The Jesus Bungalow

This tiny bungalow was a quick in-and-out urbex snack. I wasn't really feeling it. One of the locals had interrogated us on the way up to it, and we'd promised that we weren't going to go into the derelict house, knowing full well that he was going to get down the lane, turn his head to look back at us and notice that we'd mysteriously vanished in a puff of trespass. Time was short.

I can't really say much about this place. If you're a long time reader of this blog, you'll know that I'm quite eager to get to the real meat of a place and tell its story. In fact I'm a massive condescending prick to anyone who says they can't find the history of a place when I can do it with a simple google search. But no, I've got nothing on this place. But I'm weirdly okay with that. Last blog was a bit on the bland side, and sometimes we just want some easy urbex.

 

The appeal of abandoned homes, of course, comes from the mystery. Nobody knows why they're abandoned, but this one is decorated with black and white photos and agricultural prizes from the 1960s, which all seems to point any speculation down a pretty sad road, made all the more sadder when one considers that whoever lived here passed away without leaving anyone behind to take care of their things.

In a way, an abandoned house is a memorial to someones life. As such, they're deserving of total respect. The sad thing is, they don't get it. Houses have become the low-hanging fruit of the urbex world, sneered on by those who have been in the game longer, not because the houses themselves are bad, but because they've become synonymous with the types of urban explorer who would prefer to buy their crack with Ebay winnings from a dead grannies heirloom than get a real job. And I'm not really about grave robbing. That's not why I do this. I do this because I can't afford therapy. That's why I don't do repeat visits anymore. My first visit is the best I'll ever see it, and it usually makes me angry or depressed when I come back to find it looted and vandalised.

There's a really cute old dartboard here, with another 1960s agricultural prize, made out to "C K Wood." And as much as I would love to research that name, I've got a feeling it's less a historical rabbit hole, more of a spaghetti junction. How many C K Woods are out there? There's probably a bunch in my town alone. 

Look, a house doesn't need a historical saga. These were ordinary people who lived here until they didn't, and that's all there is to it. Sometimes that's all there needs to be.

 

 

The floral wallpaper is quite quaint. But look at this cable running along the floor of the hallway. We can follow that to the best part of any abandoned building, the toilets! 

 

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

But it looks like someones been nabbing the water for some reason. 

Moving onto the bedroom, things got a bit weirder. 

 

 

Perched on the dressing table, obstructing the big blank space that was once a mirror, is St Teresa, a prominent Spanish religious writer who lived in the 1500s. 

 

 

And then over on the window ledge, we have Jesus himself. 

 

 

Well, people are always telling me that I need to find Jesus, and here he is. He sure doesn't look happy to see me. 

 

 

And over there there's even more of that sexy Jesus, right next to the bed. Judge me harder, Lord.

 

 

And the thing is, all this religious symbology in one room might seem a bit excessive, but I've been doing urbex long enough to know that things often get rearranged for the sake of someones clickbait. Someone has made this room excessive on purpose. Religious imagery spread around one bungalow is pretty normal. Confined to one room? It looks a bit more bonkers.

 

Mind you, I do struggle to connect the concept of a loving God and the one that's in the bible. I'm pretty sure Gods throne is made out of the souls of all the children he's had murdered.

But I digress.

 

 

Here's the bed where the former owner once slept. I always try to see the world through their eyes, and imagine what it would be like to live here.  

 

 

The clothes in the wardrobe added to the eeriness. It's one thing to find furniture, but clothes are a lot more personal. Someone wore this once.

 

 

Down on the floor there's a copy of "Racing Pigeon Weekly" from 1973. 

 

 Moving outside...

There's a couple of bath tubs out here, quietly developing their own ecosystems.

 

 Hmm... Yum!

 

And that's all I've got. It's just a short one, but then it is a tiny little bungalow. It's very cute, even though all the Jesus imagery is a bit creepy. But that's just my personal opinion. I know he's a popular guy. Alice Cooper is hanging on the wall of my spare room, and I'm pretty sure if my home was ever abandoned and documented by urban explorers, they'd find him pretty creepy too. 

The Jesus Bungalow is a walk-in, so it's probably not going to last very long before it's plundered to shit, but this also means it's an easy win for the basic entry-level urbexer. No effort required. Perfect for beginners. Will I say where it is? Naaaah. 

My next blog will be a manor in Greece, and then a bus graveyard here in the UK, for something cold, twisted and modern. I'm looking forward to the Greek villa. It's got some great history that I'm just dying to dive into. 

In the meantime, I hate to say it, but the best way to stay updated with my blog is to follow me on various social media webshites like Instagram and Facebook. I'm also on Reddit, Vero, Threads and Twitter, but less active. It sucks that Instagram and Facebook are the big two, but until we all go back to Myspace, that's just the way it is.

Thanks for reading!