SOMETHING was distracting my old chum Bert. His eyes were fixed elsewhere in Banbury’s M&S café and he was showing little interest in stories of rising flood waters.

“Is anybody at home in there?” I asked disrespectfully.

“Grand larceny,” he replied ignoring my jibe. Bert can be quite dramatic when the occasion arises.

Suddenly there was the sound of crashing crockery and the scraping of chairs. Bert smiled knowingly. What had happened came as no surprise. None of the rest of us turned to survey the scene of destruction (now who’s going all dramatic?) and we left Bert to narrate.

“He was too busy checking to see if anyone was watching.”

We didn’t ask who ‘he’ was. It appeared the chap had been filling his pockets with excess sachets of ketchup, brown sauce, mayonnaise and tartar sauce brought by a waitress to accompany his bacon roll.

Snatching at the last few had sent the pot container crashing to the floor. It didn’t break, but the noise attracted more attention. He had been rumbled.

“I don’t suppose the staff would have minded how many sachets he took,” I suggested.

“Probably not,” said Bert.

HAVE you seen the two 6ft obelisks that have been erected outside two of the Covered Market’s High Street entrances and bearing the market’s name in lights?

Why they are needed, heaven only knows. Directly above are ornamental signs that have served well for ages.

It isn’t just their unnecessary inclusion that has set me against them. It is their intrusion on the pavement.

Sited so the name can be seen by pedestrians approaching from either direction, means the aforementioned pedestrians will have to make at least a 3ft detour to avoid crashing into them.

Imagine what injuries can be sustained by those who would never dream of walking from A to B without using every available second to text family or friends.

I wonder what odds a bookmaker would offer on how long it will take for such an accident to occur.

SPEAKING of the Covered Market, 45 five- and six-year-olds from Oxford’s Dragon School descended on the Helen and Douglas House shop to buy whatever took their fancy as part of a basic maths exercise. Each child was armed with £3.

With only the deputy manager on duty in what is a small shop, there could have been chaos. But such was the patience of the children and the guidance of their teachers and helpers, everyone was served and satisfied within an hour (the deputy manager played a blinder).

But what was most pleasing were the exemplary good manners of the children. They were a credit to the school – and their families.