YOU’RE something of a know-all, so you’ll know the answer.”

This back-handed compliment came from electrician Ted, one of the Covered Market café crew, when we met by chance only feet from the spot in Broad Street where those Oxford Martyrs fell foul of certain monarchs all those years ago. Would a similar fate be waiting if I was unable to come up with a satisfactory reply?

He launched into his questions.

“Cyclists must not ride their bikes in Cornmarket Street between certain hours. Am I right?”

“Right.” said I.

“Could they face fines if someone cared to report them?”

“I believe the police would have to do the honours.”

“Are cyclists bound by the same laws that prohibit motorists using mobile phones while driving?”

Here I baulked. Cyclists didn’t need a licence so you couldn’t give them penalty points. Was a mobile phone user – mounted, moving and muttering – less dangerous than a car driver? Some might think so, but those who have sustained actual bodily harm, grievous or not, from the wheels or handlebars of a passing bike would disagree.

Honesty seemed the best policy. I admitted to being ignorant of the law – if any – of using a mobile phone while riding a bike.

“Typical,” grunted Ted. “Try to find out. I see a chap doing it every day with a smirk on his face.”

Will any reader help me retain my endangered 'know-all' tag?

* IT was almost 2pm and no sight of a pancake. A fine Shrove Tuesday this was turning out to be!

Then I remembered last year when the daily offering of tea, coffee and biscuits at New Road Baptist Church was widened to include pancakes, honey, lemon juice and the like for all who would wish to indulge.

Success! Brandishing the frying pan once more was the Minister, the Rev Kat Bracewell, who successfully tossed more than 50 pancakes over the lunch hour. My three were delicious.

Will anyone do the honours after she leaves for new challenges in Windsor later this year?

* THE sight of the box of fruit delivered to the door by one of the companies preaching the virtues of fresh stuff, persuaded me to make a note and arrange for the same (this should earn Brownie points from my GP).

Someone in West Street knows what’s good for them, I thought.

Returning along the same street five hours later I saw the box was still there. So was a dog.

It was sniffing the box before squaring up to make a delivery of its own. I chased it off just in time.

But was I? Was this the first inquisitive, full-bladder canine of the day?