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Tucked inside a prim Georgian townhouse on a posh London street that practically oozes with respectability, the Charles Dickens Museum is a tribute to the literary giant, complete with a full-on Dickensian deep dive. Spread across four floors, this was once the actual home of Charles, his wife Catherine, and their ever-expanding brood. Today, it's packed with the world's swankiest collection of Dickensiana: handwritten letters, first editions, personal effects, paintings, and the kind of furniture that, if it could, would probably whisper, "Please don't sit on me unless you're a Victorian novelist."

Dickens moved in here in 1837, freshly married and riding high on the success of his first two books. Within these walls, he cranked out Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby, while starting Barnaby Rudge鈥攂ecause one book at a time is for amateurs. This house also saw life鈥檚 highs and lows: two of the Dickens children were born upstairs, and Catherine鈥檚 younger sister tragically died in Charles' arms. That heartbreaking moment he later rewrote into the demise of Little Nell in The Old Curiosity Shop.

Wandering through the museum feels like Dickens just popped out for a foggy walk. The rooms are restored to their original 1830s vibe, complete with Dickens鈥� own furniture, including his iconic writing desk鈥攖he very one he used during his dramatic public readings. You鈥檒l also find the wistful, unfinished painting Dickens鈥� Dream, where he sits at his desk, surrounded by his fictional creations, likely wondering why they all have such complicated names.

Bonus perk: On select days, you can actually touch some of the artifacts. That鈥檚 right鈥攇loveless time travel, Victorian-style. Just try not to spill your latte from the on-site caf茅 in the garden. Even Dickens would鈥檝e frowned on that.

One of London鈥檚 four Inns of Court鈥攖he elite clubs that train barristers to argue persuasively and wear robes like it鈥檚 no big deal鈥擥ray鈥檚 Inn is where powdered wigs, sharp tongues, and centuries of legal tradition collide! Alongside Lincoln鈥檚 Inn, Inner Temple, and Middle Temple, Gray鈥檚 Inn has been shaping courtroom drama since well before legal thrillers were a thing.

Governed by a council called "Pension," which sounds cozy but is not鈥攖hey鈥檙e led by the Treasurer, a sort of head honcho elected yearly. The Masters of the Bench, or 鈥渂enchers,鈥� handle the serious business of keeping tradition alive while sipping tea in very old rooms. But don鈥檛 let the gravitas fool you鈥擥ray鈥檚 Inn is also known for its leafy gardens, charmingly called "the Walks," which have been delighting stressed-out law students and ambitious climbers since at least 1597.

The Inn has a long legal rap sheet of history鈥攍aw clerks have been skulking around here since 1370, and the place hit its heyday under Queen Elizabeth I, who acted as its patron. Legal legends like Francis Bacon鈥攖he English philosopher and statesman, who served as Attorney General and Lord Chancellor of England under King James I鈥攐nce called it home. The Inn even flirted with theater fame: Shakespeare鈥檚 Comedy of Errors likely premiered in Gray鈥檚 Inn Hall during a particularly fancy night of masques and revels.

And here鈥檚 where things get a little Dickensian鈥攍iterally. In 1827, a young Charles Dickens began his short-lived legal career here as a junior clerk. Though he quickly realized law wasn't his jam, he did pick up shorthand鈥攁 handy trick for his later work as a reporter and novelist. Gray鈥檚 Inn even made cameo appearances in David Copperfield and The Pickwick Papers, a little literary nod to the place where he almost became a barrister, but instead chose to write the books that made him a household name.

So next time you stroll past the ivy-covered buildings, remember: Gray鈥檚 Inn is where the law met literature鈥攁nd both walked away a little more dramatic.

Perched above Chancery Lane tube station, on the bustling southern side of High Holborn, is a Tudor-style wooden structure that looks like it time-traveled straight out of the 1500s鈥攁nd got slightly jostled on the way. Say hello to Staple Inn: a timber-framed, gable-topped survivor with a fa莽ade so charmingly crooked it could star in its own period drama. Built in the 16th century, it somehow dodged the flames of the Great Fire of London鈥攖hough the 1940s Blitz gave it a rougher time, prompting some serious restoration work.

