spooksprings
Active member
- Joined
- Oct 13, 2011
- Messages
- 32
- Reaction score
- 334
Marine Building Hotel, Cardiff Bay (Formerly Docks) Built 1865.
Saturday (whichever day that might be) in adventure day! Lets go 'down the docks'!
The former hotel known now as Marine Building, next door to the Custom House, Former H.M.Customs and Excise Office, now a bar, from where port officials checked cargo and collected taxes. Constructed in the French renaissance style 1865 with roof gabels and iron castings. It is reputed to be listed, but the reference is obscure.
Was this a baudy and notorious hangout for sailors merchants and pirates from around the world? A simple well respected lounge for would be travellers? Or high class brothel and gambling den for the personal whims of Lord Bute? One assumes, as The Marquis of Bute owned the docks at the time, it was of his construction. It sits overlooking the sea in the Bay of Cardiff. This was a thriving coal export dock yard attracting 45 different nationalities, althought the hotel is on the opposite quiet side of the bay, then called Tiger Bay, from where steam paddle boats ran to Bristol. It was a very rough place (Shirley Bassey born 1937 above a brothel) up until the 60's when large areas were destroyed. By 2000 it had become a baragge and regenerated as a shopping and tourist hub, this being one of the last untouched buildings. Plans were afoot to revamp it. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-16967368.
The inside has no trace to tell the tale. Its history rebegan around 1940 with a refurbishment and ended in 1980, last used as appartments and offices. Victorian sash windows are floorboards are all that remain. It has a lot of internal collapse, but the solid stone stairs, which appear to be floating in mid air are quite safe. Presently used as a Pigeon Palace.
Ok we have blown the bloody door off
Welcome to your new home!
Everyone is welcome! Erm except rasiscts apparently. This post industrial statment of angst in the face of oppression deserved to be framed.
Oo! Look its one of those doo-dars, a thimigime-whatsit, an objete dar!
Hallucinations are fun, sometimes. Here a former butler muses about his future home, a watercolor farm painted within his heart's thoughts.
Dont open that trapdoor! Cos theres nothing down there.
A receiver that broadcasts, surely that is an oxymoron.
Can you spot the birdie? A ghostly white dove in the shelled remains of war. Must be a signof something...but what?!
Something missing here...
A lively room, as if a demon had his final battle here.
The future is in the room of stars.
A demonic sigil-key floating in mid air abreast of a flight of red stairs. Only a fool may trespass beyound here?
Blackout to the red room. Red rooms on the top floor, obviosuly a brothel.
Gimme The Prize! One Pound of Pigeon poop. This is ONE persistent pigeon or the habitually engrained lifestyle of generations. Eat poop eat poop eat poop sex!
A bath-nimal was trapped here, looking for drinks.
Oh for Gods sake that Butler never washes his hands
The shrine of photography...missing it's idol a Nikon D800...no wait a Nikon D4, ach u, its a Polaroid.
Back down the pink n red stairs.
An unnatural composition
Ok thanks for being there, in spirit. SpooksSaturday (whichever day that might be) in adventure day! Lets go 'down the docks'!
The former hotel known now as Marine Building, next door to the Custom House, Former H.M.Customs and Excise Office, now a bar, from where port officials checked cargo and collected taxes. Constructed in the French renaissance style 1865 with roof gabels and iron castings. It is reputed to be listed, but the reference is obscure.
Was this a baudy and notorious hangout for sailors merchants and pirates from around the world? A simple well respected lounge for would be travellers? Or high class brothel and gambling den for the personal whims of Lord Bute? One assumes, as The Marquis of Bute owned the docks at the time, it was of his construction. It sits overlooking the sea in the Bay of Cardiff. This was a thriving coal export dock yard attracting 45 different nationalities, althought the hotel is on the opposite quiet side of the bay, then called Tiger Bay, from where steam paddle boats ran to Bristol. It was a very rough place (Shirley Bassey born 1937 above a brothel) up until the 60's when large areas were destroyed. By 2000 it had become a baragge and regenerated as a shopping and tourist hub, this being one of the last untouched buildings. Plans were afoot to revamp it. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-16967368.
The inside has no trace to tell the tale. Its history rebegan around 1940 with a refurbishment and ended in 1980, last used as appartments and offices. Victorian sash windows are floorboards are all that remain. It has a lot of internal collapse, but the solid stone stairs, which appear to be floating in mid air are quite safe. Presently used as a Pigeon Palace.
Ok we have blown the bloody door off
Welcome to your new home!
Everyone is welcome! Erm except rasiscts apparently. This post industrial statment of angst in the face of oppression deserved to be framed.
Oo! Look its one of those doo-dars, a thimigime-whatsit, an objete dar!
Hallucinations are fun, sometimes. Here a former butler muses about his future home, a watercolor farm painted within his heart's thoughts.
Dont open that trapdoor! Cos theres nothing down there.
A receiver that broadcasts, surely that is an oxymoron.
Can you spot the birdie? A ghostly white dove in the shelled remains of war. Must be a signof something...but what?!
Something missing here...
A lively room, as if a demon had his final battle here.
The future is in the room of stars.
A demonic sigil-key floating in mid air abreast of a flight of red stairs. Only a fool may trespass beyound here?
Blackout to the red room. Red rooms on the top floor, obviosuly a brothel.
Gimme The Prize! One Pound of Pigeon poop. This is ONE persistent pigeon or the habitually engrained lifestyle of generations. Eat poop eat poop eat poop sex!
A bath-nimal was trapped here, looking for drinks.
Oh for Gods sake that Butler never washes his hands
The shrine of photography...missing it's idol a Nikon D800...no wait a Nikon D4, ach u, its a Polaroid.
Back down the pink n red stairs.
An unnatural composition
Last edited: