WHAT better way to start a day in Oxford than to wander along the Thames pathway from Botley Road to Folly Bridge?

True, much depends on the weather, and Tuesday morning ticked all the boxes.

Cyclists were in a good mood, thanking me for stepping dangerously close to the water as they sped by; pedestrians of all ages were positively pleasant.

The only harsh note came from a hissing gander, who considered I had stepped too close to his mate sunning herself in the middle of the path. I cautiously edged past.

Iris, a delightful young Chinese woman on holiday from the mystic east, where she is a clerical officer for the People’s Republic, was taking photographs of the modern riverside homes. Was she collecting material for some report back in Beijing? It seemed inappropriate to ask, especially after she paid a glowing compliment to Oxford.

“It is far nicer than Cambridge,” she remarked, words certain to win approval.

For the next few minutes we planned the rest of her day, listing the places she shouldn’t miss. To begin she decided to retrace my steps to Botley Road and then make her way to the Said Business School, a building high on her list. Christ Church and the Sheldonian would have to wait their turn.

It was only when she had gone about 200 yards that I remembered the gander.

THERE was much activity around the crown court building and St Aldate’s police station. One officer came out of the latter carrying in a plastic bag what children’s comic books describe as ‘swag’ and made his way across the road towards the court. Exhibits for the prosecution?

A young man was removing the front wheel of his cycle and placing it securely within the arm of the stout locking device that secured the rest of the machine to a stout post.

“Can’t be too careful,” I said by way of opening conversation. We agreed, but the chat was cut short.

“I must dash. I’m on jury service,” he said, skilfully side-stepping traffic.

You’d think when a chap is doing his bit for the legal processes, someone would provide a safe place for his bike.

WITH the crowd milling around outside the court, it would have been easy to miss the three men huddled in the recess only yards from the door. They had probably been there all night, wrapped in shabby covers, surrounded by things that marked them as homeless.

Meanwhile the effigy of Oxford’s own Lord Nuffield, car-building pioneer and philanthropist who did much to improve the lot of millions, looked down from a few feet above their heads.