Were he still with us, Nikolaus Pevsner would probably give minimal attention to the 'built environment' surrounding my workplace on the edge of a Midlands town. The Acropolis it's not.
We have a business park, a retail park (but sadly no park park), plus a pizza restaurant, McDonalds and a bowling alley.
Little wonder, then, that amidst so much visual 'blah', heads are turning to view the remarkable building taking shape between Sainsbury's and Tenpin - a Gurdwara, or Sikh Temple, looking for all the world as if a glittering Arabian Nights palace has floated down in the middle of suburban Warwickshire.
There are guides, good guides - and then there is Malcolm Miller, English guide to Chartres Cathedral for more than fifty years.
In October 1986 I spent a few days in Paris and took the short train ride out to Chartres to see the cathedral. Noticing a sign advertising 'Tours in English', I tagged along - and fell under the spell of MM.
Softly spoken, deliciously theatrical, MM draws you in with his whispered opening line: 'I'll tell you a secret...'
And you're away, the cathedral's long life unfolding while Miller shows you how to 'read' its 'hidden meaning' - particularly through its miraculously complete, totally integrated programme of stained glass and statuary.
Hint - for the best possible time, take your binocs.
And by 'hidden meaning', he doesn't mean 'da Vinci-style' esoterics - he's referring to the fact that the whole place tells a single narrative - which I guess could be summed up as the story of salvation.
History, engineering, gossip, theology and, well, a kind of numinous glory - these are all elements of the MM experience - all the more intense if you have a prior inkling of the broad sweep of the Bible - from the garden to the heavenly Jerusalem.
I was so mesmerised on that long-ago Tuesday that I joined his afternoon tour as well - and returned for two more on the Thursday.
Two 'MM neophytes' accompanied me when I returned to the Cathedral recently - after a gap of twenty-two years. I worried that the 'magic' might have faded and that they would feel let down after my enthusiastic trumpeting of Mr Miller.
My fears were groundless.
His hair is whiter, his posture a liitle stooped, but his style, erudition and élan remain undiminished.
Catch him while you can.
And here, from a 1980s documentary film, is a glimpse of MM's enthusiastic approach:
Hurrah for our Victorian forebears for dedicating themselves bountifully to the beautification of our municipal open spaces.
And hurrah for the preservationists of Leamington Spa for salvaging the exquisite bird house in the town's Jephson Gardens.
Ten years ago, the aviary was a derelict, dilapidated disaster.
Now it's a cheerful cafe, its froth of wrought-iron latticework painstakingly restored - an airy delight, possibly all the better for the absence of avian inhabitants.
Tranquillity is not, I guess, the first word that comes to mind when thinking of the vibrant centre of Birmingham.
And yet, for me, it's the noun that best expresses my impression of the newly restored Birmingham Town Hall.
Architects Joseph Hansom (of cab fame) and Edward Welch based their design on the Temple of Castor and Pollux in Rome. The architect Charles Edge had a hand in the later stages of the project. The Hall was completed in the late 1830s.
Mendelsohnn's Elijah was premiered there, as was Elgar's Dream of Gerontius. Dickens packed it out for his public readings. Dylan, The Rolling Stones and Led Zepellin have all played BTH.
Once again I'm stunned by the generous spirit of our Victorian forebears: determined to create public buildings of great beauty at the heart of our industrial cities.
Shock news! Mr Gnome adores all things in the category 'small but exquisite'....
On a recent visit to Cheltenham Spa, the self-styled 'jewel of the Cotswolds', Mr G made a bee-line for the glorious caryatids that decorate the facade of the shops in the town's Montpellier district.
Based on figures in the Parthenon, these dames bring an air of classical hauteur to the toney spa town's architectural splendor.
Cool? Yes indeed. But, ahem, bringing with them more than a hint of abundant sensuality.
I'm sure that more than one retired colonel was troubled by these curvy sirens.
The HB doesn't think he's alone in relishing the atmospheric qualities of railway stations on winter evenings.
Echoes of Brief Encounter, perhaps?
At Birmingham's Moor Street Station one wouldn't be surprised to find Laura and Alec gazing tensely at one another, paralysed with Cowardian anguish.
Mind you, with the new Selfridges store looming over the scrupulously restored Victorian railway architecture, you'd be forgiven for thinking you'd stumbled into a sci-fi version of Moby Dick.
Were he still with us, Nikolaus Pevsner would probably give minimal attention to the 'built environment' surrounding my workplace on the edge of a Midlands town. The Acropolis it's not.
