The Ripper and I

Some of you know I'd been dying to do a Jack the Ripper tour since we moved here. I am one of those people who love a good murder mystery -- especially one that's never been solved. Mr. W, for the record, was willing to go with me, but instead I decided to go with two female friends. Why? Well, Mr. W. had labeled the idea of said tour "morbid" and I didn't want his snarkiness to sour my experience.

Turns out there were plenty of other things to sour the experience, starting with the fact that the camera I took had no batteries in it. Why? Smitty decided to charge them. Poor communication on my part. So, sorry, no photos, folks! Except this one of his last victim, which our guide passed around the crowd. I do not recommend it for the faint of heart, though it's blurry enough to not be too gross. Those are some of her organs on the table to the right. Yeah. Eww. And here's a photo of the area where she was found; no worries, it's a car park and warehouse now. Her apartment was on the right.

Other annoyances: It's such a popular tour, that we had to split into two groups of about 40 each. I'm not sure how the other guide was, but ours was a tad scatter-brained, confusing the names and the numerical order of the victims. Having read a bit about the subject here, I was able to keep things straight mostly, but my friends were a bit narked. Then there was the gaggle of American teenagers giggling and chatting to each other while we were trying to hear the addled guide. And finally, the hecklers, which ranged from aggressively friendly drunks to peeved locals calling our curiosity "disgusting."

That said, I'm glad I went. It was the most disappointing London Walk I have yet taken, but that said the other ones were so good it's hard to compare. I might try to do it again when this guy is leading it.