The tartan, four-wheeled, shopping trolley appeared on the crown of Botley Road river bridge before its owner. It is understandable because Kate Massey would struggle to reach the 4ft 6in mark.

But what can be guaranteed to hit a different mark with anyone who bids her “hello” is her beaming smile, which seemed even brighter on sunny, yet chilly, Tuesday morning.

I should mention that Kate is 94 and for all but two of those years has lived on Osney Island. She was born during the month in which the First World War started — August 1914 — although with a contagious laugh she will deny having been in any way responsible.

She was heading home from the shops and the bank — to where daughter Pauline would be ready with a boiling kettle and tea leaves in the tea pot — and it was still not 10am. While others had thought about doing something, she got on with it.

The trolley was full and quite heavy for anyone to push up the sharp incline. But she was neither out of breath nor tired.

“You must have lived on the island longer than anyone,” I suggested. She was quick to put me right. There were at least two others of the same age.

“It's the healthy Osney Island air that keeps us going,” she said with a broad smile and a chuckle as she prepared to make the final part of her journey home.

Seconds later there was excitement on the river. Ducks rushed to a vantage point below, although there seemed no reason why. From the city direction came a small cloth-capped man displaying nothing to cause such a feathery flurry.

But clearly the birds recognised him.

Slowly he removed a couple of slices of bread from his pocket, broke them up and tossed them over the bridge to be gathered up by eager beaks.

“But you had nothing in your hand,” I protested. “What had they seen?”

“Me,” he replied modestly. “I feed them every day from some place or another.”

Where did he live? Osney Island, of course. Remarkable people, these Islanders.

The Stagecoach double-decker was displaying the ‘not in use’ sign, yet there were two people on the upper deck and six below as it was driven down New Road.

Which was one person more than the total aboard three diesel fume-belching buses making their way to Queen Street.

Meanwhile, Oxford Mail billboards announced plans for a traffic-free city centre… Cowley Road never ceases to fascinate. First there were two university freshmen, each carrying a small tabletop refrigerator. They were a bargain price, too good to miss, said one of the undergraduates. Innocently I suggested they would be a handy addition to the college rooms, somewhere to store milk, butter and the likes for late-night supper or an early breakfast. Both gave me a sympathetic glance.

“There won't be enough room for non-essentials like that,” said the first, before roaring with laughter.