Odd sort of place, Aylesbury. Town centre crammed inside a smallish inner ring road, brave new world (from the same people that brought you Woking?) outside. Inside (if you can get across the road from the basin) mainly a very mixed and busy area, seemingly genuinely multicultural, if perhaps a little down-at-heel. But then they named a street after the first mate, so who’s complaining.

Still, someone was having a nice day for their nuptials, even if we were somewhat disturbed by the shiny new sign next door over the road from the concrete City Hall. That’s “traditional” in the “shiny new marketing wheeze” sense, we presume.

In complete contrast, up in the the hill, around the church with its large and higgledy-piggledy graveyard, there’s a delightful old town residential area full of nice old buildings and quiet streets. A different world.

And doubtless there’s something deeply meaningful about the sign on this house, but it temporarily escapes us. (Rumour has it that clicking on the picture will reveal all).