‘It’s everything’. And indeed it is, as I have mentioned once before – and was, again this morning. Armed with such information, I went off to do my morning rounds. I knew what was going to happen before I went into any of the dorms – and the reason I was possessed of such prophetic powers was that I am now more convinced than ever that there is a vast difference between the conceptual awareness of the male and female brain. In fact, were I clever, I would embark upon a Ph D all of my own, to prove my hypothesis. You see, to me, ‘it’s everything’ means, in terms of laundry, sheets, pillowcases, duvet covers, pyjamas, towels, flannels, the lot. To the feminine mind, the comprehensive concept means only some of the aforementioned, and certainly not towels and flannels. Or underblankets. Or, as top bunk man enquired (very sensibly, in my opinion) dressing gowns.

However many items ‘everything’ means, however, ‘it’ requires no more than three laundry baskets, which, I am assured, is the standard receptacular number for whatever ‘it’ may mean on any one day, whether ‘it’ is two items or six. Or any other random number. And there I was, imagining that I was beginning to grasp the metaphysical and surreal properties of laundry collection. I have much to fathom out yet.

Dr Dean was deputy Nutenfuhrer last night, as Mrs C and I were without. And in case you find yourself wondering whether we are ever within, for info the weekly schedule is that we are off duty on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Unless, of course, we swap a Thursday for a Friday, as we did last week, or a Tuesday for a Wednesday. Add into the equation that we have three assistant lodgemasters for two nights and you end up with laundry-basket syndrome. (LBS, in contemporary parlance, no doubt.)

Newton is a very confusing place to live, you know.