“HAVE you been sleeping rough?” The question came from E****, one of Oxford’s seasoned alfresco dwellers, whose appearance always betrays the fact that he has been sleeping rough. We met in Queen Street on a sunny Tuesday morning. What could have led him to this assumption?

“You’re not wearing a tie; I’ve never seen you without a tie,” he added, a note of criticism creeping into his voice.

I tried to explain; my sons, my daughter and some friends had been nagging for months, suggesting I adopt a more relaxed appearance now I was no longer slave to a dress code. Stubborn being my middle name, I had resisted – but on Tuesday felt I would adopt an open-neck appearance. E**** was not impressed and neither was retired college scout Philip, who showed similar disapproval an hour later in a busy Cornmarket Street. “I always believed you and I would be the last to abandon the tie,” he said, disappointment and disapproval welling to the surface. His wife was similarly unimpressed.

My confidence was taking quite a knock. The only course of action was to look up my Oxford Mail colleague, the eternally fun-loving (and tie-less) Jeremy Smith.

He thought the new-look enhanced my appearance, which was sure to find approval with ladies – attached or unattached. The tie was back in place by sunrise on Wednesday.

SPEAKING of the homeless, Police Community Support Officers Claire, Fiona and Dave were doing their bit in Cornmarket Street to support the city council and six other organisations in their effort to remove rough sleepers from our streets and to discourage giving money to beggars who all too often spend it on drugs.

The pleasantries with the three completed, I turned to see a G4S van parked at a strange angle only feet away from their campaign stand. My blood ran cold. Imagination took over.

Were these three uniformed young people in danger of being kidnapped by the troubled company and pressed into service to reduce the shortfall of London Olympics security officers?

After all, G4S are under the cosh and desperate situations can lead to desperate measures...

I HAVE an apology to make to the young woman who politely invited me to join her free walking tour around the city.

“But I know the place like the back of my hand,” I said with unbecoming smugness. She smiled, saying there was always something to see for the first time, yet I made my excuses and walked on.

But guilt grasped my still tie-less throat. Her sentiment I have expressed dozens of times to those who doubt Oxford’s enduring magic.

If she’s in Broad Street next week, I hope she will forgive and include me in her party.