Sir – Oh Oxford, for many years I used to be so proud to call you home.

Over Christmas on a rare visit, I enjoyed the new views of fly-tipping all along the river banks on the road leading from Woodeaton to Marston.

Where daffodils once grew along Marston Ferry Road, the verge appeared to glisten in the headlights with a modern art installation of scattered plastic bottles.

Through Summertown and St Giles, the rubbish rolled with abandon like tumbleweed, while in the city centre, automatons oblivious to the world around them marched with headphones and open umbrellas held aloft poised and aiming to take your eyes out.

Broken lifts in the Westgate and parking prices meant we did not stay for lunch and the number of vacant or temporary shops hastened our departure. Oh Oxford, please open your eyes and see what is happening, before you are swamped by the detritus all around you, or the sour-faced shop assistant who served me may never smile again.

Mark Longworth, Ambrosden