It formed one side of an alleyway in a small town called Stone, close to where I was living when I first took up photography. I suspect it might have housed a well known local brewery, famed for the excellence of its beer except during hot summers when it tasted like vinegar. It had ceased trading before I moved to the area and began my photography phase.
I haven’t been there for a long time, but I expect it’s gone now and been replaced with a swish apartment block or shopping precinct. It’s what usually happens to characterful old buildings with their peeling paint, shaling brickwork and glassless windows. And that, I suppose, is how it should be.