Reflexive phallogocentrism at play, Salamanca, December 2010. I have speculated before about the tendency of petty acts of graffiti to centre of the wonders of the male sexual organ . Indeed, barely a day goes by when one cannot spot a crudely-scrawled todger on a wall, lamp post or any number of random concrete erections. Today culprit obviously can’t draw all that well, but their spelling is immaculate (although a little smiley face as the dot on the eye would have been a nice touch). What drives these phallic fanatics? These dickey doodle desperados? Envy? Guilt? Shame? Pride? A profound lack of imagination? Perhaps this is what they mean by 'doodling'... Meanwhile, still at Opossum Bay...