Down a cobbled street there hides a place cloaked in a blanket of fog. With only the faint glow of street lights to outline its shape it resides next to a shoe makers, which once cobbled footwear for the royal house hold.

Opposite is a bakery, with the constant smell of freshly baked bread, omitting from within, and it has a glow through the window, that flickers in the darkness.

I walked passed this ally way every day, and noticed the same signs, and the same beautiful old English Tudor shops.

On this day, there was something different, something so magical, that when I strolled past, it...