SPRING has arrived in Oxford.

To be precise, the almond blossom is in full bloom outside the University Church of St Mary the Virgin in High Street. To most of us, that is the same thing.

Its appearance quickens the step and brings a smile to the face of the glum. The words "Good morning!" are exchanged with heartfelt sincerity.

What a difference a week makes. Seven days ago, it seemed winter would never end.

But St Mary's is on the sunny side of the street for the greater part of the working day. The guide atop the open sightseeing bus was less likely to break into song, as coddled in woollen hat, thick, padded jacket and gloves, he welcomed visitors aboard outside University College. There the temperature was in single figures, while across the road it had leapt to 17 degrees C.

The young workman operating temporary traffic lights in Cowley Road had drawn the short straw. Gloveless, he tried to keep warm as he pressed the buttons. Meanwhile, people of all ages passed on the sunny side, their heavy winter clothes put away for the day at least.

"They wouldn't be so keen to strip off if they were across here," he bemoaned, while exaggerating the state of undress of four girls.

Perhaps being in the shade influenced a yob there is no better word to retch and spit on a couple of shop windows. He was accompanied by a foul-mouthed woman, who displayed her extensive range of profanities when one shopkeeper objected. She thought the incident was funny.

How sad!

THERE was a notice in the pub window.

It announced the hostelry was a no-smoking establishment and a football free' zone a restriction that also denied access to those wearing team shirts.

I do not smoke so the first ban was welcome. But as far as the second was concerned, it was lucky my blue and white Huddersfield Town sweatshirt was hidden beneath a scarf and heavy coat.

Needless to say, there were plenty of seats.

THE pert young teenage miss, off school for the Easter holidays, was with her equally youthful baseball cap-wearing boyfriend. It was not the most romantic tableau, she with her eyes down, engrossed in texting someone or other, relying on him to steer her through the Queen Street shoppers.

They turned to enter the Clarendon Centre and disaster struck.

The young man stepped back to allow her to go first a charming gesture not lost on this non-politically correct person. She did not look up, but collided with the glass door, which someone had failed to hold back. It was not an automatic door.

Her companion then made his mistake he laughed, while she rubbed her forehead and tried to repair her damaged pride. She glared and stormed off, ignoring his belated apology.

You can be sure he was mentioned in her next text.

POSTCARD notice in a Cowley Road shop window: For sale, metal hutch unless my pet rat Bertie returns home. Please look in your cellar.'