Now, if you dare to wander through the narrow passage beneath the building, you鈥檒l stumble into a peaceful courtyard that鈥檚 as Dickensian as it gets. Charles Dickens described this very spot in his final, unfinished novel, The Mystery of Edwin Drood, calling it 鈥渁 little nook composed of two irregular quadrangles.鈥� It鈥檚 here that the character Mr. Grewgious lived, and if that name doesn鈥檛 scream 鈥淰ictorian eccentric,鈥� what does? Dickens captured the vibe perfectly, writing that walking in from the noisy street feels like 鈥減lacing cotton in your ears and velvet soles on your boots.鈥� Still accurate. Still poetic. Still very Dickens.

And here鈥檚 the kicker: Dickens knew this courtyard firsthand. In the 1820s, he worked at a solicitor鈥檚 office just across the street in Gray鈥檚 Inn鈥攐ne of the four Inns of Court. No, not a pub, but a lawyer-training headquarters where wigs, quills, and serious legal drama reigned supreme. Later, as a journalist, he would鈥檝e seen those seven gables every day, possibly while plotting his next twist-filled chapter.

So next time you pass Staple Inn, take a detour through the archway. You might just hear the ghost of Dickens muttering something brilliant鈥攐r at least grumbling about deadlines...

Step aside, posh Inns of Court鈥擣urnival鈥檚 Inn was where the real (legal) magic once happened. Marking the spot where the Holborn Bars now loom, this lesser-known Inn of Chancery was founded around 1383, when Lord Furnival, who ultimately lent it his name, leased a boarding house to the Chancery clerks. These were the guys who drafted legal documents for the king鈥檚 courts, aided by eager apprentices just dipping their toes into lawyering. The setup stuck around until 1817, when the Society of Furnival's Inn was dissolved and the medieval structure was replaced by flats that politely kept the Furnival name alive.

Between 1834 and 1837, a young Charles Dickens moved into Furnival鈥檚 Inn with his brother Frederick, mostly because he had to keep their dad out of debtor鈥檚 prison again. The place wasn鈥檛 glamorous, but Dickens made the most of it. While living in those not-so-grand chambers, he began writing The Pickwick Papers, networked his way into London鈥檚 literary elite, and married Catherine Hogarth. Not bad for a guy dodging family debts and living above what was essentially Legal Airbnb.

Dickens liked the place enough to sneak it into his novel Martin Chuzzlewit, where John Westlock describes it as 鈥渁 shady, quiet place鈥� with a side of 鈥渕onotonous and gloomy鈥濃�攕o, basically, Victorian vibes in full force. Yet, he also mentions the 鈥渟nug chambers鈥� and how the single guys there seemed to be thriving.

Today, Dickens's old stomping grounds are long gone, but a bust and plaque mark the spot鈥攋ust in case you want to stand there, gaze thoughtfully, and mutter, 鈥淚t was the best of Inns, it was the worst of Inns.鈥�

Step into Barnard鈥檚 Inn鈥攐nce a legal hangout, later a literary dump, and now an intellectual hotspot. Originally belonging to Gray of Chancery and existing from around 1454, it was named for and owned by the Mackworth family. Later, a guy called Lionel Barnard lodged here for a while, and, somehow, the place got stuck with his name for over five centuries.

Being one of the Inns of Chancery in Holborn, it moonlighted as a backdrop for none other than Charles Dickens in Great Expectations. When young Pip hits the big, foggy city of London around 1820, this is where he lands鈥攔ooming with Herbert Pocket in what Dickens, never one to sugar-coat, described as 鈥渁 club for Tom-cats鈥� tucked in a "rank corner.鈥�

And he didn't stop there. Dickens laid it on thick: Barnard鈥檚 Inn was, in his words, 鈥渁 flat burying-ground鈥� featuring 鈥渢he most dismal trees, dismal sparrows, dismal cats, and dismal houses鈥濃�攂asically, the starter pack for Victorian gloom. Broken windows, sad little curtains, half-dead flower pots, and the ghost of Lionel Barnard apparently feeding off the misery of tenants too broke鈥攐r too cursed鈥攖o leave.

