H'm, X-Factor. Now, I can't really pretend that I've ever really been much of a fan of the series, despite having teenage offspring who seem to think that it's the only programme worth watching on terrestrial, satellite and probably extra-terrestrial television, but I am now led to believe that there may be hope for me yet.

Sitting as I was on a bed in Curlew dorm, flanked on either side by two Ospreyites, I made so bold as to suggest that I thought that I should apply to the X-Factota (people who work for X Factor, as I'm sure you will have worked out) to see whether I might one day rise to celebrity status. (As if writing this blog wasn't enough already.) Back came the immediate rejoinder, without a hint of irony, and with eyes remaining fixed to the screen,

"Yes, sir. If they ever have a grandfather special.'

Indeed. Well, when and if they do, you can bet I'll be there. So keep watching.

Having been firmly put in my place, and after getting a few more tips as to what I would have to remember when the day comes for me to reveal my vocal prowess to the masses, I found myself sitting on the steps in the downstairs corridor, flanked once again by two more Newtonians, who were absolutely determined to discover the Black Magic secret! A Kingfisherian, not unrelated to my former advisor, walked past.

'Hi, Big Man', said I.

'Hi Biggest Man', came the reply.

So there we are. As lodgemaster of Newton I'm seen as a big, fat, grandfather.

Incidentally, to my amazement, the two Newtonians who were so keen to discover the Black Magic secrets, having spent the better part of two hours engaged in research of the project, managed, eventually, to solve the mystery!

And, no, they're not telling!