THERE he stood, 36 inches of indignation, brow furrowed, eyes fixed on the woman sitting opposite in a small Gloucester Green cafe.

“I am six, Nana,” he stated. “I can go to the loo by myself!”

With that he headed for the door marked ‘Gents’ only a few feet away, leaving Nana, a delightful woman in her late 40s, and me to discuss such independence.

The boy returned. Had he washed his hands? No he hadn’t, evoking words of criticism from grandmother.

He knew better than to leave the loo without a hand wash.

Those hands went to his hips. He was on the defensive and sure of his ground.

“I couldn’t because the soap thingy’s too high,” he said.

Coming to the boy’s defence – we lads must stick together – I could sympathise. While certain ‘furniture’ is often set at a level convenient for all, the soap dispenser is usually fixed high above the taps and beyond the reach of the vertically challenged.

“So he did need me,” said a triumphant grandmother, marching him through the door marked ‘Ladies’ for compulsory ablutions.

THE shop in George Street has been used for various purposes since Garden Images took up its wheelbarrow and left a couple of years ago.

All have been of a temporary nature and this week was no different..

A group of friends, many of the friendships dating from early school days in Oxford, have taken a short ‘lease’ to stage an exhibition of paintings called Red Tape.

These are not your post art college students valiantly trying to retain links, but friends, some showing a talent with paint and brush and are encouraged by the others.

The curator appointed by common consent, Chris Roaf, is no artist, but someone whose ambition, he said when questioned about future plans, was to be happy and help where he could – which sounded pretty good to me.

Meanwhile one of the exhibitors, Sally Dod, while enjoying her art and her work showed she had talent, had no desire to starve for it. She had other plans.

If you want to see for yourself, get a move on. The show closes on Sunday.

ALEC is nearly 40, single (again) and a bit of a clown. Oxford wouldn’t be the same without him. This week his right arm was in a sling and he had a plaster across his forehead.

He is not the type to start fights and has been known to break speed records to avoid them. How come the injuries? “You know that anti-climb paint on the walls below the castle?” he said. “Well, it works.”

THE visitor from Manhattan, loud in voice and dress, told the park-and-ride bus queue in New Road she was disappointed there were few buildings in Oxford like the ‘gorgeous medieval castle’. We know it as the County Hall. There was too much modern rubbish.

As I said, she was from Manhattan.