THE discovery of an unexploded bomb at Osney Lock called for a detour through the streets of the island. The strong arm of the law kept the towpath clear while a bomb disposal unit did the tricky bit.

I had forgotten how attractive was the mixture of narrow streets and terraced cottages; where the cleanliness of front steps, the condition of door paint and the tidiness of curtains reflect the character of the occupants. Individuality is no crime on Osney Island.

The path from East Street to Ferry Hinksey Road passed behind West Oxford Primary School. Lads were enjoying playground football.

A ball soared over the fence, followed by a trainer that had parted company from some boy's foot.

"Please, Mister, will you throw our ball back?" said one.

"And my shoe?" asked another.

I obliged and watched the game - until the bell rang.

It was comforting to reflect that such intense yet friendly playground battles were the norm even before that bomb sank into the mud more than 60 years ago - and, God willing, would continue to be so.

SOME months ago, I mentioned the over-zealous pruning of willow trees by the river at Osney Island. It had resembled the worst ravages of arthritis.

This paled into insignificance when compared with the city council's recent decision in the name of health and safety. Eleven trees have been torn down. No wonder the residents' group is hopping mad.

If the trees were disease-ridden, as the council claims, it would seem that particular arboreal virus was the most virulent on record. Presumably the trees were sound at the spring pruning.

If not, the council was guilty of endangering many lives by allowing the willows to remain over the summer months, when the riverbank was awash with narrowboats.

I SOUGHT help from the young shop assistant in Cornmarket Street when choosing a surprise gift for my daughter. Cosmetics seemed a good idea, but couldn't remember her preferences. If it was to remain secret, I couldn't ask.

The assistant displayed various products.

"Which do you like?" I asked.

"That one," she replied, pointing to a red package.

"Any reason?"

"I like the colour and shape of the box."

No mention of the cosmetics' superior qualities. No trying to blind a mere male with talk of miracle creams and rejuvenation.

Her sales approach was doubtless far removed from her employer's recommended style, but it was honest. I bought the stuff.

THE young woman in combat suit, surrounded by camouflage nets and imitation weapons, suggested it would be a great idea for a family occasion - the paintball experience. Guns, ambushes, splatting' the enemy - it was exciting and wholesome.

Only yards away, a newspaper billboard announced four more British soldiers - three men and a woman - had been slaughtered in Iraq on Remembrance Day.

Advocating even innocent war games seemed tasteless.