It’s odd isn’t it when the universe suddenly makes sense to us? Because it’s never, ever when you most expect it.

I’ve seen dawn break across the Sahara desert, watched a whale break surface – and stare back, knowingly – off Nova Scotia, and wondered in awe at the night sky above Iceland.

But I can’t say I felt any kind of (...for want of a better word) ‘epiphany’ during these moments.

They were extraordinary and astonishing, and clearly unforgettable, but they didn’t put the world to rights.

Or mine at any rate.

Yet, as a friend of mine once explained to me over our fifth pina colada (mine I hasten to add – she was sinking pints): “It’s all about moments...”

And I think I now know what she means.

According to her, we’re never really happy or sad – we just rest between the two. But occasionally, very, very occasionally, and for no reason whatsoever, E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. comes together.

Which is precisely what stopped me in my tracks last Friday morning.

Walking in from Jericho, I sometimes takes the path that snakes its way between the railway lines and Cripley Meadow allotments (at the gateway to Port Meadow), winding its way behind the train station to emerge next to Mick’s Cafe on the Botley Road.

Of course, the canal path from Walton Well Road is stunning but can sometimes feel like rush hour on the A420, and walking in via Walton Street, while charming, adds 20 minutes to my pedestrian commute.

So this particular route allows me to think and fret over little.

And last Friday, the sky was, if you remember, that kind of hazy blue seen usually only in Disney films, with the sun, big and warm, embracing that first delicious autumn dip.

Typically lost in thought (or in this instance worry), I suddenly stopped, just as the clock in the St Barnabas church tower across the railway lines chimed 8am. And ...

Look, a word of warning here, what follows is ‘icky’ but standing there, in my pin-stripe and un-ironed shirt, without warning or preamble, I felt like I’d collided with a large, immovable sense of wellbeing.

And not wishing to further erode whatever street cred I might once have boasted, I’ll leave it simply at that.

It was neither spiritual nor religious, organic or holistic (or whatever other label you might be itching to hang from it).

It was too normal for that.

Yet I simply remember that Oxford, yours truly and the rest of the cosmos had never felt more in tune (at least, for a couple of minutes).

And if I could bottle that sense of calm it lent me, I swear I’d be able to buy in Jericho instead of just rent.