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Old buildings tell stories. They are remnants of a past time, past people and their lives. An old abandoned swimming pool, one that I found out later my mum used, falling down but still beautiful. Out of use but left standing like a huge work of art, quite aptly covered in paint. With a group of friends I managed to lower myself over a boiler, through the pipe tunnels and up through a hole in the floor to find myself in a huge room full of stories.

That was what made this building really special, sure it was a beautiful building with huge arches carved pillars and a delicate glass roof but it was the layer upon layer of spray paint, each a little reminder of a person who had been there before me. There were Instagram names, profound slogans and pictures – each reflecting the person who put it there in some small way.

I can’t describe what it was like to stand in this huge empty building surrounded by little clues to these strangers, but there is definitely an overwhelming sense to leave your own mark, no matter how small, to give the next person to climb in a clue to yourself.