure is a little different.
I have a friend called Joey, who I went to college with. He's had a blog named after him before, and while we're not particularly close, he's now a professional film maker and I'm quite in awe of his work. Rumour also has it that Joey is an expert marksman, who has in the past shot bullets through bullet-sized holes in slightly larger moving bullets. The guy has talent.

Joey wanted to film a strong pseudo-blasphemous spoken word piece with his friend Evrah, who I rather amusingly misremembered the name of, calling her "Ezrah" throughout this entire blog post before seeing her pop up on my newsfeed, realise that I'd gotten it wrong, and hurriedly correct at the last minute. So if any "Ezrahs" slip into the narrative, that's why. I'm sorry. Also joining them was Dominika who worked with Joey on the film making side of things.

They wanted to film their spoken word piece in a church, but given that the piece was titled "If God were a woman," they were having a hard time finding a church that was willing to let them film. Eventually Joey must have said "I know a guy who might know a derelict church where we can do it," because he contacted me.
As it happened, I did have a church in mind that I hadn't yet visited but was on my to-do list. I told Joey about it, but my one condition was that I got a lift out to it with them.
As an added bonus, I decided to invite my buddy Jess along. She's into film making, and she has some great talent there. I thought mmmaybe if I get her and Joey in the same room together, they'll talk and she'll get a useful contact in that area.

The plan was beneficial to all- Jess could meet Joey, Evrah could irritate God, Joey and Dominika could make a gorgeous movie out of it, and I'd get to blog about a gorgeous chapel. Needless to say, I was excited.

Here's our gorgeous chapel. The two dates above the entrance tell that it was constructed in 1842 and that it was expanded in 1867, although it is in Welsh. It closed in 1999, and has sat here silently ever since.

The name of the blog post is a reference to the Welsh Colony of Patagonia, as it was here in this chapel that the decision to colonise a "Little Wales beyond Wales" was made. A notice, written in Welsh, tells words to this affect. My Welsh isn't brilliant, but I know "Ystafell" means "Room" and "Capel" means "Chapel." And then the date is self explantory. One doesn't need to be fluent in Welsh to get the gist of it. It basically says "In a room in this chapel in 1856, we decided to go live somewhere else. (Oh but we did come back on May 30 1965 to hang up this sign)."

Check out this chapel! It's bloody gorgeous!

Upon entering, Jess and I scurried off like Mungojerry and Rumpleteazer (but not as graceful), while the others set up and shot their thing.

The spoken word piece "If God were a woman" isn't really about religion at all, I don't think, but moreso about societal perceptions of women.
Which doesn't seem at all blasphemous on the surface, but when you consider that the bible literally says of rape "You must marry her, for you have violated her," it probably is. It's one of the reasons why I don't get along with religion. I don't trust any system that preaches people as property, much less one that bribes with forgiveness in exchange for compliance.

Still, I love architecture, and this chapel is definitely the prettiest derelict chapel I've ever seen. Its current condition shows a little wear and tear, but the fact that it's shut off from the world is something of a travesty. Especially given its historic significance.

So it was within these walls in 1856 that people met to discuss colonising an area across the Atlantic, where the Welsh language and culture could thrive. It seemed that descendants of Welsh people who had travelled to the USA were abandoning their heritage and language a lot faster than other cultures. There are rumours of Welsh-speaking Indians but that's another story. But fearing the eventual extinction of the Welsh language, this group spoke of making a colony where the influence and widespread use of the English language could be prevented.

Australia, New Zealand, and even Palestine were all considered, but Patagonia eventually became the location of choice, being a sparcely populated region of South America. It wasn't until 1862 that the ball started rolling though, when their spokesperson, Lewis Jones, set sail for Beunos Aires to discuss his plans with the government of Argentina.

The first settlers from Wales arrived in Patagonia in 1865, consisting of some 153 Welsh people, made up of 56 married adults, 33 single men, 12 single women to give it a gender ratio comparable to Tinder, and 52 children. Their professions consisted of tailors, cobblers, carpenters, bricklayers, miners, only one medical professional, and very few farmers, and this proved to be a real dampener on their day when they arrived and found that Patagonia had been widely exagerated in its suitability. Far from the perfect utopia for Welsh culture, it was in fact a bit of a desert. With no drinking water to be found near the sea, the entire group set about walking across an arid plain, with a single wheelbarrow to carry their belongings. Some died, and a baby was born, all during the migration. For many it was pretty disheartening.

