It begins with the happy marriage of Edward I and Queen Eleanor of Castile (featuring 16 children. Eeek). When Eleanor died (close to Lincoln) most of her was brought back to London for burial at Westminster Abbey (her entrails stayed at Lincoln Cathedral. Eeek). At each place where the procession stopped for the night, Edward had built a memorial cross in her honour. Hence Charing Cross.
These days the original wooden cross is long gone, but there is a monument (not in the original spot) in that flamboyant gothic style the Victorians loved so very much.
Anyhoo, post-Cross, we sampled Richard Harris's old haunt (The Coal Hole), and following many dumplings & noodles, we went to the Lamb & Flag: it's the oldest pub in Covent Garden (over 300 years at least) and used to be known as The Bucket of Blood. And there it was that the little star of our evening appeared, while we were chatting over a late pint.
It was a mouse. He appeared under the stools, and scampered along the base of the bar. He was a small pale mouse, and half-bald. All things considered, he was an odd-looking mouse. He came towards us, ducked briefly into the fireplace, then reemerged to retrace his steps. A couple at the bar lit up when they saw him, and followed his progress out of our sight. They seemed quite charmed.
As we left, Sara paused at the bar: "I think you've got a mouse problem".
"Oh yeah," the barmen chimed, "Horace".
Apparently, he had been there for some time. They tried numerous methods of removal, including putting down that vicious sticky paper, which did indeed catch and stick him firmly. Horace, however, just ripped himself up (hence the half-baldness) and scampered off. They said he reappeared later with a "What are you gonna do about it?" look on his face.
Ah, Horace. Little Londoner, tough-as-nails mouse. Such a delight :-)
"Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant."
-- Horace (not the mouse though, the other one)
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