By Val Fraser

It’s early morning. I’m emerging from a deep sleep, drinking instant coffee and aimlessly scrolling through my Facebook feed. A post pops up which catches my eye. Someone is filming themselves breaking into a church. And it’s a church I know - St Thomas’s in Bedford, Leigh. Suddenly I’m wide awake. On red alert. Violated. Panicking. Should I phone someone? The police? The vicar?

St Thomas’s is where my beloved Dad, and many years later, my son were confirmed. On that happy day, the enormous building was full to bursting with young people and their families. The clergy processed in all their finery and the church looked magnificent.

The 35-minute film begins with a dark street scene outside the derelict church. I watch aghast as the walking narrator calmly makes his announcement from behind the moving camera. In gravelly Salford tones, he tells me, without a hint of shame, that he is about to “infiltrate this old gaff”. For a moment I seriously consider jumping in my car and…