Welcome to Murder Mile.

Today, I'm standing on Hanson Street in Fitzrovia W1.

4th Street southwest ofrovia W1.

Four streets south-west of the Charlotte Street robbery.

One street east of the murder of the lady, three streets east of the rape by the cowardly

billionaire's son, and two streets south of the gangster who lost it all,

coming soon to murder mile.

Hanson Street is quite possibly the dullest street in London.

It's so dull, the dogs bark out of boredom.

Each flat has its own yawn.

If a gallery opened, it would be shut down for being too rowdy.

And the only sound you'll hear is as a moped roars by,

to deliver an overpriced, substandard pizza from the place at the end of the road.

To brainless dead peats, who refused to wash up, will only eat the blandest of double-syllible foods.

And then order,

Alexa, hire a flunky to chew my food and then wipe my bum.

Halfway down is 21 Hanson Street, a red brick five-story mansion block,

from which a single sound is rarely uttered.

And where families, couples and singletons

go about their lives within a few feet of each other,

but rarely mix or mingle,

except for a perfunctory hello.

...