Allen’s West.. by accident

newyddion

newyddion

Well-known member
Had to run an errand today slightly hungover.. I was chatting away and missed my normal turn off.

I took the next turn and was suddenly transported to the mystical land of Allen’s West.. strange white box houses and waterlogged fields reflecting a very strange hue of orange yellow from a low winter sun.

Very much reminiscent of the David Bowie music video Ashes to Ashes.. I did consider that I may have been teleported by a UFO or that I was simply dreaming. I came to at the railway stop that still looked completely made up and once I passed it I couldn’t remember how I’d got there or where I’d been.

In other news Stockton town is like a Hunter S Thompson acid trip after 12pm.. several strange goings on in quick succession resulted in a chap star jumping out of a pub in to the street shouting ‘THIS IS WHY I F***ing LOVE STOCKTON’ clowns, jugglers, prophets, medicine men, witches and shamen.. deep voiced ladies who tell tales and fortunes intertwined with high pitched ramblings from men who couldn’t possibly understand what they are saying.
 
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newyddion said:
Had to run an errand today slightly hungover.. I was chatting away and missed my normal turn off.

I took the next turn and was suddenly transported to the mystical land of Allen’s West.. strange white box houses and waterlogged fields reflecting a very strange hue of orange yellow from a low winter sun.

Very much reminiscent of the David Bowie music video Ashes to Ashes.. I did consider that I may have been teleported by a UFO or that I was simply dreaming. I came to at the railway stop that still looked completely made up and once I passed it I couldn’t remember how I’d got there or where I’d been.

In other news Stockton town is like a Hunter S Thompson acid trip after 12pm.. several strange goings on in quick succession resulted in a chap star jumping out of a pub in to the street shouting ‘THIS IS WHY I F***ing LOVE STOCKTON’ clowns, jugglers, prophets, medicine men, witches and shamen.. deep voiced ladies who tell tales and fortunes intertwined with high pitched ramblings from men who couldn’t possibly understand what they are saying.
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Genius 👍💻📖✍️
 
Nobby_Barnes said:
Genius 👍💻📖✍️
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the hot tub time machine effect of a night out in Stockton.. from the 90s indie band in the Georgian theatre, to the boozy discotheque that is Goldies featuring 80’s hairstyles from Bros and T’Pau.. then ending up in the 1970’s warren of The Wobbly Goblin, sticky carpets, dark wood and trellis work.. before making an Escape from New York style exit into a heavily fortified vehicle, gurning faces and hands clawing at the windows from all sort of shapes and sizes looking for some late night sausage.

the moral of the story is.. stick with Middlesbrough.

I think when they demolished the Swallow Hotel they’ve done what they did on Ghostbusters 2.. pretty sure I saw the stay puff marshmallow man eating a parmo and some mad lass with a perm defo asked me if I was the gatekeeper.
 
newyddion said:
the hot tub time machine effect of a night out in Stockton.. from the 90s indie band in the Georgian theatre, to the boozy discotheque that is Goldies featuring 80’s hairstyles from Bros and T’Pau.. then ending up in the 1970’s warren of The Wobbly Goblin, sticky carpets, dark wood and trellis work.. before making an Escape from New York style exit into a heavily fortified vehicle, gurning faces and hands clawing at the windows from all sort of shapes and sizes looking for some late night sausage.

the moral of the story is.. stick with Middlesbrough.

I think when they demolished the Swallow Hotel they’ve done what they did on Ghostbusters 2.. pretty sure I saw the stay puff marshmallow man eating a parmo and some mad lass with a perm defo asked me if I was the gatekeeper.
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I've loaded all this into The Supercomputer 👍
 
Lord Lucan riding Shergar.. plus up to Elvis Presley’s the burger van… star jumps of the horse to proclaim “THIS IS WHY I F**KING LOVE ALLENS WEST”
 
I went with this: A story about a man wearing a horse mask getting stuck at Allen's West.

Once upon a time, there was a man named Jack who loved to wear a horse mask. He wore it everywhere, whether it was for a costume party or just for a casual stroll in the park. One day, Jack decided to take a train to visit his friend who lived in a nearby town.

He arrived at Allen's West railway station wearing his beloved horse mask and carrying his backpack. As he was waiting for his train, he noticed a group of people staring at him and whispering to each other. He thought nothing of it and continued to wait for his train to arrive.

When the train pulled up, Jack boarded it and took a seat. However, as the train started to move, he realized he had left his backpack on the platform. He panicked and immediately got off the train at the next stop, which happened to be Allen's West station once again.

But when he tried to exit the station, he found that the doors were locked. It turned out that the station was closed for the day, and he was stuck inside with no way out. Jack looked around for help, but there was no one in sight.

