Greetings from a very empty Newton! Last night we enjoyed (and we did) the company of but three Newtonians, all of whom were delightful - other than when, for a minute or five no-one could agree upon which television channel could act as the favoured one. The matter was soon solved, though, and the Winter Olympics, with all their attractions, so well-documented in the national press, proved to be flavour of the night.
I don't think we've ever had such a paucity in the number of overnight residents, either in Mayfield or in Newton, which says a great deal about the virulence of the current 'bug'. I'm up and about now, and was touched by the number of boys who enquired about my state of health, espcially one who asked, sweetly, upon seeing what he must have thought was an apparition,
"Sir, when were you freed?"
I replied that I regained my liberty at 3.45pm yesterday afternoon - and you don't want to know how I could be so precise about it. I was also entertained, though not a little confused by another Newtonian who, upon realising that he had not seen me in the lodge for 48 hours, asked Mrs C whether I was 'in New College'. Yes, I said it was bizarre. Upon further investigation, I learnt that he believed that I could have been there as I 'spoke about New College Chapel' in Headmaster's Assembly on Thursday morning. Well, may I assure you that, fond as I am of the organ loft in that glorious place, I am not banged up with only a huge organ for company (you'll be glad and no doubt relieved to hear) and that I am sitting, comfortably, if a little weakly, at my desk, banging this tosh out, instead.
I do hope all Newtonians who have shared my fate are feeling stronger now and that we shall be back as a complete unit very soon.
The Chilean earthquake is causing some tribulation in the Cheater household, as there seems to be talk of tsunamis in Tokyo: and as Tom C is out there at the moment, we're rather hoping that such natural occurrences won't affect him. Or anyone else in Japan, for that matter. When I asked him to be give me a big wave from Tokyo when he spoke to me on Skype, tsunamis were not quite what I had in mind.
Incidentally, some of you may be somewhat irritated by what appears to be our inability to respond to voicemail messages. I do want to explain that the reason for our perceived idleness is because we have two (actually four, but two with voicemail facilities) phones on the same line. Now, you would think that would be fine, but the problem arises when, if someone is speaking on our BT voicemailed phone, the message you leave goes through automatically to our NTL phone, and as we use that one only rarely, as voicemail messages are complex to retrieve, we don't pick up your messages. The way to tell is this: if you dial the Newton number and you go straight through to voicemail, chances are that we won't pick up your message for two or three days. If you hang on for six or seven rings and THEN you get put through to voicemail, then our phone in the kitchen will bleep at us until we retrieve any messages. I know it sound ridiculous, bu that's the problem of having BT phones (which work well) on old NTL lines (which don't.)
So there you are. I write from a very depleted Newton; in fact as I write, there are just Miss Chloe (who's succumbed to the bug and has been confined to her room for the past four days, poor girl) , Isla, Jamine, and me. (In case you're new to the Newton blog, btw, Isla and Jasmine are the dog and the cat. No need for Diana to worry.)
Incidentally, for those of you who might be interested, this is my 120th post to the Newton blog. Thank you to all of you who read my humble offerings, and here's to the rest of this academic year!
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Friday, 26 February 2010
Dear me! That winter-vomiting thing is not nice - as many Newtonians and I found out yesterday. It arrives from nowhere and it really knocks you out!
Thank heavens for Diana, I say. Quite how she manages to respond to every noctural knock on the door, and to go and clear up any evidence of illness, whether it be midnight, 2 o'clock in the morning, or any other time, as well as look after a husband who isn't known for being the world's best patient, is beyond me.
The one good thing about it is that it seems to disappear almost as suddenly as it arrives, and I'm now beginning to get a bit of strength back, after a thoroughly unpleasant night. I do hope that all of our Newtonians who are suffering similarly will soon be over the worst. It's immensely frustrating, being quarantined like this, because there is so much than needs to be done, and I can imagine that things are piling up over at school, and that my desk will look more like a bomb site than it usually does when I return!
Enough for now. Schweppes lemonade: that's the only other upside.
Thank heavens for Diana, I say. Quite how she manages to respond to every noctural knock on the door, and to go and clear up any evidence of illness, whether it be midnight, 2 o'clock in the morning, or any other time, as well as look after a husband who isn't known for being the world's best patient, is beyond me.
The one good thing about it is that it seems to disappear almost as suddenly as it arrives, and I'm now beginning to get a bit of strength back, after a thoroughly unpleasant night. I do hope that all of our Newtonians who are suffering similarly will soon be over the worst. It's immensely frustrating, being quarantined like this, because there is so much than needs to be done, and I can imagine that things are piling up over at school, and that my desk will look more like a bomb site than it usually does when I return!
Enough for now. Schweppes lemonade: that's the only other upside.
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Still no news from chez Bryan, although I think things are progressing. I should have news for you tomorrow, apparently, and I'll be sure to let you know what happens.
