The flat tyre promised to be a diversion from the stop-start early Wednesday afternoon journey north on the M40.

The deflated Dunlop belonged to a black Audi A4, from which a young mother was lifting pushchairs and several bags, to reach the spare.

I pulled on to the hard shoulder and walked back. A young child was crying while strapped in a car seat; a second, also under school age, was perched unattended - alarmingly in my view - on the embankment.

The woman looked up.

"Yes?" she said, her tone and facial expression those of a dyspeptic Post Office Counters clerks.

"May I help?" I offered.

Her reply was neither in the affirmative nor the negative.

"My father told me when I was 17 that if I couldn't change a wheel, I shouldn't drive a car," she said, reaching into the tyre well.

The ensuing silence led me to believe my services were not required, which was a pity. It robbed me of extending a period of Christmas goodwill as well as denying the opportunity to display my only accomplishment in the area of car maintenance.

Although it would be untrue to say that I hoped she scraped her knuckles when operating a stubborn tyre lever, I would not have been sorry had she broken one of her well-manicured nails.

Earlier, while jostling with the sales shoppers on that cold morning, I came to the conclusion that the female sex was indeed much tougher than the male.

This had been reached after seeing so many women and girls, midriffs and cleavages exposed to the elements, while the men and boys were muffled to the eyes in coats, jerseys and scarves and topped out with woolly hats.

I shared my non-scientific theory with a young husband, worn down by bags from the greater proportion of city ladies' clothes shops, as we sat in the Westgate Centre.

"You're wrong," he said, his offering based on personal experience. "It's just that the less they have on, the less they have to take off when trying new clothes. It saves time - but costs money."

This is the time of year for exchanging unwanted Christmas gifts - and the customer services departments were testimony to this.

A friend who handles such matters for a leading Oxford store was still smiling several hours after an elderly woman had exchanged a cardigan. Apparently the customer was incandescent with anger.

"My sister bought me this - it's a size 14 - and she knows I've gone up to an 18. She always was a nasty bitch!" she told the entire department.

New Year is just around the corner, so it's time for a Hope, a Fervent Wish and a Promise.

My hope is that I live long enough to see my beloved Huddersfield Town win another football match.

My wish is that the police will start to clobber more of those people who drive while using their hand-held mobile phones. Good Lord! There's a fortune out there ready to be extracted from wrongdoers. And I'm tired of heading for the scenery when confronted by one-handed drivers, often in 4x4s, on the crown of country roads.

My promise is that I'll be more mindful of the needs and wishes of others and more tolerant of their shortcomings - mobile phone users excluded!