Those that didnt die persevered and eventually the riverside town of Rawson was founded, named after an Argentinian Minister, Guillermo Rawson. Originally this was named Trerawson, to incorporate the Welsh word for "Town," which is "Tref." But this was eventually phased out, leaving us with Rawson.

So much for preserving the language.

A similar practice was put in place for the city of Trelew though, being an amalgamation of "Tref" and "Lewis," their original spokesperson. That particular city name does still endure to this day.

Check out this ceiling!

The settlers of Patagonia struggled with the climate, with the rainfall being less than they were expecting, killing their crops, but also quite severe floods that wiped out every house in Rawson in the first year, and then again in 1899. An irrigation system was designed to redirect the water from the river for the ourpose of growing food. As the small colony got onto its feet, it's estimated that some 1000 Welsh immigrants came to Patagonia between 1886 and 1911, although it's also estimated that by 1910 about 400 people had given up on the dream, and had left for Canada or Australia.
There were further complications, such as tension between the Welsh and the native Tehuelche people, and also the Argentinians who saw them as second-class citizens.
 But then during the First World War, immigration to Patagonia ceased, but other settlers arrived from Italy and other parts of Europe, once again making Welsh the minority language. By the 1950s, the colony abandoned the Welsh Eisteddfod festival, and the Welsh language was spoken only at home. But in 1965, having endured for a full century, there was a resurgence of interest in their culture, and the Argentinian government started to see the presence of an obscure tongue in Patagonia as a valuable tourist attraction.

And so the colony endured, and Welsh is still spoken in Patagonia to this day. The Eisteddfod festival was revived, but now bilingual in Spanish as well as Welsh. Many towns and locations in the area have Welsh names too, but what really interests me is the impact that Argentina has had on the Welsh tongue. We see variations in Wales just between the North and South, and we also have Welsh words that are clearly influenced by English. As such Patagonian Welsh also has its variations. These variations are comparable to how English varies in America- A conversation can still be had between a Welsh person from Wales and a Patagonian colonist, but there are areas of difference. There's also at least one Welsh word unique to Patagonia, "Costio" which derives from the Spanish "Costar,"

 Back in the church, on a rather morbid note, we found a couple of expired avians, as well as one or two live ones flapping around. I'm not entirely sure why pigeons roost in areas where there are other dead pigeons. Surely there's some aspect of natural instinct, even in primitive species, that makes a creature think "Oh, there's loads of dead examples of my species here. Maybe it's not a safe place to settle down for the night." But no, pigeons just see a bunch of corpses and think "Vacancy!"

 The bible still sits up on the altar.

 

 But never one to only see the parts that were once publically accessible, Jess and I headed through the back door and downstairs.

 Still cleaner than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

 There was this really curious back room though, which looks as though someone has been spending time here. Given that the property did sell in an auction in 2014, it's entirely possible that the new owner is making use of this space, even if the chapel isn't yet being fixed up.

 I'm going to assume that the owner is a spiritual person, or a muslim. This could be a muslim prayer mat, but I actually don't think so. The two cushions on either side are more indicative of two people sitting and meditating.

Down in what I assume was once a crypt, things get very labyrinthian, but there's so much to be found down here!

 Is this a vintage camera thing, with a film reel?

 There's a little room with a pool table.

Some kind of art installation.

I since learned that the owner was planning on turning the chapel into some kind of community centre, which I'm actually really happy about. I would hate for such a pretty place to get massacred and turned into flats.

This chair is unusual, although it doesn't look so at a glance. However, it is a car seat fixed to an office chairs wheels.

 An old coal shute.

And look! Some vintage graffiti! Who knows when this dates back to? Iorweth is probably the Welshiest name I've ever come across.

There's a small rock of amethyst here, which does support the idea that the owner is quite spiritual, given that crystals are quite a common aspect of that. Amethyst derives its name from Greek. "A" means "Not," and "Methyo" means intoxication. It was believed that wearing amethyst jewelry would prevent one from getting drunk. I think in modern spirituality, amethyst is known for being quite calming, reducing stress, and headache relief.

