WHEN the duck and drake, perching on a stout barrier near Osney Lock, ignored my much-admired Donald Duck impression and continued to stare to their front, I should have accepted this wet and miserable Tuesday was not my day.

November 20 was the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh’s 65th wedding anniversary, and Oxford Mail readers have previously heard how this once eight-year-old lad sobbed at losing his pin-up girl to a Greek sailor.

This week, Tuesday had started badly with a mini-flood from a normally reliable washing machine. This delayed my drive into Oxford which was further held up by heavy traffic on the A34, thus missing a long-planned interview.

AT Water Eaton park-and-ride two men were discussing the charges being imposed next week for those who leave their cars there for more than 11 hours.

“B***** typical!” said one, chewing his lower lip in annoyance. “It’s the only thing we get for nothing from the county council.”

“Do you park in Oxford for more than 11 hours?” queried the other.

“Not b***** likely!” profaned the first. “As soon as my day’s work’s done, I’m away.”

“Then why the hell are you moaning? It won’t affect you,” added the second.

The complainant continued to grumble until the bus arrived.

MY attempt to play the gentleman came unstuck. Two women were standing behind me in the queue. When it was my turn to board the vehicle, I stood back to let them go ahead.

The first smiled and thanked me and made her way to the payment hatch. The second looked at me as if I had been so bold as to ask her age.

“Yes?” she said sharply.

“After you,” I replied with flourish.

“Why?” she asked coldly.

“Because I don’t want my late Victorian grandfather to return and haunt me for lack of courtesy.” She sniffed – no words of disapproval or thanks.

WHEN its wet and cold it’s difficult to ear ’ole people and chat about this and that. I popped into shops to see some old chums in the hope of finding something interesting for Cabbages & Kings. It was an uphill struggle.

In the end I decided to head home, but first to have a tasty wrap in one of Cornmarket Street’s burger joints. I was halfway through the excellent offering when someone behind the counter launched into what I can best describe as ‘hot gospel speak’.

It was loud enough for the customers to hear. Some of the accusations, citations and warnings left me with deserved uncomfortable feeling, so I ate up and left.

Roll on next Tuesday. It can only get better.