Welcome to Murder Mile.

Today, I'm standing on Newton Road in Bayswater W-2.

Four roads west of the Lovesick assailant of Barbara Shuttleworth.

Two roads north of the Old Lady Killer.

Three roads east of the petty revenge of Dominic Kelly.

And a short walk from the bones of the spoiled child.

Coming soon to murder mine.

Newton Road is a quiet residential street, dotted with a wealth of luxurious homes from the 1800s.

All pristine white and sparklingly bright.

There's no litter, no dog blob, no kids, no noise, and no dickheads, soiling the street

with their soulless thump of brain dead beats, all because they want a bit of attention.

Here you can expect their version of Deliveroo, called I'm Famished Wadwat, to airlift a platter

of oysters and a bottle of bolly, the road sweeper to wear slippers to keep the noise down.

And the nanny to silence the brat with the speed of a ninja.

Should the posh sprach dare to interrupt mummy's mid-afternoon snooze?

Having had a frightfully busy day, peruse in the Pashmiras at Lov Ashley, don't you know?

23 Newton Road looks as it did in the 1870s.

Being a semi-detached two-story townhouse, with white stucco walls, steps up to the ground floor,

and a basement which was once the scullery and the maid's quarters.

On Wednesday the 24th of May 1871,

a wealthy bachelor called Frederick Moon came here to the lavish home of his girlfriend, Hannah

Newington, for dinner. They ate fine food, they drank good wine, they listened to music on the piano,

...