WHEN do the buses turn up?” asked the recently-retired chap from Halifax. They don’t beat about the bush in Halifax.

He was getting soaked, as were his wife and three grandchildren, who were beginning to think a trip to Oxford was not a good idea.

A Bank Holiday Monday cinema visit would have pleased the youngsters, while a return to the Holiday Inn near Northampton and a warm room would have been grandma’s choice.

We had parked at Water Eaton park-and-ride near two other couples. They also looked to me for an answer, a modern-day Moses abroad in the wilderness.

It was evident the service was not running but I found no signs either large or small advising us of this.

Hardly the sort of thing to make tourists feel welcome, particularly as Oxford rightly boasts about its park-and-ride service.

All I found was a notice suggesting that in the event of no buses, we should drive down the road to the Pear Tree terminus.

“But you have to pay for parking there before forking out for the bus fare,” said the penny-counting female half of one of the couples.

It would be wrong to say I was blessed with some divine inspiration, but the vision of a green double-decker heading for Kidlington provided the answer.

“We could use the normal service,” I said.

“Where from?” asked Bob from Halifax (Yorkshire bonding rules take little or no time to establish names).

“Follow me,” I said, with great authority as we set our faces into the rain.

I was beginning to enjoy the Moses role.

  • IT was not surprising to find a dozen or so French youngsters seated on the floor and huddled against the wall in the Westgate Shopping Centre.

They were having a mid-morning snack and trying to stay out of the rain.

“Stand up,” ordered one of the security staff.

He was only imposing centre regulations – health and safety and all that – but a blind eye would have been appreciated.

“They could go to the Covered Market,” said one thoughtful middle-aged woman.

I had to tell her the place was locked and barred. Oxford’s hospitality was taking a knock.

  • THERE was a bright spot. Crew Clothing, at the Carfax end of High Street, was offered 20 per cent off marked prices.

Not only that, there was a table in the doorway on which was a big bowl of potato crisps, a selection of non-alcoholic drinks and paper cups.

We’ll overlook the fact that the last named were leftovers from December – the words “Berry Christmas” were the clinching clue.