Walking down a London street populated by chic wine bars, Michelin-starred restaurants and smart, Victorian buildings, a group of tourists suddenly halts in its tracks.
They’re ignoring the appealing surroundings. Instead, they’re peering through an iron gate leading to a far-less-appealing alleyway where a row of garbage cans flanks a fire escape staircase, leading into a brick building.
“That’s it,” says one visitor to another. “That’s Slough House.”
In unison, the group gets out their phones, grinning ear to ear. Someone cheers.
