One of the hazards of wearing a longish beard is the number of folk who feel the need to point out your resemblance to another random bearded person in an amusing and original fashion. In their opinion, anyway. ‘Look, ZZ Top!’ was always a favourite, turning of course to ‘It’s Billy Gibbons!’ after Dusty Hill’s death. Sadly, as my beard gets greyer there are more shouts of ‘Oi, Dumbledore!’ or ‘Gandalf!’ Children tend to get to the point and ask straight out if I’m a wizard. I usually say yes, but was unprepared for the supplementary question I got recently which was ‘then why are you wearing the wrong hat?’

 I couldn’t help feeling I had crossed another age boundary out on a walk this week when one wag looked at me with a straight face and said ‘Good afternoon, Lord.’ As usual, my mind was somewhere else. Although I replied, I didn’t register what he had said until he was thirty metres past me. If I had been paying attention I like to think I’d have been quick-witted enough to turn round, glare, and firmly say something like ‘repent, sinner, for I am a most vengeful God!’ Then hurl a lightning bolt. As it is though, I left him under the impression that the trilby and overcoat-wearing God chooses to respond to his followers with a distracted ‘Hi!’