It was easy to believe neither woman had smiled for months. Each seemed determined to look and sound more chilling than the other. It's a wonder their black coffees didn't freeze in the cup.

The elegant High Street caf was busy. All tables were taken. I lacked the courage to ask if I could occupy one of the two vacant chairs at their table, preferring to sit at the next and risk a drenching by one of two youngsters whose handling of glasses and straws was still at its novice stage.

"I don't remember seeing that tattoo when she looked at the room," said one, probably about 60, her grey parting in stark contrast to the rest of her hennaed hair. "I would have thought twice if I'd seen it. She was properly dressed that day. No navel stud showing. She knew I disapproved by the look I gave her. Can't think why so many people want to look like godless savages."

"I warned mine as soon as he walked in the door," said the second woman triumphantly as she folded her arms across her ample chest. "The first sign of drink and he's out. He says he doesn't touch alcohol, so why was he wearing a Guinness T-shirt? He reckoned it was a present from a girlfriend."

"What sort of girl buys someone a shirt like that?" said the first, showing her prejudices knew no bounds by adding: "I bet he had a guitar, did he?"

Apparently he had.

Their censorial conversation continued. Any trouble and it would be the last time either would offer comfortable, home-from-home accommodation to any student.

And there was I thinking landladies like these had gone the way of all dinosaurs.

The middle-aged woman and her still sprightly white-haired father were passing through the Westgate Centre. She read the large-lettered notices on the window of the Shoe Zone, a recent addition to the range of stores.

"Look, Dad. It says if you buy one, you get one free," she said, adding that it sounded a real bargain.

"What's new about that?" he replied solemnly. "Stead and Simpson's have done that for years. I've never left with only one shoe."

She began to explain that an extra pair was being offered, not just one shoe. As she did, he struggled to keep a straight face. But he failed and a broad grin emerged.

"Oh, Dad, you get worse," said the daughter, giving his arm a loving hug.

In the question of signs, it was impossible to miss the large one on the busy single carriageway road in north Oxfordshire.

Red route. Think bike!' I was thinking bike and how much I once enjoyed my 150cc BSA Bantam when two mighty machines, riders in brightly coloured leathers, roared past doing at least 90mph. They scared the living daylights out of me, while a motorist approaching from the opposite direction, was forced to brake to miss the second bike.

How about a notice that says: Bikers - think!'?