Country mouse goes to the Smoke

I made an trip to London yesterday, to see my best and longest-standing friend (waves madly to oursin across the ether). It took us so long to find the Victorian Women Explorers at the National Portrait Gallery — they were somewhat outnumbered among the massed ranks of Important Victorian Men — that I suspect they would have considered us very poor candidates to join them on their travels, even were we able at all times to maintain a suitably serious mien.

Over lunch (how I miss South Indian food, here in the wilds of Gloucestershire) we also outlined the definitive fantasy trilogy, complete with: a Mermaid who is a Rider for the Queen (she rides sidesaddle, of course); her lover the were-fruit-bat (he used to be a were-vampire-bat, until THAT unfortunate incident in his past); and the Lost Prince disguised as a Milliner's Apprentice (hat-boxes loom very large in the plot, as does the mermaid equivalent of the Swiss Army Knife). Sure to be a best-seller... Remember, you heard about it here first.