Friday, 1 February 2013

31/01/13. The Dungeon's Last Day at Tooley Street

- to let the Shard get on with turning it all into glass and sandwiches - deserves far better than these terrible photos. But what a Night. "It's going to be black tie," we were warned, "Not what you're used to. Not cheese and pineapple and karaoke." So we got ready, popped over to turn heads at Azzuro's for Happy Hour while the managers rolled out the red carpet, and returned to check our coats and find inside D.J. Sammy, cheddar and chunks all present and correct, hurray (although he didn't have "Stars" so I couldn't do my Russell Crowe). I started working at the London Dungeon ten years ago, and stayed because the actors that pass through all work like bastards and keep their dreams, and they're mad and they're fit and I get to paint myself a chin and shout at a public drawn from every class and country. And of course Shunt was right next door once. It's unlikely I'll commute to London Bridge again now, I suppose, now the freaks have been sent packing. A five-hundred year tradition of caging drunks on Tooley Street for Public Entertainment gone, gone like shots down a luge or rats up a pipe, gone like those baffling workplace maxims now finally torn from the toilet walls. Still, Go Team! Oh... they've gone.


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