Despite that glowing review, the place itself is architecturally fascinating. There鈥檚 a hall with 18th-century chambers, 15th-century timber bays, 16th-century linen-fold paneling, and Greater London鈥檚 only surviving crown posts. These days, it鈥檚 home to Gresham College, where public lectures happen under those same gloomy rafters鈥攂ut with a lot more PowerPoint and a lot less Dickensian despair.

So go ahead鈥攑oke around Barnard鈥檚 Inn. Just watch out for the cats.

This charming old London residence has been around since 1720. Once the stomping ground of one Thomas Tooke, Esquire, it later gained a slightly more famous tenant, Charles Dickens. Back in his days as a parliamentary journalist, Dickens called this place home. And, according to a juicy 2016 scoop in the Evening Standard, it is here that he reportedly dreamt up everyone's favorite miser with a heart problem鈥擡benezer Scrooge. An inspiration behind the character was allegedly a penny-pinching neighbor whose spirit of frugality may have made even Scrooge himself wince.

Fast forward to modern times, and Gryphon Property Partners slapped a cool 拢2.8 million price tag on this property鈥攂ecause apparently, historical inspiration comes at premium real estate rates.

Literary fans might recognize this address in disguise: in Bleak House, it becomes Cook鈥檚 Court, the paper-stuffed lair of Mr. Snagsby, a man knee-deep in everything from foolscap to ferrets (the string kind, not the animal). His office inventory reads like a Victorian stationery fever dream鈥攑aper in every shade of beige, ink by the bottle, quills, pins, pens, sealing wax, and small office cutlery sharp enough to threaten plot twists.

Snagsby, naturally, was the gold standard of husbands for the judgmental wives of Chancery Lane鈥攂ecause 鈥渆ligible鈥� might as well be presented in the form of a well-stocked inkstand.

And just like that, one humble house links one frugal neighbor, one ghost-riddled Christmas classic, and one impressively specific list of office supplies.

Welcome to Temple, where London's legal elite rub shoulders with medieval ghosts and the spirit of Dickens still loiters by the fountain.

Temple is home to two of the legendary Inns of Court: Middle Temple and Inner Temple. But before the barristers moved in with their powdered wigs and legal jargon, this was sacred turf for the Knights Templar. Yep, the original warrior-monks. Their headquarters were right here, and rumor has it, their initiation rites went down in the crypt of Temple Church. Built in the 12th century and maintained by the Inns since 1608, this church still boasts a mighty Elizabethan organ and 13th-century stone knights lying eternally in its iconic round chapel鈥攆orever on break from crusading.

Step into Middle Temple, and it鈥檚 like time travel鈥擵ictorian fog not included. Charles Dickens himself described the place as having gates that whisper: 鈥淲ho enters here leaves noise behind.鈥� Over the years, its roll call has included heavyweights like Sir Walter Raleigh (a 17th-century English statesman, soldier, writer and explorer), novelist William Makepeace Thackeray (author of Vanity Fair), and, yes, Dickens himself鈥攂ecause, of course, he couldn't resist a good atmospheric setting.

Also, don鈥檛 miss Middle Temple Hall鈥攁 Tudor dream with timber for days. Over 100 feet long, 40 feet wide, and topped with a hammer-beam roof that would make any medieval carpenter proud. The walls are dressed in coats of arms and oil paintings that give serious 鈥淕ame of Thrones meets courtroom drama鈥� energy. These days, it鈥檚 mostly reserved for members, fancy receptions, and the occasional concert鈥攕o consider it the velvet rope of legal London.

Wander a little and you'll find Fountain Court鈥攁 peaceful courtyard where law students dine and Dickens once eavesdropped for inspiration. He even featured the bubbling fountain in Martin Chuzzlewit. And just nearby is Garden Court鈥攁 lush square overlooking the Thames, straight out of Great Expectations. This was Pip鈥檚 pad, where a stormy night and an ominous message鈥斺�淒on鈥檛 go home鈥濃�攕et the stage for one of literature鈥檚 great reveals.