I have a huge rock of this in my house actually, and I have yet to blow my brains out, so there might be some truth to that.

Moving on from the cellar, we found this rear courtyard which looked like it might have had a fire at some point.

 Curiously there's a stage buried under all this rubble, with the curtain draped over the beams.

 I've tried to find information on this area, so see what kind of shows were once performed on this stage, but the internet mostly wants to talk about Patagonia, which is fair enough. The fact that this chapel was the launchpad for an entire overseas colony of Welsh speakers is quite cool.

Maps from the 1800s show that this area was actually indoors, and definitely connected to the actual chapel. What it was used for is anyones guess. Nativity plays? Illuminati meetings? Orgies?
If the Illuminati were involved, it could have been all three at the same time. 

There's a safe here, curiously unopened.

 And here's a wheel.
Frankly I find this stage area to be wheelie strange...

Yeah that was awful. But still, it's odd that the main chapel is almost immaculate while the stage area is a wreck. I wonder what happened. I can't find any news on any fires at the chapel. I guess it's a mystery.

That's all I have for the blog, but before I go, I wanted to show Evrahs video.
Personally, spoken word pieces and poetry aren't my thing, but there is passion behind Evrah's words, and a good message, and that's whats important.

That's all I have for this chapel. Next time I'm back in Shropshire, writing in the original blog, Shrewsbury from whee you are not. I've got a weird curiosity of ancient Shropshire intrigue followed by a derelict pub. In the meantime, follow my Instagram, Like my Facebook and Follow my Twitter. And feel free to share the blog wherever you want. Social medias fucking us all at the moment. For some reason hitting "Follow" doesn't always mean you'll see someones stuff.

Thanks for reading!

The seafront hotel

(Disclaimer: Joking aside, I fully understand the risks/dangers involved in these adventures and do so in the full knowledge of what could happen. I don't encourage or condone and I accept no responsibility for anyone else following in my footsteps. Under UK law, trespass without force is a civil offence. I never break into a place, I never photograph a place that is currently occupied, as this would be morally wrong and intrusive, I never take any items and I never cause any damage, as such no criminal offences have been committed in the making of this blog. I will not disclose  location and/or means of entry.  I leave the building as I find it and only enter to take photographs for my own pleasure and to document the building.)

Hello everyone! 

Todays location is a massive derelict hotel, one side of which faces the sea. It made for an amazing adventure, and those coastal winds pounding a big derelict pitch black building made it especially eerie. I didn't get any external shots at first, due to exploring it at night time, but I made a return visit to snap it up.

I've seen comparisons online to the Overlook Hotel from The Shining, and it's very easy to see the similarities, and imagine the old fashioned ballroom scene taking place here, creepy music and everything. But the Torrances, the twins, and the chap with his bear companion, have all absquatulated. Now there are only bats.

Although the wind rattling through the hallways sure made me think otherwise at times.

This hotel owes its existence to a keen golfer and architect who built it primarily, but not exclusively, for members of the a golf syndicate, in the proximity of a local gold club. He designed it in 1907, and it was constructed in 1910, closing down just short of its 100th birthday, in 2008.

In its final form it was a five star extravaganza boasting sixty rooms, although it wasn't always smooth sailing. A fire in 1922 almost wiped it out entirely, requiring a huge reconstruction, and in the later years, guests did report a drop in standards towards its closure in 2008. In 2009 planning permission was granted to pull the building down and replace it with something bigger, better and more modern, but for some reason that never happene, and now ten years later the hotel has only decayed more and more, smashed by vandals, plundered by looters, and photographed by carefree miscreants like me. 

This area was the lounge, and thanks to the Francis Frith collection, old photos of it from the 1960s do exist, albeit watermarked. But I'll throw one in anyway, for the sake of comparison.

(Not my picture, obviously)

This is just my opinion but it looks a bit bland. I imagine in person its character probably came across a bit more, especially given the view over the ocean.

Next to the stairs is a caged elevator, looking quite garish next to the architecture.

It's nice to see signs in both Welsh and English, but there aren't many! The majority of them are purely in English.

In spite of its ugly cage, the elevator interior is actually pretty fancy, retaining some semblance of refinery even in the midst of this decay.

Hmm... now why isn't that in Welsh too? 

