It is arguable that the standard of debate in a certain Covered Market café ranks alongside - and occasionally above - that of the Oxford Union. Topics emerge, they are never planned; neither is there a dress code.

Carbon footprints became the subject when the tall, straight-backed woman with an accent that made newsreader Fiona Bruce sound like EastEnders' Peggy Mitchell, produced photographs of the southern icecap.

"It is melting at an alarming rate," she announced as if revealing this to an unsuspecting world for the first time.

"Alarming rate," parroted her even taller husband.

"Unless we do something soon, it will disappear in our grandchildren's lifetime," she prophesied.

"The same goes for the North Pole," chimed in the husband, fishing images of that icecap from a Tesco ever-lasting carrier bag.

The house' at a near-touching table comprised a couple from Garsington, of similar vintage, smaller and softly spoken, and their two old friends, an off-duty traffic warden, his wife - and me. We listened politely and admired the photographs.

At length, the Garsington woman spoke. "Where did you get the photos?"

"We took some on a holiday trip to the North polar region last spring and those at Antarctica just before Christmas," said the tall woman.

"How did you get there?"

"We flew most of the way," the husband guffawed. "Too far to walk!"

"Don't you think all this increased your carbon footprints?" the inquisitor suggested calmly. (It was apparent the ice-trotters hadn't faced such examination from others.) "What will you do with the photographs?"

"My wife will use them at talks to ladies' meetings," said the husband.

"And what about you?" she pressed, the bit firmly beneath her teeth. "If your trips were for amusement, they were just adding fuel to global warming. Will your wife drive, cycle or walk to these meetings? If she drives, will she be alone in the car?"

The rest of us listened in stony silence, apart from the traffic warden who cleared his throat to hide a laugh, happy for once not to be the target of a verbal attack. The man fell silent while his wife's tone faded to a mumble. Minutes later, they remembered another engagement, and left.

"How long have you been such an expert on global warming and carbon footprints, Eva?" asked the traffic warden's wife, clearly impressed.

"I'm not," she replied after draining her coffee cup. "But they were getting right up my nose."

Meanwhile, a chalk-written message outside the Westgate centre announced we were spending £470 per year in excess packaging.

Whether this was part of a previous day's campaign, I cannot tell. There was nothing more to shed light on the reason for its presence.

However, it did prompt me to look more closely at how food - in particular, fruit and vegetables - were offered for sale in some stores and supermarkets. It might be more hygienic to pre-pack them (a perceptible growing trend) and time saving at the checkout, but it certainly uses a lot of see-through plastic which must increase costs as well as ultimately damage the environment.

See - the Covered Market Debate had its effect!

In the peaceful atmosphere of the University Church of St Mary the Virgin in Oxford's High Street is a board on which can be pinned notes or postcards bearing prayers and messages from the writers to their Maker.

Two caught my eye this week. The first read: "Please help me to be kind and not lose my temper and to work hard at school and get the best mark I am capable of."

I smiled as it brought back similar wishes of another place and time.

The second was a stab in the heart to any family-minded person. Written in bold capital letters, it included two birth dates, both from a quarter of a century ago. Its stark plea was: "Please help me to find my children."