So go ahead, get lost in Temple's winding paths. Just don鈥檛 be surprised if you bump into a barrister鈥� or a ghost.

If walls could talk, Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese would have quite the barroom story to tell鈥攁nd probably a few too many footnotes. Part of the Fleet Street setting, this legendary London pub has been keeping glasses full and conversations flowing since 1538. That鈥檚 right鈥攂efore Shakespeare picked up a quill, this place was pouring pints. Rebuilt after the Great Fire of 1666, it still boasts cellars older than an average European country.

Literary heavyweights flocked here like moths to an ale-soaked flame. Samuel Johnson, Mark Twain, G.K. Chesterton, George Orwell, and Charles Dickens all bellied up to the bar鈥攖hough not all at once, that would鈥檝e been chaos. The atmosphere? Think cozy wood panels, floors strewn with sawdust, and a mysterious maze of monk-era cellars underneath. It once was a monastery, which explains the labyrinth鈥攁nd perhaps the lingering sense of guilt after your third pint.

Dickens himself gave it a name-drop in A Tale of Two Cities, when Sydney Carton drags Charles Darnay to a tavern for a restorative meal after a courtroom close call. That tavern鈥擲trong odds it was "the Cheese."

Now owned by Sam Smith鈥檚 Old Brewery, this time-traveling pub still serves up proper pints and solid meals with a side of history. So if you're craving a drink in the dim glow of literary ghosts鈥攐r just want to sit where Dickens might鈥檝e nursed a hangover鈥攑ull up a chair. Just don鈥檛 get lost in the cellars.

Once upon a sewer-scented time, Saffron Hill was smack in the middle of London鈥檚 most notorious slums鈥攌nown charmingly as 鈥渞ookeries,鈥� where rats and rogues shared rent. And if that name rings a literary bell, it should: Charles Dickens plucked this very street to house one of fiction鈥檚 most infamous mentors of mischief鈥攏one other than Fagin, in Oliver Twist.

Now, don't be misled by the fragrant name鈥斺�淪affron Hill鈥� sounds like a posh spice market, but by the time Dickens rolled up in the 1830s, the saffron had long gone. What was left was a gritty little enclave once dubbed the Italian quarter, and a cast of real-life characters that could out-scandal any soap opera.

This was also the stomping ground of The Three Cripples, a cheery little den of vice where Bill Sikes liked to throw back a pint鈥攐r a punch. While the pub itself might鈥檝e been fictional, Dickens based it on a real lodging house right next to a joint called The One Tun. (Which, let's be honest, sounds like a pub and a pun rolled into one.)

But Saffron Hill wasn鈥檛 just the hideout for cutthroats and literary villains. It also cracked open Dickens鈥檚 heart. In 1843, he visited a local school so poor, so bleak, that it practically wrote A Christmas Carol for him. Children there were already deep into lives of thievery, disease, and misery before they even lost their baby teeth.

In Oliver Twist, Dickens didn鈥檛 hold back. He described the place as 鈥渘arrow and muddy鈥� with air thick enough to chew, 鈥渇ilthy odours鈥� galore, and alleyways crawling with shady characters looking like they were on their way to commit鈥攚ell, something unsavory.

So next time you stroll down Saffron Hill, take a whiff, squint at the cobblestones, and you might just catch a ghost of Dickens鈥� London鈥攑ickpocket and all.

Cock Lane, a name that has raised eyebrows and inspired ghost stories for centuries. Nestled in the heart of the City of London, this narrow street may sound cheeky, but its past is even cheekier. Back in the Middle Ages, it was known as Cokkes Lane鈥攈ome to officially sanctioned brothels, the licensed love nests inside the legal district. By the 17th century, the focus shifted from pleasure to poultry, with cockfighting becoming the new crowd-puller, hence the name we still giggle at today.

But the street's real claim to fame came in 1762, when 25 Cock Lane became the stage for one of London鈥檚 most absurd paranormal hoaxes: the infamous Cock Lane Ghost. This so-called specter tapped on walls and moaned in all the wrong places, duping the public and making headlines. The farce was so famous, it became shorthand for any phony phantom tale thereafter.

