Another weird thing about London is that the taxi drivers who used to lecture me furiously about how immigrants were responsible for all the crime would move seamlessly to reminiscing, dewy-eyed, about the Krays.
1967 in the Hoxton Arms with my girlfriend. Really good bitter. The landlord came to us and said we had to leave and returned everything we had spent. A small crowd outside the Music Hall. Two cars arrived- three men went into the Pub. Then both the Krays arrived.
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