IF you want to keep something quiet, don’t tell friends. Yet in the case of one second-year student, out to impress a girlfriend’s parents, I’m glad he did.

The scene was the King’s Arms in Holywell Street. Five young men were in hysterics. A sixth was protesting at their insensitivity, asking them to stop because a stranger – me – had walked in.

This had the reverse effect; laughter was louder and prolonged. My expression prompted one of the number to tell all.

The embarrassed student had invited to supper the girl and her parents – on a visit from the Surrey gin-and-tonic belt – in the flat he shared with one of the five and who had made himself scarce for the evening.

He was relieved to learn they all enjoyed steak – simple but acceptable – this to be accompanied by salad and chips, followed by ‘something involving cream from M&S’.

Minutes before his guests arrived, he discovered he had only three steak knives. What would they think of him?

The door bell rang; with it came inspiration – crazy inspiration.

Wrapping a tea towel around his lower right arm, he told them he had earlier sprained his wrist. He could cook (the salad was prepared, chips were the oven variety and pudding was in the fridge), but cutting his own steak would be difficult.

Her mother volunteered to help, cutting the steak into bite-sized portions. The meal went well and the parents left. He then confessed.

When his girlfriend stopped laughing, she told him she’d never seen a steak knife at home. She was sure mum and dad didn’t have one – let alone three.

* THE same day I was made aware of my mortality. I popped into a charity shop in Cowley Road to buy Christmas cards, only to find the staff alarmed at the strange behaviour of two young women with Irish accents broader than the River Shannon.

In spite of having a child in a pushchair, they were dashing around, rummaging among the clothes, letting garments fall to the floor, clearly not intending to buy, yet harassing those who did. One was talking loudly on a mobile phone and ignoring staff – even when the manager suggested she might like to continue her call outside.

Police were called and two officers advised them to leave.

The abuse showered on them might have earned sterner action from a less patient pair – something I quietly offered the two as well-meaning advice.

Their reaction was swift. “Shut up!” yelled the mother of the child. “You’re old; you’ll soon be dead.”

* MAY I live long enough to see the scarf another student intended to knit for his girlfriend? He had bought the wool from a Covered Market shop and needed needles. What size would be need? It was his first attempt at this sort of thing. Who says romance is dead?