I bet even Hugh doesn’t know the answer to this one.

Recently I walked past the London street where I used to live. On the corner is a small, old-fashioned pub called, as so many London pubs are, The Lord Palmerston. This is no gentrified gastropub serving overpriced beer and tiny portions of salad. Nor is it – horror-of-horrors – “child-friendly”. It has not yet been bought by a chain and scrubbed clean of its atmosphere, or turned into one of those risible Irish theme bars called Filthy MacNasty. No, the Lord Palmerston is a proper boozer, a good old rub-a-dub, where people still smoke, where you can buy decidedly inorganic crisps, where they have lock-ins after hours and where, on special occasions, they actually have a sing-song round the piano, or “old Joanna”, as the Cockneys once called it, and perhaps still do.

Or so I thought. Here is a picture:

Can you see anything odd about the sign? And, if you look closely, there is a similarly incongruous picture on the lamp. That is not Lord Palmerston, is it? That’s Che Guevara. Why?

The pub was closed, unfortunately, so I couldn’t go in and investigate. But the incongruity jars almost as much as the toy crucified Santas said to be on sale in Japanese department stores.

Suggestions on a postcard, please.