"Pump mwnciod!"

To my surprise, towards the lounge entrace was a lot of graffiti specifically aimed at one guy, the name repeated over and over. I've made his surname vanish, for the sake of dignity.

I'm not particularly good at Welsh. In fact I can probably speak Russian better, and that will come in useful once we start exploring Russia, but right now it's about as beneficial as a cheese grater up the жопа. But out of the words here, we have "Wetwipe" which isn't Welsh at all, and "Cariad" which means "Love."
I think "Cysga'n Dawel" means "Sleep Quietly." I guess it's the Welsh version of "Rest in Peace."

I'm starting to get an ominous vibe from this graffiti. 

Here's one in English saying "Rest in Peace," dated 2016.

And then we have this one. 

So I googled the name, and I found out that the Josh mentioned in all this graffiti lived nearby but actually hung himself in 2016, at the age of eighteen. By all accounts, it took everyone completely by surprise, with everyone describing him as a really colourful character. But he went missing one night, and after an overnight search he was found by his father, hanging from a tree. 

It's a really sad story, and I can only imagine the flood of emotions one must go through upon finding their own teenage son dead. I send my condolences to the family, although I doubt they'll read this. 

Josh was apparently really popular, his funeral attended by over 300 people, which is about 297 more than I'm expecting at mine. His family, however, have gone on to do extraordinary things in his name.

They set up what they call the Treehouse Project, a charity focusing on mental health awareness and support, offering counselling sessions, bereavement sessions, and educational suicide prevention talks. To raise money for it, as well as awareness, Josh's father did an impressive 24 hour sponsored walk around the Welsh coast. 

It's actually inspiring. Obviously it goes without saying that this is an awful, awful tragedy, and nothing can undo it, but to see the family respond in such a positive way is actually very moving.

The only thing I don't understand is his relevance to this hotel. Why, of all places, is his name scribbled all over here? I doubt he ever stayed here, because he lived in the area. How is this hotel significant to his story? I wouldn't even be talking about Josh if it wasn't for the fact that his name is scrawled all over the hotel that I happen to be in. The connection seems to be entirely that a bunch of people decided that this was a suitable place to write it. But why? 

Moving on, back to the hotel. It had these awesome balconies that overlooked the ocean. Unfortunately with it being night time, the view is somewhat bleak.

I'm sure it would be lovely during the day, and when I'm not being slapped in the face by brutal coastal winds.

The hotel itself is labyrinthian, although it's entirely possible that in the day I might have a better sense of direction.

This, I think, was the dining hall. As you can guess, traversing it was pretty nightmarish. The floorboards haven't collapsed though. They've been ripped up and stolen, so the overall framework is still relatively stable. It's the upper floors where things get worrying.

While information on this place is pretty scarce, I did find that it hosted the local Freemasons Ladies Night in 1950, and photos do exist from that bonanza as well.
I dont know much about Freemasonry but it has traditionally been a Male-exclusive society until relatively recently. Ladies Night was a formal gathering where Freemasons would bring their significant others, or sisters, or daughters, or any woman who they were grateful to have in their lives, and dedicate the evening to talking about it over drinks, songs, dancing and fluffy speeches.
Words to the effect of "She might not be able to pee standing up, but she's somehow still wonderful. It's almost as if our characters aren't defined by our reproductive organs."

It's very glitzy with ball gowns and whatnot, but not without its rules. Apparently it's a mandatory requirement that everyone is presented before the Freemason Master to compliment his wife, and the men weren't allowed to take off their coats unless the Freemason Master did so first, so you may suffer, or you may enjoy comfort, all depending on someone elses body temperature. But there was alcohol so that's okay. It all sounds very fancy.

In more progressive freemason circles, Ladies Night has been renamed Partners Night or Significant Others Night, which is pretty cool. It's always good to see a society with deep traditional values still learning how to change with the times. I'd like to say Hats off to the Freemasons, but only if the Freemason Master removes his hat first.

Leading off from the dining hall is the former kitchen, but the only appliance still here is the fridge.

Its remarkable that when the hotel closed, so much furniture was just left behind, and the hotel just decayed around it. It's very post-apocalyptic.

Whats a shopping trolley doing here?

Down in this particular area there were plenty of bats darting back and forth, narrowly missing my enormous head and not staying still long enough to be caught on camera. However, I did snap this little fella.

