WHEN a self-declaring Christian tells the world at large – Banbury High Street in particular – that he is in favour of bringing back hanging and flogging, I am hardly surprised the world is in the mess it finds itself.

“It is allowed in the Bible,” he told me when I questioned his logic.

“So was being swallowed by a big fish and transported to somewhere he didn’t want to go,” I suggested.

If God wished it, it would happen, he replied.

How about if someone was hanged for a crime they did not commit, how would he feel then?

It rarely happened, he said, and one mistake was worthwhile if it deterred others.

Tell that to the innocent chap’s family.

Lately negative feelings and prejudices have definitely been on the increase. Surely Brexit can’t be blamed for everything.

Cabbages & Kings has never encouraged dismal thoughts. After that encounter I was struggling.

  • THANK goodness I was in Oxford within the hour and the sanity of a cuppa in the Yellow Submarine café in Park End Street beckoned.

Opened more than three years ago, it is part of the charity that helps young people with learning difficulties. Its success rate – like its food – is excellent. I have enjoyed seeing some of its “apprentices” emerge from fearing the world to become capable and confident and have left to take up work with other shops and businesses.

Some would have hidden rather than say ‘good morning’ to customers. Now they greet all with a welcoming smile. A shopping expedition with a staff member to stock up on some foods might have been a nightmare. Today it is all part of the day’s work.

Whatever else Yellow Submarine gives its young people, confidence is top of the menu. Manager Paul along with Rachel, Pat and Kate and other front-of-house staff prepare meals and teach and supervise at the same time. It is exhausting, but they love it.

Incidentally, as ever the tea did the trick.

  • BLOWING the family trumpet, I was delighted when my youngest grandson Arthur – he’s four – started school and was asked to take under his wing for the morning another newcomer, a Polish boy without a word of English.

A morning’s task turned first into a fortnight-long labour of love. Arthur didn’t mind. Within days he was translating Polish-inspired gestures for teacher. In the third week the pair were exchanging word meanings in their two languages. International co-operation, eh?

Critics might find “pooh”, “wee” and the names of the relevant body parts unsavoury, but it was a start.

Let’s face it, the lavatorial has always graced (or disgraced) the vocabulary of males – young and old!