Charles Dickens, who adored a good ghost story鈥攖hanks in part to his spooky nursemaid Mary Weller鈥攃ouldn't resist. He name-drops the Cock Lane Ghost in Nicholas Nickleby, where the endlessly rambling Mrs. Nickleby claims her great-grandfather went to school with the said ghost. Dickens also slips in mentions in Dombey and Son and A Tale of Two Cities, where we meet Jerry Cruncher, the bank clerk who moonlights as a part-time grave robber. Classy.

Oh, and if you thought things couldn鈥檛 get any more dramatic鈥擟ock Lane was also the point where the Great Fire of London finally burned itself out in 1666. The spot鈥攁t the intersection with Giltspur Street, formerly known as Pye Corner鈥攊s now marked by the delightfully plump Golden Boy of Pye Corner, who stares solemnly from his perch as if to say, 鈥淭hat鈥檚 enough, London. Put the matches down.鈥�

So, whether you're into scandal, spirits, or smoldering ruins, Cock Lane delivers it all鈥攚ith a wink.

Step right up鈥攊f you dare鈥攆or the tale of Holy Sepulchre Church, once London鈥檚 unofficial countdown clock to the afterlife. Situated across from the notorious Newgate Prison, this church rang out more than hymns. Its bell tolled at 8 am to signal a particularly grim event: executions on the schedule. Charles Dickens himself took note in Oliver Twist, and when Dickens is watching, you know it's dark.

Before 1783, the show didn鈥檛 even happen at Newgate. The condemned were carted off to the London neighbourhood of Tyburn, parading past the Holy Sepulchre like a dread-filled float in the world鈥檚 worst parade. Tradition dictated a pit stop: each prisoner received a tiny bouquet of flowers鈥攁 subtle way of saying 鈥渟orry about the hanging鈥� in the form of a floral arrangement.

And then came the macabre tradition. For nearly 140 years, a bellman was employed to go through a tunnel connecting the church to Newgate on the night before an execution. With twelve bone-chilling double strikes of a handbell, he delivered a poetic wake-up call which said:
鈥淎ll you that in the condemned hold do lie,
Prepare you, for tomorrow you shall die;
Watch all and pray, the hour is drawing near
That you before the Almighty must appear;
Examine well yourselves, in time repent,
That you may not to eternal flames be sent:
And when Sepulchre's bell tomorrow tolls,
The Lord above have mercy on your souls.
Past twelve o'clock!鈥�

That tradition faded when Newgate Prison was torn down in 1902 to make way for the Old Bailey鈥攂ut the handbell, that grim little noisemaker, is still around, now peacefully displayed in a glass case inside the church.

These days, the Holy Sepulchre has lightened the mood considerably. Known as the 鈥淢usicians鈥� Church,鈥� it now hosts free lunchtime piano recitals, chamber music, and organ concerts that soothe rather than spook鈥攖hough the ghosts probably appreciate the acoustics.

If you ever found yourself strolling down Old Bailey and thought, 鈥淗uh, something grim probably happened here,鈥� you鈥檇 be right. The corner of Old Bailey and Newgate Street marks the site of one of London鈥檚 most notorious institutions: Newgate Prison. Built in 1188 atop an ancient Roman gate and finally torn down in 1902, this fortress of doom served as the city鈥檚 main prison for over 700 years鈥攍ong enough to outlive kings, empires, and common sense.

You see, Newgate wasn鈥檛 just a prison鈥攊t was the place to be executed before a crowd. Thousands would gather, snacks in hand, like it was the Glastonbury music festival (but with more gallows and less guitar) to watch justice served with a hangman鈥檚 noose.

Charles Dickens, ever the fan of dark corners and grim realities, was both horrified and fascinated by the place. He lobbied hard to move executions inside prison walls, where the spectacle wouldn鈥檛 feel like macabre entertainment. In 1868, his wish finally came true. Small win for dignity, proving once again that if Dickens wanted something changed, it got changed... eventually.

