THERE’S only one sure way to see a first-class, traditional pantomime, packed with cries of ‘He’s behind you’, ‘Oh yes you will’ and ‘Oh no we won’t’, and that is to be engulfed in an audience where children outnumber adults by at least 30 to one.

You can be as noisy as you please and not feel inhibited when it comes to booing the Wicked Witch or whistling at the principal girl. You are one of a crowd.

Those 320 enthusiastic and delightful youngsters had arrived with their headteacher Mrs Stephanie Lovett in a fleet of coaches from Sandhills Primary School to see the 10am matinee performance of Mother Goose at Oxford Playhouse last Friday.

They were perfect cover for releasing my juvenile enthusiasm. What’s more, this was the best pantomime I’d seen in ages – and believe me I’m a panto addict.

Jeremy Smith, the Oxford Mail features editor, in his pre-Christmas review of the show, scaled the heights of praise when he said he was left with a feeling like that experienced on reaching the summit of Mount Everest.

Seventy shows later, I got his drift, but being less energetic, merely tap-danced – à la 42nd Street – down Beaumont Street (Peter Duncan, please note when you assemble your company for next year’s Dick Whittington that I’ve been known to play a passable Alderman Fitzwarren.) Thank you, Playhouse – and thank you Sandhills School.

* I WOULD like to think it was a case of romance not being dead. The tall, slim young man, neatly dressed in brown jacket and corduroy trousers and polished shoes, proudly walked along Queen Street carrying a two-foot-high potted orchid. He ignored the catcalls of three teenage boys who, by their remarks, wouldn’t know romance if it arrived gift-wrapped.

* INEVITABLY the idea of providing a new Royal Yacht to mark the nation’s thanks for The Queen’s 60 glorious years occupied much of the conversation in my favourite Covered Market cafe.

Brendan and his wife, Dora, thought the idea was ridiculous. After all, The Queen was 85... and how long did it take to build a Royal Yacht?

Cynical Sid, self-confessed St Ebbe’s relic, as ever suspected the motives of all politicians, while Malcolm saw it as nothing more than a crafty way of acquiring a prestigious floating reception centre for entertaining foreigners. So much for her gift! The Queen would have to book ahead even if all she wanted was a trip around the Isle of Wight.

“You could always ask her what she would like,” suggested Malcolm’s wife Marjorie, adding common sense to the discussion. “I bet she’d be happy just knowing everyone was enjoying the big day and hoping the messages of love were sincere.”

You could well be right, Marjorie.