Hm: Strange afternoon I had. I got stuck in cross-town tube refurbishment traffic fuss and decided to take a break and do some research for my novel when I'd finally managed to cross the river and found myself at St Paul's Cathedral. The thing is, I had plans to end the novel there, but the plot hinged on the question: could a fox easily get into St Paul's cathedral in the middle of the day? And: WHY would it do that? - So I went to check if the doors were ever kept open (maybe for Christmas?) and what the place was like close-up and from the inside anyway. I looked at all the statues and the whispering gallery and the view from the dome and the crypt (where to my surprise I came across William Blake, which was nice, I didn't know they kept him there) and all that time I imagined being a fox and how I would feel about the place. I couldn't quite work out what a fox would ever want there, but it did still seem right somehow.
On my way out, I visited the gift shop. And the first thing I spotted was a shelf full of toy foxes. What was that about? Well, apparently - that was about "Herod", an urban fox who snook into St. Paul's ten years ago and happily lived there for a week. He's kind of their mascot now, it seems. "Ah," I said to myself and the shelf of stuffed toy foxes. "That answers that, then."
I did feel a bit like someone had re-programmed the universe to catch me out, but then I often do. So, tick - novel ends in St Paul's Cathedral. Real foxes agree.