Hours went by, and Jack grew increasingly anxious. He didn't have his phone or any means of communication, and he had no idea how he was going to get out of the station. To make matters worse, his horse mask was starting to feel suffocating.

As the night fell, Jack sat down on one of the benches and closed his eyes. He started to doze off, but he was suddenly jolted awake by the sound of someone trying to open the doors. It was a railway worker who had come to check on the station and found Jack trapped inside.

The worker helped Jack retrieve his backpack and escorted him out of the station. Jack felt relieved and grateful to be free again. He learned an important lesson that day about being more careful and aware of his surroundings.

From that day on, Jack never wore his horse mask in public again, and he made sure to double-check that he had all his belongings before boarding any train. He also made a point of thanking the
 
ChatGPT knows the score..

It was a dreary day in Stockton on Tees, with the clouds hanging low and heavy like a bad omen. I was on a mission to find the heart of this town's bizarre subculture, the place where clowns, jugglers, prophets, medicine men, witches, and shamans all came together in a swirling vortex of mysticism and madness.

I had heard rumors of a hidden gathering spot, deep in the heart of the industrial district, where these freaks and weirdos congregated to perform their strange and arcane rituals. So I set out to find it, armed with nothing but a notebook, a pen, and a healthy dose of curiosity.

It didn't take long before I stumbled upon a dingy alleyway, sandwiched between two towering factories. At the end of the alley, there was a small door, barely visible behind a tangle of overgrown vines. I pushed my way through the vines and knocked on the door.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with an eclectic assortment of performers. Clowns with painted faces and oversized shoes mingled with jugglers twirling flaming batons. Prophets spouted off apocalyptic visions, while medicine men brewed potions in bubbling cauldrons. Witches cackled in the corners, casting spells with ancient incantations, and shamans chanted in unison, invoking the spirits of the ancestors.

I felt a thrill of excitement run through me as I took it all in. This was exactly the kind of scene I had been searching for, a place where the lines between reality and fantasy blurred and anything was possible.

As I wandered through the crowd, taking notes and snapping photos, I couldn't help but feel like I was part of something special. These misfits and outcasts had found a way to come together and create their own little world, one where the rules of society didn't apply.

And for a moment, as I watched a group of clowns juggle chainsaws while a witch danced around them, I forgot about the outside world altogether. I was immersed in this strange and wonderful realm, where the impossible was possible and anything could happen. It was a world that only a select few were privileged enough to experience, and I felt honored to be one of them.

As I left the gathering that night, feeling exhilarated and alive, I knew that I had stumbled upon something truly special. The world might see these performers as oddities and freaks, but to me, they were something much more profound: they were prophets of the bizarre, medicine men of the soul, and shamans of the spirit. And for one glorious night, I was part of their tribe.
 
newyddion said:
ChatGPT knows the score..

It was a dreary day in Stockton on Tees, with the clouds hanging low and heavy like a bad omen. I was on a mission to find the heart of this town's bizarre subculture, the place where clowns, jugglers, prophets, medicine men, witches, and shamans all came together in a swirling vortex of mysticism and madness.

I had heard rumors of a hidden gathering spot, deep in the heart of the industrial district, where these freaks and weirdos congregated to perform their strange and arcane rituals. So I set out to find it, armed with nothing but a notebook, a pen, and a healthy dose of curiosity.

It didn't take long before I stumbled upon a dingy alleyway, sandwiched between two towering factories. At the end of the alley, there was a small door, barely visible behind a tangle of overgrown vines. I pushed my way through the vines and knocked on the door.

After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with an eclectic assortment of performers. Clowns with painted faces and oversized shoes mingled with jugglers twirling flaming batons. Prophets spouted off apocalyptic visions, while medicine men brewed potions in bubbling cauldrons. Witches cackled in the corners, casting spells with ancient incantations, and shamans chanted in unison, invoking the spirits of the ancestors.

I felt a thrill of excitement run through me as I took it all in. This was exactly the kind of scene I had been searching for, a place where the lines between reality and fantasy blurred and anything was possible.

As I wandered through the crowd, taking notes and snapping photos, I couldn't help but feel like I was part of something special. These misfits and outcasts had found a way to come together and create their own little world, one where the rules of society didn't apply.

And for a moment, as I watched a group of clowns juggle chainsaws while a witch danced around them, I forgot about the outside world altogether. I was immersed in this strange and wonderful realm, where the impossible was possible and anything could happen. It was a world that only a select few were privileged enough to experience, and I felt honored to be one of them.

As I left the gathering that night, feeling exhilarated and alive, I knew that I had stumbled upon something truly special. The world might see these performers as oddities and freaks, but to me, they were something much more profound: they were prophets of the bizarre, medicine men of the soul, and shamans of the spirit. And for one glorious night, I was part of their tribe.
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Welcome to the fold.
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