BRING waterproofs - the weather forecast is atrocious," advised both Kate Day and Lizzie Pickering, the perpetually energetic event organisers at Helen and Douglas House.

I had signed up to guard a checkpoint for a couple of hours at the annual sponsored walk and wheels whizz at the Cotswold Wildlife Park near Burford last Saturday. This, among other routine instructions, were what are known in Army circles as Part One Orders.

The fact they were wrong, that shirtsleeves order ruled and the rains came only at the end of the walk while two enormous cakes to mark the 25th birthday of Helen House were being cut in a small marquee, delighted most and surprised many. But not me.

Sister Frances, the inspiration behind both hospices, was not there. She was en route to Brazil to speak at an international conference on caring, but she had doubtless put in a request with the Great Weatherman in the Sky. Anybody who knows her will confirm she's a lady whom it is impossible for anyone in this world - or the next - to refuse!

Speaking of inspiration, the presence of so many friends and families from all parts of the country, among them children and young adults with life-limiting conditions, was deeply moving. They raised more than £5,000 in sponsorships and donations.

To see children, some finding the taken-for-granted act of breathing a strength-sapping labour, making their way around the park with smiles and determination, while excitedly offering their check sheets to be stamped, softened even the hardest of hearts.

TUESDAY was a delightful day - apart from learning my debit card had been cloned and used in downtown Budapest.

Even this unsettling news came late-afternoon so I had enjoyed being at one with nature - or rather with seven or eight ducks airing their feathers beside the Thames footpath between Osney Lock and the railway bridge.

They were not inclined to move as I sat down beside them. A couple quacked a cheery Good morning' while a third mistook by hand for a crust only to be disappointed when it turned out to be mere flesh and bone.

After 10 minutes or so, some aquatic-fowl telepathy announced breakfast was available downstream and they made off as one. I watched them paddle in untidy formation until they disappeared beyond the rail bridge.

Robbed of their company, I headed for St Aldate's, crossing the small bridge over the Bulstake Stream and glanced towards the collection of tents, abandoned trolleys and makeshift platforms that is tent city'. It was in time to see one of the citizens' toss a supermarket plastic bag containing heaven-knows-what into the water and watch it float into the mainstream of the Thames.

Ah well. End of the idyll.

BLOUSES were untucked, bow ties loosened and carnations drooped under the pressure their owners had experienced. Post-exams sharpeners' in a High Street bar had started to restore undergraduate nerves, but the horrors of the morning were not yet exorcised.

"I'd rather be thrown into a den of lions than face another paper like that," said an earnest young man showing a passing knowledge of the Old Testament.

"Or covered in snakes," said another, taking up the metaphoric baton and admitting to fear of reptiles similar to that of fictitious hero, Indiana Jones.

"I'd prefer to go through the traumas of childbirth," added one of the young women, possibly a medical student judging by her informed choice of words.

This admission was met by what, in the spirit of the story, can best described as a pregnant silence. No offer to initiate the reproduction processes was forthcoming.

Maybe after another round of drinks . . .

SEEN being unloaded at Brasenose College in High Street: a mountain of new single beds and mattresses. They looked far too comfortable for the average student. Getting out of bed for lectures will be harder than ever.