‘DON’T tell me there are turf wars in Oxford.” The call for clarification came from Richard, a tall, recently retired real estate manager from New York. He had spotted the damning words ‘Oxford is corrupt’ on a hand-written notice attached to an old bicycle in Broad Street; the bike belongs to character tour guide, the Mad Hatter.

Richard’s misgivings were enlarged by a brief statement alleging 98 per cent of related advertisements on the city council’s website were for the council’s own ‘official tours’.

His companion, Susan, a genteel Bostonian with neat hair do and sensible shoes, didn’t like the tone of the words. (Can written words have tones?) “It could get unpleasant,” she said, checking her handbag after spotting a warning about pickpockets. “Someone might get hurt. Didn’t I see a Morse – or was it a Lewis – episode where a guide was murdered?”

I pointed out Colin Dexter’s brilliant creation and its spin-off were fiction, but she was still anxious. Shouldn’t we tell someone?

RICHARD promised that if they saw that ‘someone’ wearing a police uniform he would mention it. Otherwise they would head to the Randolph to photograph the bar where the never-to-be-forgotten Morse did his drinking. Did I think they could sneak in to capture a shot?

I pleaded ignorance of the ejection policy at our city’s best-known hotel.

“We’ve already taken a picture of the Lamb and Flag,” chipped in Susan. “Tolkien and C S Lewis used to go there. We’ve only been here for a short time and we’re due back at our coach on the hour.”

Bearing in mind their tight schedule I didn’t have the heart to tell them they had gone to the wrong St Giles pub. As any guide – official, privileged, council-favoured or other wise – will tell you, those famous authors used another pub on the opposite side of the road.

PITY poor Tesco who seems to have inherited the negative headlines spot from referendums and political party conferences.

The multi-billion, multi-faceted chain store giant has had a rare old kicking this week with one negative story following another. So in the tradition of the Premier League – kicking a fellow when he’s down – I’ll bare my studs.

Why was it at 9.30am on Tuesday in the Magdalen Street store none of the check-out tills were in use while three or four members of staff were helping customers negotiate the minefield of so-called self-service positions?

Tesco are not alone in this move towards button-pushing, scanning and disembodied voices.

Have they forgotten the most valuable member of staff is the cash-out assistant who offers to pack, takes the cash and, with a beaming smile, expresses the hope of seeing you again?