The Red Choir sang Evensong in New College Chapel this evening, and once again I was privileged to act as the organist. All went very well, although things nearly came adrift in the middle of the anthem when my dear page-turner became rather over-enthusiastic and turned two pages at once. It's not often one has to 'vamp' in New College! Still, it was only for a couple of bars - although I suspect that my imperfections are being dissected in another bar as I type.
Boy Heaven tonight. Chelsea versus Inter-something-or-other (not sure how you can actually be 'inter' a place if you come from that place in the first, er, place. To my knowledge 'inter' means 'between' or 'among', as in 'inter alia', or 'agricola puellas inter villas videt'. So does this team come from 'between Milan'? I would have thought that to come from 'between' somewhere, there'd have to be somewhere else. Ah well, football continues to be a source of mysery (oops, now there's a Freudian error ..) to me. However, to continue my celestial detail: computer games for the faithful few, 'Ordinary TV' for some, cookies for the piggies and fruit for all.
'It' was towels and flannels this morning. I coped with that with consummate ease. Now that's progress.
The Red Choir sang Evensong in New College Chapel this evening, and once again I was privileged to act as the organist. All went very well, although things nearly came adrift in the middle of the anthem when my dear page-turner became rather over-enthusiastic and turned two pages at once. It's not often one has to 'vamp' in New College! Still, it was only for a couple of bars - although I suspect that my imperfections are being dissected in another bar as I type.
Boy Heaven tonight. Chelsea versus Inter-something-or-other (not sure how you can actually be 'inter' a place if you come from that place in the first, er, place. To my knowledge 'inter' means 'between' or 'among', as in 'inter alia', or 'agricola puellas inter villas videt'. So does this team come from 'between Milan'? I would have thought that to come from 'between' somewhere, there'd have to be somewhere else. Ah well, football continues to be a source of mysery (oops, now there's a Freudian error ..) to me. However, to continue my celestial detail: computer games for the faithful few, 'Ordinary TV' for some, cookies for the piggies and fruit for all.
'It' was towels and flannels this morning. I coped with that with consummate ease. Now that's progress.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
It's nearly 10pm, and there's still no news from the Bryan household. I was rather hoping that I'd hav some exciting tidings for you by now, dear Followers, but I will keep you posted, as and when anything happens.
Mrs C and I were on duty tonight, for obvious reasons, notwithstanding the fact that it's a Tuesday, and it was a very calm evening indeed. To be honest, it was rather like what happened in Mr's Hannah's form room in 1576: i.e.: nothing - as the plaque outside his room indicates. (You'll all look now, won't you?! And you'll all tell me what the correct date is, too, I bet. No, I can't remember!)
In view of the paucity of news from this corner of the globe, I'll simply tell you that, as editor of the SF magazine, I had lunch with the printers last week. Whenever I tell anyone that, I have a very Salvador Dali-esque image in my mind ..... Tracey Emin, eat your - no, too surreal.
Alan Coren once wrote a wonderful piece for Punch, based on a headline in a national newspaper that suggested that as the Queen had had to postpone an engagement at the last minute, she would be at 'something of a loose end'. He wrote as if he was One, and composed such sentences as 'played cards with one's husband. One won.' Can't think why I told you that, really. It just made me smile at the time.
As I say, I'll keep you posted about the Baby Bryan as and when s/he decides that it's time to surrender the comforts of the womb,
Mrs C and I were on duty tonight, for obvious reasons, notwithstanding the fact that it's a Tuesday, and it was a very calm evening indeed. To be honest, it was rather like what happened in Mr's Hannah's form room in 1576: i.e.: nothing - as the plaque outside his room indicates. (You'll all look now, won't you?! And you'll all tell me what the correct date is, too, I bet. No, I can't remember!)
In view of the paucity of news from this corner of the globe, I'll simply tell you that, as editor of the SF magazine, I had lunch with the printers last week. Whenever I tell anyone that, I have a very Salvador Dali-esque image in my mind ..... Tracey Emin, eat your - no, too surreal.
Alan Coren once wrote a wonderful piece for Punch, based on a headline in a national newspaper that suggested that as the Queen had had to postpone an engagement at the last minute, she would be at 'something of a loose end'. He wrote as if he was One, and composed such sentences as 'played cards with one's husband. One won.' Can't think why I told you that, really. It just made me smile at the time.
As I say, I'll keep you posted about the Baby Bryan as and when s/he decides that it's time to surrender the comforts of the womb,
Monday, 22 February 2010
It was Fragrance Night in Newton tonight. OK, yes, I know that sounds slightly ominous, but all it means is that once through the showers I expected all residents to give off aromae akin to that of the rose garden in Egeskov Castle - a place of great sanctuary that I had the pleasure of enjoying in 1979, when I spontaneously packed a tent into my MG and disappeared across the North Sea to the land of the Danes. And very enjoyable it was, too. The place was, in fact full of the scent of different kinds of shampoos and soaps - Newton, that is, not the castle - and, other than the fact that the shower areas were not entirely dissimilar to the North Sea on a stormy night, it was a very pleasant place to be.
