Cabbages & Kings - with Peter Unsworth: 'Sharp words over where to spend special holidays'
HAD I witnessed the end of a romance? Had my words caused it?
HAD I witnessed the end of a romance? Had my words caused it?
NOBODY dies on Oxford streets these days. So says my old pal Neville, a civilian guard from the glory years of Bicester Garrison. “It’s 2016 now. You’ve been reading too much Charles Dickens.”
IF there’s much more rejection and disapproval this week, a chap could get a complex.
NONE had held her close, counted her tiny fingers and toes or kissed her little forehead.
WE are constantly urged to be more considerate towards cyclists in Oxford. But when are cyclists going to return such consideration?
IT was too close for comfort. Minutes away from the modest Unsworth treasury passing into the hands of hackers and plunderers.
WHILE the fatberg scourge was causing headaches for Jericho and Anglian Water’s waste network area manager Alex Saunders, two cheerful members of the city council recycling team were calmly converting the Bonn Square public to the all-round benefits of selective recycling.
SATURDAY’S post delivered a shock – or rather it didn’t.
THE storm seemed to be conking out a bit, as PG Wodehouse’s immortal character Bertie Wooster once put it, adding that “even the rain showed a disposition to cheese it”.
COULD you point us to the nearest loo, please? My little boy is dying for a wee.”
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