THE sun was at its most brilliant, while the bells of Oxford did their best to join in the birthday celebrations of the Queen.

Tuesday was a day on which you felt sure to find a fairy nestling in every bluebell you felt inclined to inspect.

It was just the day to walk along the recently completed restored section of the Thames Pathway from the railway bridge to Magdalen Street and bid the landlocked admirals on their narrowboats a hearty good day.

“We’re heading for Reading,” volunteered a ruddy-faced helmsman.

“Yes, Reading,” parroted his first mate, presumably his wife, emphasising the name of that Berkshire town as if it was somewhere east of Suez.

“Great! I hope you make it,” I replied.

Clearly, the atmosphere of the riverbank was warping my sense of distance, as well as turning every little action into an adventure.

A new bench was occupied by an elderly white-haired chap.

After the initial pleasantries, I remarked how good the new path and the restored riverbank looked.

“It’s a mess, with all those sandbags – it looks unnatural,” he declared in a tone that signalled the end of our conversation. It was pointless suggesting time would remedy that.

Now I have a good memory for faces and I can swear that less than a year ago the same chap was moaning that something ought to be done to that stretch of the pathway.


BUT no moaner was to be allowed to spoil HM’s birthday. In St Aldate’s there seemed to have been an invasion by an army of Oriental ladies and gents, armed with cameras, all determined to photograph the duty custodian below Great Tom Tower, who obliged with the courtesy we so often take for granted. Outside the post office a young man wearing gaily-coloured trousers and a T-shirt bearing on its front the legend It's only on loan and a picture of the world on the back, was doing his best to attract the attention of passers-by. His success rate was low, so I felt obliged to help out. For what seemed an age – it could have been no more than five minutes – he went on about world resources, wastage and finally, homed in on the scourge of litter. Would I like one of his leaflets? I said I would. With that he tossed on to the pavement the half-smoked cigarette he had been holding in his left hand, so that he might peel off a leaflet – printed on recycled paper, of course. Meanwhile an ornate metal waste bin beckoned only eight feet away...

TONY, the Big Issue salesman was at his usual spot outside Marks & Spencer.

We remarked on the weather and while agreeing it was hunky-dory, business was bad.

The previous day he and three other sellers took a total of £10 in sales in six hours. After a 12-hour stand, his takings for the day were £10.

We know that the recession is hitting most people, but somehow it seems unfair that a double whammy was being inflicted on the less fortunate who were doing their bit not to be an extra burden on the state.


THIS cast something of a cloud, but it was dispelled minutes later when I walked into Cornmarket Street and followed a tall man carrying his small son – no more than a couple of years old – on his shoulders. They were moving at quite a pace through the crowd. As they passed, the little boy would flick the hair of the nearest person – in most cases a woman – causing them to turn to see who was ‘assaulting’ them from the rear. By which time father and son were yards ahead. The few who rumbled the culprit smiled. After all, it was too nice a day to make a fuss.