The future is unpredictable at times, that the Open University are the experts in distance learning, allowing you to fit study around your life.

What's more, you'll have support from dedicated tutors every step of the way.

Now, suddenly your possibilities are open.

Registered by the 9th of January to get started.

The Open University. The future is open.

Welcome. Welcome to Murder Mile.

Today I'm standing on Fifth Street in Soho W-1.

One street north of the Taj Mahal Killing, a few doors south of the five-shilling strip teas, the same building as the last failed direction by the Blackout Ripper, and a few doors

down from the shopkeeper who sold more than bacon. Coming soon to murder mile.

At 47 Fifth Street, Covenly stands Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club, a musical institution

where nightly swarms of hipsters fall, wearing cravats,

bow ties, monocles, feather bows and top hats, as nothing says I've no personality,

like dressing like a Victorian street urchin at a Mardi Gras, and where they hope to hear some nice jazz, like, you know, something with a recognizable melody.

But instead they end up listening to that free-form bollocks, which sounds like an asthmatic,

stomping a seal pup to death.

Back in the 1960s, at 47 Fifth Street was a seedy little strip club called Peeporama,

where sad losers got their jollies by ogling bored ladies as they jiggled their wobbly bits. One of those ladies was Elaine Baker, a young woman with dreams, who was described as one

of the shy striptease artists I've ever met. And although it looked like she was having fun,

behind her painted on smile, lay pain and anger. My name is Michael. I'm your tour guide,

and this is Murder Mile. Episode 232. Finally, a dream.

For some, it's something they can achieve by themselves.

Whether to paint, to write, or to build a business,

...