G’DAY, Sport, or “Why don’t you clear off home?” are two comments tossed the way of Ywen, who this week, flanked by his two large dogs Miss Easy and William Wallace, has been playing his didgeridoo in Cornmarket Street with rather less skill than Rolf Harris.

It comes as a surprise to those who utter the latter when he replies in his native Cockney accent, that he is home.

To paraphrase a golden oldie: for 20 years, wherever he lays his leather bush hat, that’s his home.

For half of his life – he’s now 40 – he has been on the move and wouldn’t have it any other way.

It was what he chose after an indifferent childhood and teenage years.

His ideal place to sleep is in woodland, beneath a temporary shelter, but owners are quick to move him on. Most nights he’ll curl up in a shop doorway with the dogs, ready to move on next day.

But with all the instruments available, why the didgeridoo?

“Why not?” he replied, before turning again to extract a sound from the six-foot beast.

TO see tourists taking turns to photograph each other is nothing new for Oxford. On the face of it the mother, father and grown-up daughter were doing what most visitors from China do.

However, the backdrop to their pictures was not the Radcliffe Camera, St Michael at the Northgate tower, the portals of some college or Old Father Thames. It was the display of hanging meat outside Hodge’s butcher’s shop in the Covered Market.

Each smiled before the camera clicked, their heads and shoulders flanked by sides of beef and legs of pork.

“They probably never see as much meat as this – let alone be able to afford it,” commented a caring woman. Her husband was less sympathetic.

“If they can’t afford a joint of meat, how the blazes did they pay the plane fare to bring them here?” he said.

“Perhaps they come from London or somewhere else here,” she said trying to justify her sympathy.

“Then, if they do, they need a lesson in what makes a good picture,” he said.

The couple moved off leaving me to watch the daughter take the final picture of mum and dad.

“Hong Kong; we’re from Hong Kong,” the daughter volunteered in perfect English when the couple were out of earshot.

“Enjoy your stay,” I said, deciding not to ask the burning question about the meaty backdrop.

FAME comes late to some and not at all to others. Until this week I believed I belonged in the latter group.

“Would you be prepared to open a summer fete in Carterton?” I was asked by a chum who lives there.

“Why me? I replied with mounting pride and undisguised pleasure.

“They couldn't get Wesley Smith,” he said.

Ah well!