Watching those foolhardy chaps throw themselves from that lumbering aeroplane in the skies above Weston-on-the Green never palls - even though it is unwise to maintain too close an observation while driving down M40 or A34.

So on Tuesday morning, I pulled into the layby near the intersection of those two roads - and observed. What were the parachutists' thoughts? Apprehension? Mind-numbing fear, or questioning their sanity in joining an outfit that required one to leap into the unknown with only a large folded sheet on their back?

The aircraft had completed a couple of circuits, disgorging half a dozen figures each time. How and precisely where they came to earth I couldn't say because trees screened the drop zone. I waited expectantly for the third pass.

Then the kestrel caught my eye.

It was hovering at about 30ft and 10 yards to my left. Although buffeted by the wind, its gaze was locked on a spot in the field below, holding its position for several minutes. One could sense its eyes burning into the vegetation while seeking out some doomed furry creature.

Suddenly it dived. I'm not certain if it scored a hit because a hedge obscured the point of attack - just as the parachutists' target was hidden. I waited for the bird to rise again, but it didn't.

Meanwhile, the aeroplane had completed its third pass. Who, what or how many fell from that open door seemed inconsequential. For once the kestrel and its prey held greater fascination.

He wasn't bent double, but the stout middle-aged man was approaching that position of severe discomfort when we met outside the Tesco store in Kidlington, a tortured expression across his scarlet face.

"Could you let me have a 10p piece for two fives?" he asked.

I checked my change but his unspoken plea for urgency made me fumble. The delay must have been a nightmare for him.

"It's for the lavatory," he confided, his voice assuming tones of panic. "I was in the store and hoped the girl on the checkout would give me a 10p in my change. But she didn't and I didn't like to make a point of asking because I was embarrassed. OK - I'm stupid."

Meanwhile, a 10p piece was produced from the recesses of a back pocket; we exchanged coins of the realm and he made off to the lavatory block in the car park like Quasimodo late for bellringing practice.

"Take my tip," he offered as parting advice. "Never come to Kidlington without a 10p piece."

The wisdom of his words became apparent after two large cups of tea in a Kidlington Centre café.

Still in Kidlington, the two men in the queue at the post office were clicking their tongues so loudly that it sounded like a set of castanets. They were not happy.

It was lunch hour and several customers wanted to transact business during their break. However, only two of the four service points were open.

"Why don't banks and post offices realise that lunch hour is the only opportunity for many workers?" said one during a brief break in tongue clicking. "Surely this is when all counters are needed?"

He had a point.

The smart young man, exuding good health and fitness, was not inclined to stick to the short zig-zag path that links Between Towns Road and the John Allen Centre opposite Templars Square in Cowley.

He strode briskly to the bend in the path, then leaped elegantly over the barrier and faced the steep, grass-bare bank to the road above, a confident expression across his handsome face as if challenging the less-energetic to follow.

No-one laughed or cheered derisively when he slipped and fell on his face, soiling his white trousers while sliding back down the banking. We also stopped short of watching if he made another attempt. It would have rubbed salt into his wounded pride.