THERE was a lot of wit and humour on show in Oxford last week and what a better city it was for it.

After all, who couldn’t help but raise a salute to those students who, having learned that county council leader Keith Mitchell had branded them an “ugly, badly-dressed student rabble”, after they occupied County Hall on Tuesday in protest against tuition fee increases, returned on Thursday to confront Mr Mitchell — but dressed this time in suits, bowler hats and ballgowns.

Whether the students were right to storm County Hall is debatable; what clearly isn’t is their superb comic timing and flair.

Mr Mitchell – who, let’s be honest, is no catalogue model himself – should equally have the good humour to admit that, on this occasion, he was beaten by the better teenager, Incidentally, surely a man of his mature years should know that the best way to annoy anyone aged between 14 and 18 is not to criticise them but support, with embarrassing enthusiasm, their views, haircuts and choice of boy and girlfriends.

Regarding another oft-misunderstood group of people, I have to say I couldn’t help but laugh out loud (in Tesco, as it happens) after commenting to a colleague that the Christmas decorations in the centre of Oxford looked terrific this year (as they do).

“They’re these illuminated bikes,” I said. “In the High Street. How amazing is that?”

Very,” he said. “I mean, lights on bikes in Oxford? That’s almost a miracle...”

Politicians, of course, are always fair game, and last week Wantage MP Ed Vaizey, the Culture Minister, rang my direct line at work in order to try to speak to our political reporter, Chris Buratta.

When I informed him he’d been put through to the wrong extension and that Mr Buratta was in fact on the other line, he replied: “Tell him it’s me and he’ll hang up...” [LEGAL NOTE: at least that was the sentiment].

Helpless in the face of such bluster, I couldn’t help but then announce – to the whole office – what Mr Vaizey had just said.

They, naturally enough, erupted in hoots of laughter and with Mr Vaizey not on hold but simply dangling from my fingers, he had little choice but to drown in their amusement (what, I ask you, was I supposed to do?).

And finally, I couldn’t help but snort hot coffee through my nose after reading the views of a woman who, working at the Oxford Playhouse, was asked to comment on its pantomime Cinderella.

“I don’t think I will find my Prince Charming at the Playhouse,” she said, “but I’m sure I’ll find him some day.”

Now, I’m not especially fragile, but if I were working at the Playhouse, I’d already be licking my wounds.

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