RETIRED plumber Keith is a lively 70-year-old with a laugh that has been known to shake the foundations of the Covered Market, where we occasionally meet for a cuppa. This week he was uncharacteristically subdued.

“You’ve been round the world a few times,” he exaggerated. “Can you tell me what it says on these flags?”

He produced part of a string of red, white and blue triangular flags – there were 50 in all he said – and each had symbols on them that he believed were in Sanskrit. While glowing at the thought that he felt I was so knowledgeable, I admitted I hadn’t a clue.

“I stayed overnight with our son, and Enid had told me to buy some bunting for the Jubilee celebrations while I was in London. I almost forgot. Now I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing.”

He had spotted them in a small shop in Paddington and without checking too closely or asking questions – the red, white and blue colours were enough for him to pay a fiver – he tucked them in his overnight bag and headed for the station.

It was only when he was on the train that he took a closer look.

Right on cue my chum Harish walked in. Born and reared in Jaipur, he would know. He took a long, educated look at half a dozen flags, then began to smile.

“For the Jubilee, you say?” he said purposefully, yet quietly in the way he and his fellow countrymen have of milking the drama. “This is bunting for a food shop. Perhaps they sell Coronation chicken.”

Everyone laughed – except Keith.

  • It isn’t that I’m not looking forward to the Jubilee. On the contrary this old Royalist can barely wait for the celebrations to start. But Wednesday can’t come quickly enough, because that’s the day I’m off to the New Theatre to see the musical 42nd Street.

All that wonderful music, all those tap dancers. Oxford is the first stop of the show’s latest revival tour. Directed by Mark Bramble, the sets and costumes were used in his Broadway production of 11 years ago.

I may have mentioned – I’m slipping if not – that I saw 42nd Street on 42nd Street, New York, in 2004. What I didn’t tell you was that on the way out, I tried to tap dance down the curved staircase – like old favourite James Cagney in Yankie Doodle Dandy – almost coming to a sad end, saved only by the strong arm of a club bouncer on a night off.

New Theatre: I promise not to repeat the performance.

  • Seen on a poster stuck up in a Kidlington bus shelter: “Grandads! More men needed for Zumba.”

“I think I’ll give it a miss,” said a fellow would-be bus passenger. “And you?”

My expression was enough.