Grimsby: Rain, Rust, and Really Weird Locals
okay, so, grimsby. seriously. i just got back and my brain feels like it’s been run over by a rusty combine harvester. it’s… intense. the air smells like wet metal and something vaguely floral, which is unsettling, honestly. i’m talking about the kind of floral that’s been fermenting for a decade. i just checked and it's...there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. the pressure’s at 1010, humidity’s clinging to everything like a damp blanket, and the ground level is a depressing 955. it’s a vibe, you know? a heavy vibe.
I was chasing this rumor - a really persistent one - about a collection of antique weather vanes hidden in the old docks. someone told me that old man Hemlock, the one who lives in the lighthouse, claims they whisper secrets to the wind. sounded like drunk advice, obviously, but hey, i’m a professional ghost hunter, right? (sort of. mostly i just wander around looking confused).
Spent most of the day dodging puddles and trying to decipher the graffiti on the warehouse walls. it’s not pretty. a lot of vaguely threatening symbols and what looks like someone’s grocery list. i’m thinking about checking out Yelp for some decent grub - anything that isn’t deep-fried seaweed.
Gear list, because why not?
My trusty (and slightly damp) camera - the ‘Specter’ 8000. It’s seen things.
A ridiculously oversized raincoat. Like, the kind a Victorian gentleman would wear.
A notebook full of scribbled nonsense and half-formed theories.
A thermos of lukewarm coffee. It’s the only thing keeping me semi-functional.
* A small shovel. You never know.
I stumbled across this little place called ‘The Rusty Cog’ - a bar that looks like it hasn’t been cleaned since the 1970s. The bartender, a woman named Agnes with a voice like gravel and a permanent squint, served me a drink called ‘The Grimsby Gloom.’ It tasted vaguely of regret and motor oil.
Someone overheard me talking about the weather vanes and Agnes just cackled. She said, ‘Don’t go lookin’ for ghosts, kid. Just look for the rain. It’s the only thing that’s truly haunted around here.’
Seriously, the rain. It’s relentless. It’s not a gentle drizzle; it’s a full-on assault. It’s like the sky is actively trying to drown you. I found a surprisingly decent little bookstore tucked away on a side street - ‘Pages & Shadows.’ They had a first edition of Lovecraft, which was a win. Check out TripAdvisor for Grimsby attractions.
If you get bored, [Lincoln] is just a short drive away. It’s…fine. I’m not gonna lie.
I heard that the old docks are particularly active at night. Apparently, there are stories of a spectral ship that appears and disappears amongst the warehouses. I’m planning on spending tomorrow night investigating. Wish me luck (or maybe just send a pizza).
Seriously, the humidity is brutal. It’s like being wrapped in a wet towel. I’m pretty sure I’m developing a permanent sheen. I’m thinking of starting a GoFundMe for a dehumidifier.
I also found a local board with some interesting historical photos - Grimsby Historical Society. It’s fascinating, but also deeply depressing. Lots of pictures of factories and coal mines.
Final thought: Grimsby. Don’t go. Unless you really, really like rain and unsettling floral scents. Or maybe you’re a ghost hunter. Then, by all means, go. Just…bring an umbrella. And a hazmat suit.