Dickens knew Newgate all too well. He visited it multiple times, including on July 6, 1840, when he and his pal William Makepeace Thackeray witnessed the hanging of Fran莽ois Benjamin Courvoisier (a Swiss-born valet who was convicted of murdering his employer Lord William Russell). Yes, two literary titans went to a public execution like it was a little matinee, Victorian-style.

And of course, the prison crept into Dickens' writing like a recurring nightmare. In Sketches by Boz, he penned a chilling guided tour called A Visit to Newgate. In Oliver Twist, poor Fagin spends his final hours pacing a Newgate cell while Oliver gets an unwanted lesson in capital punishment. Barnaby Rudge throws us into Newgate again, post-Gordon Riots, and in Great Expectations, Wemmick drags Pip there for a grim little field trip while Pip waits for his not-so-sweet Estella.

Indeed, Newgate was a fortress of misery, but also a literary goldmine. So next time you're wandering past Old Bailey, remember: you鈥檙e walking over seven centuries of ghosts, gallows, and Dickensian dread.

For centuries, Saint Paul's Cathedral has stood tall, quite literally, as London鈥檚 ultimate comeback story in stone form. After the Great Fire of 1666 turned the medieval cathedral (originally founded in 1087) into a smoldering memory, Sir Christopher Wren got the challenge of designing the masterpiece we see today.

Construction began in 1675 and took 35 years. Wren鈥檚 first design was too modern. The second鈥攖oo modern again and too Catholic-looking. He eventually struck a deal with the Anglican clergy: throw in a classic English spire, but sneak in a magnificent triple-stacked dome instead. Now it鈥檚 the second-largest cathedral dome in the world after St. Peter鈥檚 in Rome. Subtle flex.

During WWII and the Blitz, flames again came for the cathedral, and again, it stood its ground. Brave volunteers fought fires on the dome, saving it from complete destruction. Saint Paul鈥檚 became a beacon of hope in the rubble. Fittingly, above the south entrance, you鈥檒l spot the Latin word "Resurgam," meaning 鈥淚 shall rise again.鈥� Very on brand.

Inside, the cathedral is pure English Baroque drama. Climb 257 steps to the Whispering Gallery, where even your gossip echoes in style. Add another 119 steps for the Stone Gallery and 152 more for the Golden Gallery鈥攂ecause apparently, stairs build character. But the panoramic views of London are worth every calf cramp.

Down below in the crypt, you鈥檒l find the final resting places of national legends: the Duke of Wellington, Admiral Nelson, and of course, Wren himself. His epitaph reads: 鈥淚f you seek his monument, look around you.鈥�

Saint Paul鈥檚 was basically Dickens' favorite rooftop. In Master Humphrey鈥檚 Clock, he climbs to the top for a bird鈥檚 eye view of life鈥檚 contradictions, which, come to think of it, London is full of. In David Copperfield, Peggotty enjoys the view too. Dickens knew this neighborhood well and even attended the Duke of Wellington鈥檚 funeral here in 1852.

Back in Shakespeare鈥檚 day, the area around Saint Paul鈥檚 was bustling with booksellers. This was the epicenter of the English publishing world鈥� the Bard鈥檚 plays were printed and sold right here. Odds are he browsed the stalls himself, possibly muttering, 鈥淭o plagiarize, or not to plagiarize...鈥�

And for the modern-day wizarding crowd: yes, that staircase you recognize from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban is real. The magical-looking Geometric Staircase鈥攁ka the Dean鈥檚 Stair鈥攆loats elegantly in the cathedral鈥檚 South West Bell Tower. You might remember it from Professor Trelawney鈥檚 Divination class or The Goblet of Fire. You鈥檒l need a ticket to see it, but for Potterheads, it鈥檚 practically a rite of passage.

Tip:
Book online to skip the queue. And maybe spring for the audio tour鈥攗nless you鈥檝e got me in your ear, of course.

In the heart of London, Cheapside is where London鈥檚 medieval market culture meets 21st-century urban energy. This street has been a commercial powerhouse since before any of our great-great-great-great-grandparents were born. The name "Cheapside" comes from the Old English word 鈥渃eap,鈥� meaning "market," which is fitting, because from the 12th to the 16th century, this place was indeed the city's main commercial area. It bustled with vendors selling essentials like bread, milk, poultry, and honey, which is still reflected in the names of the surrounding streets鈥擝read Street, Milk Street, Poultry, and the now-adorably vanished Honey Lane.

