I visited the dentist today in Bermondsey and had to wait to check in whilst another patient was leaving and settling his bill at the desk.  He was older - retired I should think. 'You've got my name wrong' he said to the receptionist after checking the print out.  She apologised and went to correct it on the system. He inspected the result. 'Can I be pernickerty?' he asked, 'It should be The Reverend Doctor' 

I am no longer surprised by the fondness I observe in fellow clergy for titles and honorifics, though it still disheartens me.  We didn't enter the world with these baubles and they are not going to carry much weight when we depart - except possibly when too great an attachment to them harms our transition from life to death.  In relation to the matter in hand, they bore no relevance to the state of his teeth. I had to chuckle as I found myself wondering if he would have be so keen on his indentifiers had we been in the queue not at the dentist but at the local sexual health clinic. Somehow I think not, but you never know.

A first visit to Seville. We were bowled over. Magnificent museums, friendly people, good food.  It was Lent.  We encountered a number of weeping Madonnas. And this rather retro 'corseteria': straightforward, nothing risqué (at least in the window - I didn't venture inside) and geared, it seemed, to the Spanish equivalent of Hyacinth Bucket.  I liked the way the items appears to be levitating. All very no-nonsense and barely a hint of eroticism, against a backcloth of winceyette.