It's a frog! I have no idea what a frog would be doing in a derelict hotel, but it's still pretty cool.

The hotel is very labyrinthian, with its hallways sprawling on and on. This particular area seemed the creepiest somehow, and not because I was frequently dodging bats. It was down here that we heard noises echoing from other parts of the hotel. In fact it was down here that I became convinced that other people were here, likely other trespassers in which case they were probably equally as wary of the sound of my footsteps as I was of theirs. If there were other people here, I never saw them.

Here's another lounge area, with the sears arranged eerily around this central wooden board.

A bit of non-suicide-reference graffiti here, dated 2015.

So let's take a look at the wooden board in the middle. Why are there chairs arranged around it?  Someone has drawn a Ouija board on it, of course!

I'm actually no stranger to ouija boards, annoying both sceptics and paranormal enthusiasts with my over-eagerness to see something happen, and apparently annoying the denizens of the spectral realm too, because last time I did a ouija board, every time I said anything, the pointer thing just slid off the board in contempt of my presence.

But in this case, I find this particular board in bad taste, because people have been writing messages to Josh all around it. I really don't need to spell out what's happened here do I? I cringe on behalf of his family and friends.

"Sleep Quietly" written next to a Ouija board. How ironic.

Lets see this for what it is- Someone is trying to make contact with someone who has killed themselves. Now, I understand they were likely his friends and they were grieving too. However, I'm not sure how the family would feel about this. I personally think its disrespectful.
And as for Josh, if we suspend disbelief and assume that there is life after death, is it ethical to drag someone back from the afterlife after they've made it quite clear that they were done?

Because let me assure you, if I was to end my life, it would be because I was done with this pisspot of a species, and I'd be furious at whoever brought me back. "Bitch, I'm trying to sleep. You've had your chance to know me and you blew it. Now leave me alone."
But that's just me. I can't speak for this guy. Josh sounds more friendly than me.

It's worth mentioning that this blog and its morbid topics coincide with another suicide thats happened recently in my hometown of Shrewsbury. In this case, she's an eighteen year old girl, and while I don't know her, my mood is pretty dark from both that, and from researching the story of Josh too. So sorry for calling us all a pisspot of a species. I probably don't mean that. I just get a little down when kids with so much unrealised potential are concluding that the best option for them is death. We should be doing something about that.

And in regards to mental health support, (Spoiler alert- It's rant time!) I get genuinely angry at the lack of support that is out there. 
I've spoken about mental health on this blog before. You all know I'm passionate about it. Loads of people post online about how we need to talk more about it. But let me teach you a quick magic trick-

Speak the magic words: "I am not okay," and watch as half your friends disappear.

Meanwhile, even as I write this, someone somewhere is getting bullied for the crime of being somehow different, someone somewhere is being ostracised because they love someone with the same reproductive organs or something, someone somewhere is spreading a vicious rumour about someone just because they don't like them. And the very same people posting on Facebook about how we need to talk more about mental health are the same people who see someone socially awkward and gossip that he's weird and probably some kind of sexual predator when really he's probably just got social anxiety and struggles to even leave the house. But nevertheless, shy translates to creepy in the minds of those who love a good witch hunt, so they gossip, isolate the poor guy, and then they act surprised when he gives up, when they all but tied the noose themselves.

Just to clarify I'm not talking about Josh at this point. At this point I've stepped beyond that and I'm talking about the broader picture.

Ultimately it all boils down to this- When somebody dies, nobody ever has the guts to step forward, hold up their hands and say "Actually, yeah, I was a bit of a cunt."
And unless you have the guts to do that when the time comes, just don't be a cunt to begin with. You never know what someones going through. Just be nice to people. It's actually really easy.

And I'm sorry that this blogs gone down a really bleak road. 
Just be there for people. Check on your friends. Even, or perhaps especially, your happiest friends. And if you are going through a hard time, talk about it. Theres absolutely no harm in saying "I'm not okay today." If people didnt want that to be the answer to "How are you?" then that's their problem. Come talk to me instead. I'm always willing to listen.

But I digress... on with the hotel!

Here we have the old disco hall, which seems to accurately represent the disco genre in general.

