I have a lot of time for T.E. Lawrence, not least because of his predilection for Dorset and for motorcycling. (Mind you, it didn't do him a lot of good in the end, of course.) As I whizzed around the lanes of west Dorset on my own machine, I heard his words in my ears:

“When my mood gets too hot and I find myself wandering beyond control, I pull out my motorbike and hurl it top speed through these unfit roads for hour after hour.”

In fact, my mood wasn't too hot at all, because I was free and able to think about all kinds of thngs, including Newton. What other job, I thought, would allow me to engage in such amazing repartee, chat informally about anything and everything, support, cajole, help, get people out of large cardboard boxes, talk to woolly animals, or pretend that I was a flight attendant? It's a great privilege, for both Diana and for me, and we know it.

There was considerable excitement in the lodge upon return last night, however! As impersonators of a litter of lively labrador puppies (or any puppies, for that matter) they put on a very good show! And of course, when what inmate referred to as 'a motherload of food' arrived, in the form of fruit, Kit-Kat bars and Rich Tea biscuits, it was I who started barking. (But not seriously.)

After the usual Sunday night activities, though, all went to sleep happily and all was well. I did, too, and and I dreamt of Dorset lanes, Lawrence of Arabia's words featuring once again:

'The burble of my exhaust unwound like a long cord behind me; soon my speed snapped it, and I heard only the cry of the wind my battering head split and fended aside. The cry rose with my speed to a shriek while the air's coldness streamed like two jets of iced water into my dissolving eyes.'

Mrs C, to her eternal credit, does not prevent my motorcycling enthusiasm, so we can walk happily along the beaches and the cliffs near our home - and enjoy lovely Short Leaves: just like our Newtonians and their families, I hope.