Wigmaker's heads.

I peeked into an open door in the alleyway this morning.
And I saw rows and rows of what I thought were mummified heads.
My heart was pumping hard.
But as we all know from classic horror movies, you never run away.
No. You go in and explore, don't you?

A little old man called George turned up, he told me the
heads were between 50 and 100 years old, and the little stickers
were the names of the people wigs were made for.

I just called the wigmakers to ask if I could come and take more shots.
Rather spookily they said George had died in 1985*.



* Not really. George called me a nosy cow, and threatened me with
the police if I ever entered his back passage again.