Victorian London

In the late 19th century, the streets of London were fog-riddled, crumbled down dens of iniquity. The perfect place for foppish Victorian dandies to taste forbidden fruits, debauch themselves (and others) and then dash off a quick stanza of poetry whilst watching the moonlight reflected from puddles and overflowing sewers, all the while seeing the world through a haze of state-endorsed opium or cocaine.

Poets of note included Percy Byshe-Shelly, Byron and Some Dizzy Whore (1804).

This idyll was soon to be shattered forever, though, by a puddle-stomping maniac with bad teeth and an attitude to match:JACK THE RIPPLE.




    1. I’ll try but my time-travelling machine takes time to recharge and you couldn’t possibly expect me to draw something without a life model. (My house is riddled with pirates)

Type away, me hearties! Type until your hands are sore...

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