Advent. Fom 'advenio', as I know that you know. We had a lovely Advent service tonight, with an entertaining sermon from the Chaplain, and, as the organist for the occasion, I counted only one erroneous note. The trouble was that it was a somewhat predominant note, and so, however many zillions of right notes there may have been, I know you all heard it, so I'm very sorry. I told Mr Music-Price that my playing is like a Turkish carpet: unless there's a flaw in it somewhere, it can't be genuine. He opined that his was the same. (Which it isn't.)

Newtonians - of which I class Mrs C, Miss Ruthie and my offspring as members - have just had a postive feast. The normal fruit and biscuits were enhanced considerably by the most wonderful birthday cake, utterly melt-in-the-mouth cookies and the chocolate mountain. Thank you so much to all our generous friends: they were all delicious! Mrs C attempted to suggest that the latter was too much, but I'm afraid I over-ruled such a ruling. You can't have a guzzlefest without chocolate. Being the very essence of practicality (thank heavens, or we'd all be in trouble and Newton would be reduced to an anarchic state within a couple of days), she did rule that dorms should be called one at a time to the Laundry, which once again had echoes of Big Brother about it as I intoned 'Curlew to the Laundry!!'. etc., etc.

All that AND X-Factor! Boy Heaven. Probably.

I need to lie down.