WHILE the fatberg scourge was causing headaches for Jericho and Anglian Water’s waste network area manager Alex Saunders, two cheerful members of the city council recycling team were calmly converting the Bonn Square public to the all-round benefits of selective recycling.

“It’s like the war years when salvage was a holy word and we believed every bit of metal, whether an old bike or iron railings, was needed to build tanks and Spitfires,” mused 86-year-old ex-airman, Ernie Ross. Now I know where my old blue pedal car went!

But the two friendly ‘missionaries’, Emily Schofield and Bill Byfield, were not after our fences or cycle frames, but cans, cartons, aerosols, glass, plastic tubs and trays and the rest of it. According to one leaflet, two extra cans placed in the special recycling container would not win a world war, but could run a computer for up to 12 hours (note: It might be advisable to hide this fact from our keyboard-hooked children).

Emily and Bill were handing out pencils, sharpeners in the shape of waste bins, recycled canvass bags and – most important – friendly advice.

Perhaps Bill offered them an extra bin.

DON’T run away with the idea that working in the office at the University Church of St Mary the Virgin in the High Street is a soft choice. On Tuesday, two of the ladies were helping a male colleague to build a stage for choirs due to perform later in the day.

They’ll probably have to do the same again for concerts planned for Saturday and Sunday.

“I hope you were a gentleman and offered to help,” said old chum Bert from Cowley when I told him what I’d seen. Guilt forced an early retreat.

CONFIRMING that women can multi-task, the Playhouse Theatre’s press and marketing officer Lauren Meehan is taking a day away from the glitter of the lights and looking after publicity and the stars and personalities who tread the boards.

She is taking part in a half-marathon in Hackney, hoping to raise money for the theatre’s funds.

Loyalty is one thing, but a half-marathon...

THE venue: Marks & Spencer’s store in Queen Street. The players: a smartly dressed middle-aged couple.

Him: “Must you go there?”

Her: “It’s the only place.”

Him, embracing her and kissing tenderly: “You will be careful won’t you?”

She breaks away, only to return.

Him: “How long will it take?”

Her: “About half an hour.”

They kiss again.

Him: “You’d better buy two.”

And there was I beginning to believe romance was on the decline.