Welcome to Murder Mile.

Today I'm standing on Greek Street in Soho, W.1.

A view door south of the disgruntled dishwasher, who shot his fiery chef dead.

A few doors north east of the shooting at the Golden Goose Arcade.

And just a few doors north of the brutal street attack by two good Samaritans.

Coming soon to Murder Mile.

At 55 Greek Street, currently stands a four-storey terrace built in the 1980s

as the original building was destroyed during the blitz.

With offices above, and a cafe on the ground floor, a smattering of outside seats,

often occupied by fed-up couples sitting in silence, scowling, like bulldogs with piles,

as the dream of this half-wit that they once loved, choking on a shortbread, or being

scolded by a cappuccino.

This is why all you can eat buffets are so popular amongst couples.

As unwilling to do time for each other's murder, ladles of fatty food piled high, means

less reason to talk, but also a much cooler death.

Back in 1883, on the third floor, in a front room at 55 Greek Street, lift saddlemaker

will increase, and his new bride of just two weeks, Eliza.

Technically, this was the honeymoon.

A twee period where most couples kiss, cuddle, and say I love you.

With a very common illness, plaguing his insides, something nasty, which had festered, and

lame dormant for possibly decades, would soon arise.

My name is Michael, I'm your tour guide, and this is Murder Mile.

...