It's a little quiet in Newton tonight, as a number of the residents decided that enough was enough and that they are, or rather were, suffering from post-examination stress disorder - and I will avoid the inevitable wordplay on possible acronyms for that! Still, those left were able to enjoy a welcome tube of fruit gums, although yes, I'm sure that the options available elsewhere more than outweigh those on offer here.

Our daughter, Hannah, also decided that she was suffering from PESD, and returned home from uni (as the young will have it), where she's studying something frightfully grown-up like childhood studies and linguistics, and has to write essays. Fathers, those of you who have not yet experienced the joy of an undergraduate offspring, be prepared: requests for a little judicious 're-wording' of the odd paragraph or two may not be slow in coming. (Although, to be fair, the essay I've just read stood up well to extreme scrutiny by this blogger. (And sometime freelance contributor to the Daily Tel.) She informed me that she was woken this morning by her mother's commanding voice, enquiring of one particular Newtonian whether he had handed his home clothes in. I always thought that one that our house was soundproof, actually. Oh well, you live and learn.

So that's about it for tonight, really. Your little men are all asleep (i.e.: I can't hear them chatting, and my desk is right next door to the dorms), Hannah and Isla are watching X Factor downstairs, Tom's serving the multitudes in Xia'n, earning a bit of loot, prior to leaving for Japan for seven months next Monday, Alice has gone to Bath to see some friends perform in a play, and the cat's fussing because she wants her supper. Mrs C has gone through to do a final check on laundry (yes, we did watch 'Casulaty'), and I'm signing off.

Goodnight.