AS promotions go, it was a static display with eye movement the only clue to the young man being flesh and blood like the rest of us in a cold but sunny Cornmarket Street.

Although his clothes were everyday wear, placards announced he was highlighting the benefits of a yoga centre. His arms were extended in what a self-declaring, knowledgeable woman of late middle-age said was the lotus position. But instead of thumbs touching forefingers, the digits held leaflets extolling the centre and its undeniable benefits.

How long he had been there I can’t say, but for five minutes or more I watched his progress – or rather the lack of it.

Small children in pushchairs pointed, older ones asked mum what it was all about, while squads of teenage girls ceased their constant texting and giggled.

Older people made comments. One chap suggested he should sit cross-legged, while a wag thought he might try standing stork-like on one leg.

But still he didn’t move, until...

A young woman approached and spoke the young man’s name. Immediately he turned his head, dropped his arms and the two embraced, planting kisses on cheeks, first to the right and then to the left.

Acknowledging their right to privacy, I didn’t hang around to see if he resumed his still and silent vigil.

A FEW yards away a bicycle lay on the pavement close to a German Shepherd dog, over which a man squatted, the palms of his open hands hovering inches about the animal’s flank. The dog’s owner – a Big Issue salesman – watched intently.

No, there hadn’t been an accident involving bike and dog; the man was a Reiki master, a practitioner of natural healing, and he was giving the dog treatment to ease its pain and discomfort after a recent major operation. Had the animal been a cat, it would have purred loudly.

Instead the dog had a serene expression across its muzzle, the sort saying that, except for a large meat-covered bone and a deep carpet in front of an open fire, this was its idea of doggy heaven.

Even the most ardent sceptic would have found it difficult to deny the treatment was working.

THERE was arrogance in my reply to the man who had asked directions to an obscure street in Oxford. Of course I knew the place – like the back of my hand as the saying goes. I confidently gave him the lefts and rights. We parted with a cheery ‘Good morning’.

Seconds later I realised I had given him information that would take him far from where he needed to be. I turned, retraced my steps and hurriedly searched, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A forgivable mistake? I hope so. He was a clergyman complete with black stock and clerical collar. Visions of the saintly man wandering in the wilderness of Jericho were too painful.