Why hasn’t anyone changed it? Because London loves its quirks. We’d sooner rename Big Ben than drop a name that makes a first-year student point and laugh. The Isle of Dogs is a badge of honor—a reminder that place names don’t have to make sense; they just have to make you smile.
Imagine if they changed it to “Canary Wharf Peninsula South” or something. You’d lose the magic. You’d lose the mental image of Henry VIII’s soggy hounds and the Bounty mutineers’ lighthouse pups. It’s like keeping a childhood nickname that’s embarrassing but beloved. You just own it.
So next time you hear “Isle of Dogs,” don’t think about geography. Think about the muddy, barking, glorious chaos of history. And if you ever visit, grab a coffee, look at the skyline, and whisper, “Good boy, Henry. Good boy.” Then buy a pug a snack. He might be the mayor.
