I’m still trying to get used to the traffic driving in the wrong direction, and now I have to wonder what every sign says. Grosvenor Square isn’t Gross venor. It’s pronounced “Grovner”. Leichester is said “Leister”. There’s a whole bunch of things like that here.
Then as much as I think that London is the most dignified place, it’s a capital of gore (not Al, but yuchiness).
Two hundred years ago, Madame Tussaud made death masks of people condemned to die on the guillotine. She moved to England and brought with her dozens of death masks. Since then, her children and descendants have been recreating the forms of the rich and famous. (The line may be long at Madame Tussaud’s, but I won’t be on it.)
There’s a tour of Jack the Ripper. Tourists can walk in the footsteps of the world’s most infamous serial killer. The guides reveal Jack the Ripper’s murderous tale from the dark streets of Whitechapel in 1888. (I’m not taking that tour.)
There’s a tour of the London Dungeon and the Tower of London. You name it, and you can see all the torture tours you like.
We spent the afternoon yesterday hearing the thrilling story of King Henry VIII and his six wives. That was our day’s worth of gory.