Craft fairs are plentiful in autumn and this year there seems to be more than ever. Perhaps that is why the one organised in a public hall not a million miles from Headington was sparsely attended.

Business was so slow that when I wanted to buy some unusual Christmas tree decorations, I had to seek out the stallholder in the refreshments corner. She was deep in conversation with three similarly un-busy vendors.

Their subject was not trends in reproduction jewellery or hand-painted scarves, but crime - murders in particular. Each had views on current and cobweb-covered cases that had been baffling and, in some cases, still baffle the police.

A particularly gruesome killing in the West Country was the topic when I approached. I confessed to not having read about it. The alibis of two persons in the frame', as one woman put it, were paper-thin' and she was surprised the police hadn't torn them to shreds.

"The paper-thin alibis or the suspects?" I quipped, hoping to add a little levity. It failed.

The next case was at least a decade old. The woman with purple hair and Dame Edna glasses confidently named the culprit, to be followed by the youngest of the quartet calling into question a so-called accident that, to her, was plainly foul play. She set out the facts, real or imagined, with the expertise of a youthful Miss Marple.

Eventually I explained the reason for my interruption. Could I have the two, hand-painted porcelain reindeers?

"Which table are they on?" said Purple Hair. "I don't recall seeing them when we set up."

So much for observation.

How many . . . . does it take to change a light bulb? (The space is left for whatever group is the butt of this tired old joke.) In my case, it is car mechanics and the figure is two - the same number of blown bulbs in the rear offside unit of my car.

The next question is how much did it cost? (To give you a clue, the bulbs were 50p and 59p respectively.) When the Chancellor of the Exchequer added his cut, there was very little change out of £20.

I questioned this and was told that with labour rates at more than £80 an hour and the task taking 12 minutes, the pounds soon added up.

"What price loyalty?" I asked the service manager. The garage, a main dealership, gets all my business. He replied that this was the price; the policy was set down by head office.

Hardly customer care at its best.

But this story has a happy ending.

I returned home pretty miffed and called the garage switchboard, asking for the head office number.

"Any reason?" said the perennially cheerful voice at the other end.

"I want to complain," I replied. "And move my account elsewhere."

"Just a minute," she said - and put me through to her general manager.

He listened, saw my point, refunded the labour charges (which I hasten to add I did not request) and kept my business.

I wonder how many companies - not just garages - lose out by forgetting about loyalty.

Chivalry is alive and well in Oxford. The scene - Iffley Road; the day - Wednesday; the time - the height of the morning rush hour and school run.

A young woman with one child in a pushchair, another on reins and a third of infants' school age were trying to cross the busy highway.

Suddenly a battered old Ford stopped, holding up the city-bound flow of traffic. Out stepped a tall elderly man, red faced, white-haired and white moustached.

He approached the small group and took responsibility for the pushchair, a hand held aloft thus delaying oncoming traffic.

Once on the pavement, he restored the pushchair to its owner, lifted his hat and gave a modest bow. The woman was delighted.

I cannot say the same for the motorists.