Even the most action-packed carol service can drag when you are four years old. A front-row pew in the balcony of a packed city centre church was scant compensation after an hour of hymns and readings for this particular lad.

He began to fidget, raising his voice and asking how much longer it would go on. This gave mum and dad a few embarrassing moments.

From my seat at the back of the church's ground floor, I watched this delightful domestic drama unfold. I am not too old to forget how hard a church pew can be to a tender young rump.

Suddenly he disappeared, popping up seconds later with a small piece of paper, which he dangled over the balcony.

Mum's threat of "Don't" came too late. He released it and she could only watch horrified as it floated gently on to some unsuspecting head below.

This was the signal for dad to remove the lad. A little sparkle went with him.

So, as the last Amen was spoken, it was a delight to see dad and son return - the latter carrying a bottle of water.

Could we be in for a mass baptism?

But, alas for those of us who like variation in our carol service, mum spotted the threat and the bottle was confiscated.

Ah well . . .

Our village has recently joined the recycling age with two wheely bins and two boxes replacing the once all-purpose container.

Tuesday is collection day and although visitors are welcome any time, the place hardly looks at its best.

With so many villagers commuting to Oxford, London and Birmingham, the roads are littered until dusk with the bins. These and the boxes are scattered over a wide area, lids in one direction and boxes in another. Any refuse put in the wrong container is likely to be found dumped on the highway.

Who bears the blame? The finger is sure to be pointed at the collection teams, but how much extra time - or money - has been offered for what is extra work?

Recycling was the topic of conversation in the vaults restaurant at the University Church of St Mary. Three elderly couple were bemoaning today's throwaway culture.

One woman, well into her 80s, blamed the invention of nylon, but her husband said he didn't remember her refusing stockings made of that material when they arrived from America at the end of the war.

One of the men - possibly 10 years the first couple's junior - declared that pressure on dairy farmers had meant the near-disappearance of the traditional milk bottle - and everyone knew what a devil plastic bottles were to destroy.

Finally, the third male spoke out. Again 70-ish, dapper in his dress, he wore a cravat and pin, and sported shoulder-length white hair and a Van Dyck beard.

"The blame is firmly with tea companies and the invention of the teabag," he announced with authority. "Tea should never be imprisoned in such things that in turn have to be disposed of. Do away with the tea bag and half the world's problems of waste are gone."

The others were silent for what seemed an age until his wife spoke out.

"Oh Wilf, you do talk twaddle at times," she said, before turning the conversation of gifts for grandchildren.