ALL eyes were on the journey to Buckingham Palace on Tuesday night. TV pictures taken from helicopters charted every twist and turn.

And as the world watched, you could only feel empathy with the tension, the nerves, the anticipation and perhaps even the fear of the occupant of that silver car.

No, not Cameron in the silver Jag, but the learner driver in the silver British School of Motoring car in front of him.

Learning to drive is the most nerve-wrenching experience known to man, possibly more nerve-wrenching than leading the country.

And the last thing you need when you’re trying not to stall as you pull away from the lights, is to have your mirror, signal, manoeuvre broadcast to a worldwide TV audience of millions in High Definition.

The car didn’t stall, an omen for Cameron’s new government?

AS one Oxfordshire leader takes his first tentative steps as a coalition leader this week, another shakes off the cross party shackles and assumes total control.

Oxford City Council leader Bob Price, right, enjoys an overall majority at the Town Hall after Labour gained two more seats at last week’s election.

So what of his priorities?

The Insider can reveal that after a hard month on the campaign trail, one of his first tasks is on the domestic front.

He will be building a new home for the Price family rabbit to protect it from circling urban foxes.

Surely not another political omen?

OXFORD East’s Lib Dem challenger Steve Goddard failed to make it third time lucky when he lost out to Labour’s Andrew Smith.

And as his team pick over their campaign, sartorial choices may come under close scrutiny.

Dr Goddard, right, had been thinking of sporting a Doctor Who tie in the final days of campaigning but had been warned against it by close political aides.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have gone on instinct and trusted the timelord look?

THE world’s media descended on Witney last Thursday night to record the every move of Prime Minister in waiting David Cameron.

Among the assembled scribes was revered Daily Mail sketch writer Quentin Letts.

But it turns out he may be less revered outside London.

As he stood sentry outside the New Inn pub in Corn Street, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Cameron who was rumoured to be planning a pre-count bevvie, Mr Letts was approached by a young woman.

“Can I just go in and wash my hands,” she asked, before realising the pub’s bouncer was stood on the other side of the door.