If you’re in the game of writing satirical blogs (OK you’re probably not), you’d be used to mixing up ideas and drawing a parallel between stuff that isn’t really there.

That’s why ambiguous job titles are of so much interest. A former colleague working in a marketing team held the job title ‘Graphic & Content Manager’. Which worked on several levels – not least that they could often be graphically rude and mostly because I would never have described them as content.

In the meantime, out on the High Street it’s interesting to note similar, more traditional oddities – ‘Professional Dry Cleaners’ always promote themselves as such which amuses me. Would you go to one that pitched themselves as ‘Amateur Dry Cleaners’? You know, just this guy putting himself out there, never cleaned a suit before but hey, he’d give it his best shot and see how it comes out?

Monumental Masons disturb me slightly too. They seem to fall between the two stalls of an awesome spectacle – think the Colossus of Rhodes – and a massive mistake – literally a monumental error of judgement.

After all, whilst carving a typo on to a headstone would be both a ‘grave’ and ‘monumental’ mistake, given the passage of decades there’d be few visitors who’d notice. Just the odd researching descendant who might never find the burial site.

As it happens, we have an anomaly here in Reigate. The Royal Crest at the Telephone Exchange. I don’t know how long it takes to carve a Royal Insignia but I’d guess it’s more than a few weeks. Particularly if it’s a brand new one that you’ve never done before – such as for Edward VIII – he of Mrs Simpson fame. That’s the thing, at first glance it looks like a standard ‘ER’ crest we’ve seen on everything for the last six or so decades, just with an oddly stylised type face. It’s only when you see the date below being 1936 that something seems a bit off and indeed the roman numerals ‘VIII’ indicate that this bit of masonry can only date from between 20 January and 11 December of that year, the short reign before the presence of Mrs Simpson became a thing.

So, you’ve spent months getting a Palace-approved design signed-off for the bloody crest, made 14 abortive attempts to get the carving just right (what even is that font?), you keep chipping off the last tiny Roman ‘I’ all the while wondering what the era actually is. Neo-Edwardian? Simpsonian (no? sounds like a library)?

At last! Your proudly executed all-new royal crest atop the state-of-the-art Telephone Exchange is unveiled to a waiting world in Reigate, Surrey. And then he abdicates.

Luckily you had all those ‘AR’ crests lined up for Bertie just in case things went south. No monumental errors here by Jove!  Wait a minute, George VI? Where did that come from?