Christmas, I am told by the various outlets in Summertown, who have decided that it should be a marketing occasion not to be missed under any circumstances, is coming. The much-celebrated goose, I believe, is becoming even more rotund than your correspondent, and those selling 'The Big Issue' are presumably hoping for more than just one penny to be placed in their greasy palms rather than under their headgear.

Which probably goes some way to explaining the fact that our Newtonians are becoming excited about something, but they may not realise quite what it is yet - as Rolf Harris would say. I've tried subduing the troops with suggestions that examinations may be something to which they may be looking forward with some alacrity, but there appears not to be a great meeting of minds about that! So yes, I expect it's Christmas.

As we 'borrowed' the festival from the pagans in the first place, I suppose we have only ourselves to blame for whatever the 'festive season' may bring, and I am reminded of a night in Mayfield on the penultimate night of the Michalemas term, when a boy who went on to win a top scholarship to Radley invited me to step into his dorm 'for a word'.

"Yes, Thomas?" I enquired.

"Sir, you seem to be very stressy tonight. Will you PLEASE calm down? Do you know, sir, when you're like this, you're worse than my mother on Christmas Day!"

"Oh. Sorry, Thomas."

Which brings me to Advent calendars, and the chocolateness of same. Do I mind? Well, no. Not really. Although if I'm being honest, I'm not sure what Our Lord would have made of chocolate, although, when you think about it, I'm not sure that gold, frankincense or myrrh would have been that appealing, either. Given the choice, I imagine that a hunking great block of Cadbury's Dairy Milk would have gone down rather well with his parents, if not with Himself. So no, I don't mind. Although they must be 'nut-free', of course.

Incidentally, Mrs C's mother calls Santa 'Sarnta'. So does Mrs C. I think that's very strange: how can 'a-n' be pronounced 'arn'? All very odd.

I shall tell the boys that tomorrow night's laundry is 'parnts and socks'.