IT’S been a bad time for umbrellas – my umbrellas. As I wrote in my May Morning report, I happily gave umbrella number one – a men’s small folding variety – to two flimsily clad young women who were braving the rain of Cowley Road. It gave me a warm feeling to do so.

Less than a week later I took some boxes from the village hall to the council dump. On returning, the place was closed, my new large traditional brolly locked inside.

By the next day, it had gone.

My remaining umbrella was of the see-through variety, usually left in the car boot, not strong, not masculine, but adequate. It rained heavily on Sunday before and after the village Jubilee church service it was called into duty. It was left in the porch.

When the service ended, the umbrella had gone. Murmurings of sinful theft from God’s house failed to prick any conscience when most of us met minutes later in the village hall for a rain-affected pig roast.

So on Tuesday I bought another men’s folding umbrella from a Cornmarket Street shop. Rounding Lloyd’s Bank corner into High Street, a strong gust turned it inside out, breaking several of its flimsy metal spines. It had survived 35 minutes.

Perhaps someone is trying to tell me something.

  • TUESDAY might have been an extra bank holiday, but for many carnation-wearing undergraduates it was business as usual, with exams to attend.

They emerged in groups from the Examinations School with varying facial expressions, some heading to nearby coffee shops, others to the pub.

A lone, young law student was tucking into an ample sandwich while sitting outside The Queen’s College. At his feet were a bottle of water and another containing orange juice.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“All right – I think. But it was my eighth paper,” he said, wearily taking a lengthy swig of water.

I didn’t like to ask if his exam torment was now at an end. A ‘no’ reply could have put him off his sandwich.

  • I HAVE been known to criticise tourists who ignore the ‘silence please’ notices in the old schools quad, turning this magical place into a chattering market.

On Tuesday I was ready to eat my words. There were about 30 tourists – all Japanese – all happily admiring the magnificent architecture and taking those inevitable photos. Yet they were quietness personified. Wonderful!

Suddenly from Radcliffe Square came another of their group. She called loudly to one of her friends.

On cue, the group put fingers to their lips and uttered a loud and lengthy ‘Shush!’, giving the impression that the quad was overrun by an army of snakes.

My words remained uneaten.