"Destruction cometh and they shall seek peace, but there shall be none."
Come to think of it, the graffiti accurately represents the disco genre too!

Stupid graffiti. I'm trying to take this narrative in a less morbid direction, and it's a little difficult when the threat of death is written in big red letters right where I'm trying to walk.
But even so, death is why I do this. It's not so much that I want it, so much that its coming no matter what I do. Death is what makes me feel guilty about days when I don't do cool or exciting things. And when it does catch me, I want it to be while I'm actually living, not while I'm simulating a living death in front of the television.

Here we are now in the staff only areas.

This metal board was loose, and it totally freaked me out, blowing occasionally in the wind, and each time scraping loudly on the ledge. It could be heard from all over the building and it was terrifying. Pushing the metal aside, I found that it led to this little utility area.

Sources change the dates, but in either 2014 or 2015, after a torrent of complaints about this building being an eyesore, the local authority served a notice to the owners of the hotel under section 215 of the Town and Country Planning Act 1990. It basically says that the local authority can pressure the owners of a building to take action if it's considered detrimental to the area.

From what I understand the owners did begin constructing a bat barn to relocate the adorable little creatures to, what with it being illegal to demolish a building inhabited by bats unless steps are taken to re-house them. However, the bat house was left partially finished and forgotten.
By 2017, the deadline for the hotels demolition, nothing had happened and the owners were fined £1000 with an additional victim surcharge of  £100 as well as costs to the local authority of £552.20.
Thats an awfully specific amount but I guess they have specific needs.

Apparently further court proceedings could see the owners fined £100 a day until the building is demolished, and since we're now half way through 2019, I guess it sucks to be them!

Here we have the cocktail bar, which looks like the set of a Michael Bay movie but somehow retains some of its features.

Somehow, this sign saying that dogs aren't allowed at the bar has survived.

However, the pool table has not.

Now this is interesting. Over on the wall, some of the wooden panels have been ripped off, revealing this really whimsical wallpaper behind it.

It's actually pretty cool, and it seems that this design might cover the entire wall, hidden beneath the more modern redeco, but still there. When was this covered up, and why?

Hers another sign, telling people not to bring drinks to the pool table.

There would have been a dart board here.

And while the actual bar is destroyed, this would have been the bar area. It's fair to assume that any leftover alcohol has long been plundered.

Leading off from the cocktail lounge, we have my favourite part of any adventure, the toilets.

Still in better condition than the toilets in some pubs and clubs.

The upper floors were somewhat bat-free but thats okay, because the floor is considerably weaker. If we're lucky, we can land on one.

Up here are, of course, the bedrooms. But the floor of the anfractuous hallways were becomig harder to traverse, as the floor bent under every footstep. I can see why the townspeople want this place gone. It's a huge, maze-like deathtrap right on their doorstep.

The bedrooms are still furnished, although most of the rooms were impossible to walk into, with the floors being so weak.

Also, the windows of the upper floors aren't boarded up, so we got a little more fresh air and natural light, although not much given that it's the middle of the night. The downside is that now our torchlight is visible for anyone happening to stroll past outside.

But the plus side is, with the windows open or smashed, anyone outside can hear me scream if a floor gives way and I fall to my untimely demise.

The bedrooms have balconies too which is pretty cool.

From the upper floors it is possible to get out onto some of the roof, given that some parts of the hotel are taller than others, but fearing discovery when I still had one more floor to see, I didn't linger out here for too long.

The car parked out in the fenced off compound is just a deterrent. There's nobody in it.

So here we go. One more floor to do, and given that the floorboards have been weaker the higher up I go, it should be pretty fun.

There wasn't much to see. The top floor has bedrooms, but they've all mostly collapsed at this point.

That's all I have for the hotel. What does the future hold for it?
Well, it looks like the demolition is slowly heading forwards. Having concluded that the owners probably won't demolish it any time soon, the local authority has made plans to demolish it themselves and bill the owners for the demolition, which sounds preposterous, but from what I understand is actually something that they can do at this point, under Section 219 of the Town and Country Planning Act 1990.
But fear not, the bats will be relocated first. 

Ultimately it looks like the owners have dug themselves a hole, but all this stalling and lack of progress has given me one of the coolest adventures so far. I'm glad I got in when I did.

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Thanks for reading!