In my (very brief) study of 'pataphysics, so beloved of Paul McCartney, I read about 'the tangential point between zero and infinity'. I mention that because, to lower the tone somewhat, from the mega-intellectual to the subterranean, having written my very up-beat post, I went from 'Ho ho ho' to 'No no no!' in minus seconds after lights out, following some very 'unfortunate' behaviour after lights out.

There we were, Mrs C and I, happily taking stock of the day, reading the paper with David Attenborough's voice purring away in the background, the dog supine on the sofa when I became aware of an ominous clomping from above. It's a familiar sound, and it always heralds trouble. I raced upstairs.

"Explain!" I commanded, upon seeing four recidivistic Newtonians fooling around in the vins.

I was then treated to a less than fascinating exegesis on exactly why it was that certain people were being de-bagged, and why there should be much to-ing and fro-ing. I decided that, if this state of affairs were to be nipped in the embryonic bud, I needed back-up.

"H'm. Let's see what the Director of Boarding has to say about this, shall we? I'll ring Mr Sparrow on my mobile."

The guilty looked anxious.

"Ring ring, ring ring. Hello?"

"Ah, Mr Sparrow." I then put his voice onto loudspeaker and provided him with chapter and verse. The guilty looked even more anxious.

"I think they need to come and see me in Mayfield at 7.20 tomorrow morning, Mr Cheater. I look forward to their arrival."

Well, arrive they did - and I haven't heard any more about it. I hope I don't. I think they did, though.

They can run, but they can't hide.