Originally the artery of a city accommodating a modest 200,000 citizens, Cheapside remained loud, proud, and crowded well into the 19th century, so much so that even Charles Dickens couldn鈥檛 resist throwing it into his novels. In Great Expectations, Pip calls it 鈥渁ll asmear with filth and fat and blood,鈥� which sounds gross, but very on brand for Victorian London. And yes, that giant dome brooding over it all鈥擲t. Paul鈥檚 Cathedral gave every grimy detail some architectural gravitas.

Dickens鈥檚 son, Charles Dickens, Jr., called Cheapside 鈥渢he busiest and most vital thoroughfare in London,鈥� only rivaled by London Bridge. Clearly, this street was not one to be outdone.

Nowadays, Cheapside hasn鈥檛 missed a beat. It's still buzzing, just with fewer poultry vendors and more cappuccino options. You鈥檝e got historic gems like Guildhall, Bow Church, and Postman鈥檚 Park sitting comfortably beside the sleek, modern vibes of One New Change鈥攁 shopping center with restaurants, retail, and a rooftop terrace that serves you full-on cinematic views of St. Paul鈥檚 and the London skyline.

In short, Cheapside is the place where you can shop, stroll, and soak in layers of city history鈥攁ll within a few minutes鈥� walk from one of the capital鈥檚 most iconic cathedrals. With its unique mix of grit and grandeur, Cheapside continues to tell the story of London鈥檚 past while thriving firmly in its present.

Lombard Street in London may sound like the setting for a high-stakes banker drama鈥攁nd honestly, it kind of is. Situated just off Bank Junction in the City of London, this narrow, unassuming street has been the powerhouse of British finance for centuries. Presently home to many financial institutions and an affluent residential area, the locale has a notable history.

Its name comes from the Lombards, a group of enterprising merchants from northern Italy who settled in London during the medieval period. These guys basically brought European banking to England in the 13th century鈥攁 sort of fintech startups of the Middle Ages, but in velvet robes. The street became home to goldsmiths, insurers, and bankers, many of whom marked their premises not with addresses (those weren鈥檛 a thing yet) but with swinging signs鈥攍ike 鈥淭he Grasshopper鈥� for Sir Thomas Gresham鈥檚 shop, who later founded the Royal Exchange.

By the 17th century, Lombard Street was the 鈥淲all Street鈥� of its day. Banks like Barclays have their roots here. And at 1 Lombard Street, in the 1800s, stood the very respectable Smith, Payne & Smiths Bank. The manager, George Beadnell, lived next door, and in 1831, he threw a dinner party that would change the course of literary crushes forever.

Among the guests was a 19-year-old Charles Dickens鈥攁mbitious, dreamy, and hopelessly smitten with Beadnell鈥檚 third daughter, Maria. He described his infatuation as being like a 鈥渃aptured butterfly鈥� pinned to her dress. Romantic? Definitely. Slightly unhinged? Also yes. Dickens would apparently walk the street at night just to gaze longingly at the house where Maria slept. This went on for four years鈥攗ntil she returned from abroad and ended their relationship with all the grace of a Regency breakup.

But Dickens didn鈥檛 let it go. Oh no. Maria would later live on in his fiction鈥攁s sweet, shallow Dora Spenlow in David Copperfield. Years later, in 1855, she resurfaced in real life as Mrs. Winter, reaching out to Dickens for a meeting. Anticipation ran high, but Dickens was profoundly disappointed, finding Maria "toothless, fat, old and ugly". This, in turn, prompted him to portray her as the slightly ridiculous Flora Finching in Little Dorrit. Life imitating art鈥� or maybe revenge in prose.

Oh, and The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club (more commonly known as The Pickwick Papers)鈥擠ickens鈥� debut novel鈥攊t features the George and Vulture inn right here on Lombard Street. Because why not immortalize the place where you once got emotionally wrecked?