You might have read that title and thought, 'Oh God, this will be an emotional rant about his personal life or something similarly tedious,' but come on dear reader, it's really not that type of blog. I'm talking about actual, real, gruesome torture of the medieval kind. There, that's much more fun right? Allow me to elaborate.

I went to the Edinburgh Dungeons a while back which, turns out, is not that much of a cheery place. Every waxwork is in bad shape. Most of them are on the receiving end of something sharp or crushingly blunt as every scene you walk around displays the horrid torture methods that were inflicted on the poor souls taken there. Medieval people can be really mean.

Amongst the miserable waxworks are the perhaps more gruesome real life actors who escort groups of you around the place. I was in one such group as we were led by an overly hyper young chap who was really, really enjoying his role as a gaol (jail!) guard. He led us into a court room where an angry looking judge surveyed us all, then asked for the offender to step forward. 

Imagine my surprise when the young guard pointed to me and said "It's him! He did it!" I looked at the little guard with a 'I don't think I did' look but it didn't work, the whole room was looking at me. I was summoned to the stand. I didn't think I'd done anything wrong but couldn't be sure. I had touched a few things despite seeing 'do not touch' signs, but I can't help it, sometimes I just have to. Maybe that was my crime?

After a long, heavily over-acted soliloquay, it transpired that I was being accused of, ha ha, cross dressing. The room laughed at me and the two adolescents took great pleasure in suggesting nasty punishments. But hey, I'm a good sport! I pleaded guilty and we all laughed, and before long, were on our way. I'm not one to particularly enjoy being on display but I'd done my bit and could now relax and enjoy a laugh at the next poor bastard to be chosen.

Turns out, the next poor bastard was me again. We were now in a really dank and gruesome room, full of horrible cages and pokey things, a bit like an S&M dungeon (I'm guessing). This was where the real nasty stuff happened. As the Torturer, a rather big man, strolled up and down the group eyeing each one of us, I made the fatal mistake of making eye contact, before looking straight to the floor. I really didn't want this gig. Too late. He'd seen me, he looked at me like I was a big tasty snack. He wanted me and me alone. 

Before long, I was in a big wooden chair and the torturer was reaching for a big knife. He then turned to the group and got them to guess what it was used for. After some really creative suggestions, the big man pretended to rip off my fingernails and then chop off some fingers. When he'd had his fill, he picked up another tool, then another, each time he would ask the group to throw out their ideas before acting on whichever limb of mine he wanted to chop/ burn/ crunch etc. What was most disturbing, is that these seemingly normal people couldn't get enough! They were blood thirsty, every one of them eyeing bits of me and imagining mutilating that bit in excruciatingly horrible ways. One man even shouted 'gouge his eyes out!" which sounded more like an instruction than a reasonable guess at the tool's use.

I was poked and prodded and imaginatively dissected for about ten minutes. I spent a prolonged period of time being forced to stick my tongue out in a degrading way while the torturer pretended to rip it out with a big pair of pliers. It was turning into an odd day. My mind played tricks. What if they really do want to hurt me?! I was trapped in a room with these strangers below surface level, what if they were all real sickos who had planned this? I'd seen films like Hostel and Saw, it wasn't much of  a stretch! They could do anything and get away with it, just throw my corpse on the floor and people would think it was a fantastically lifelike part of the display!? I tried to calm down, but then the torturer grabbed a large curved meathook.

Now of course, you'd think the most reasonable way of impaling a human being on a meathook would be in through the back, and this was the immediate suggestion from my lovely new friends. The torturer only grinned however. He then made me bend over and touch my toes. Turns out, those cheeky medievals found another way to do it. I spent the last part of my visit to the dungeon bent over while the torturer simulated hanging me on a meathook in front of twenty strangers, and you don't need me to tell you where he was trying to put it. I've done many dignity-stripping things in my time, but this day will always stand out.

A year or so later I visited the London Dungeons, which are remarkably similar to those up in Edinburgh. So much so, that the tour is near identical. It wasn't long until I was again in a courtroom and, remarkably, again brought to trial for a silly crime which escapes me. I reasoned I must either look guilty or annoying. However, once more in the torturers room, I could scarcely believe I was, again, placed in the big wooden seat. It was then that I thought, people enjoy torturing me. I must have the face for it.

Depressed by this realisation, I was perhaps not the most chirpy torture victim. I went along with it all again, familiar with the old routine. Once more were my nails and fingers chopped and my tongue pulled out. By the time the guy went for the meathook I'd had my fill of history and just wanted to get this last embarrassing moment out of the way. 

The torturer asked the crowd how best to hook a human. Before the audience could respond, I had bent over, touched my toes and presented myself to the hooked man. 

In hindsight, this will have looked strange.