Quite apart from your heavenly-scented offspring, there was also the double pleasure of cookie night, as well. I managed to squeze through the laundry door (yes, thank you very much, enough of the tyre jokes) and, having employed two Newtonians as decoys, one to distract Mrs C and the other to distract Miss Chloe from seeing my all-too-enthusiastic hand removing a forbidden fruit from the tin, I managed to enjoy one of those delicious cookies once again. As we say in Newton, 'Granny, we love you.'
We were pleased to welcome one of our Eton-visiting residents back into the fold tonight, and I was pleased to learn that all had gone well. Also interesting was the fact that he had visited Wycombe Abbey: a very exciting back up school, I feel sure.
Which leads me finally, and neatly, to the other resident who was busily pinning up his Valentine's cards, coyly declining my invitation to read out the messages at first, but then realising that this was an opportunity to display his peacock feathers to the full, read out every word - without a hint of colour.
Ah - that nostalgic aroma of Camay. (Not that I ever used it, you understand. Brut: now that's a soap for men. OK: was.) (I was never sure about the rope, though.)
Quite apart from your heavenly-scented offspring, there was also the double pleasure of cookie night, as well. I managed to squeze through the laundry door (yes, thank you very much, enough of the tyre jokes) and, having employed two Newtonians as decoys, one to distract Mrs C and the other to distract Miss Chloe from seeing my all-too-enthusiastic hand removing a forbidden fruit from the tin, I managed to enjoy one of those delicious cookies once again. As we say in Newton, 'Granny, we love you.'
We were pleased to welcome one of our Eton-visiting residents back into the fold tonight, and I was pleased to learn that all had gone well. Also interesting was the fact that he had visited Wycombe Abbey: a very exciting back up school, I feel sure.
Which leads me finally, and neatly, to the other resident who was busily pinning up his Valentine's cards, coyly declining my invitation to read out the messages at first, but then realising that this was an opportunity to display his peacock feathers to the full, read out every word - without a hint of colour.
Ah - that nostalgic aroma of Camay. (Not that I ever used it, you understand. Brut: now that's a soap for men. OK: was.) (I was never sure about the rope, though.)
Sunday, 21 February 2010
And I hope you had a very happy LL, too, dear Followers. As Mrs C, Alice and I did.
Hell, they say - or rather, Mr Computer-Price says, with considerable regularity, - might freeze over before certain things may or may not happen. (In the case of the aforementioned, it usually involves some aspect of things technological; e.g. he might get a new printer.) Tonight, Newton's heating was 'failing to proceed', as those of you who are fortunate enough to be Rolls-Royce owners will understand, and so we froze. Well, relatively, I suppose, as I did go and nick the learning support department's mini radiators.
One of our Scottish brethren returned, employing his best north-of-the-border accent to heighten the effect:
"Och, it's a bit Scotland-like in here, the noo!" (Actually I made the 'the noo' bit up: I'm assured that no Scot would ever say it anyway.)
The lack of heating did, in fact, give rise to a certain satire among some of the residents, especially one who, when asked what he was doing with his glasses case during silent reading, told me that he was 'chipping the ice off his bunk bed.'
It's good to heave your LMs back with us again: I heard all about your various exploits, especially the ski-ing ones - and I particularly enjoyed hearing about the number of times that one Newtonian changed his pants. Oh yes: I hear it all here, you know.
My bike passed its MOT on Friday! It now has a very snazzy front tyre. That makes two of us - as my daughter observed.
Hell, they say - or rather, Mr Computer-Price says, with considerable regularity, - might freeze over before certain things may or may not happen. (In the case of the aforementioned, it usually involves some aspect of things technological; e.g. he might get a new printer.) Tonight, Newton's heating was 'failing to proceed', as those of you who are fortunate enough to be Rolls-Royce owners will understand, and so we froze. Well, relatively, I suppose, as I did go and nick the learning support department's mini radiators.
One of our Scottish brethren returned, employing his best north-of-the-border accent to heighten the effect:
"Och, it's a bit Scotland-like in here, the noo!" (Actually I made the 'the noo' bit up: I'm assured that no Scot would ever say it anyway.)
The lack of heating did, in fact, give rise to a certain satire among some of the residents, especially one who, when asked what he was doing with his glasses case during silent reading, told me that he was 'chipping the ice off his bunk bed.'
It's good to heave your LMs back with us again: I heard all about your various exploits, especially the ski-ing ones - and I particularly enjoyed hearing about the number of times that one Newtonian changed his pants. Oh yes: I hear it all here, you know.
My bike passed its MOT on Friday! It now has a very snazzy front tyre. That makes two of us - as my daughter observed.
Friday, 12 February 2010
Greetings again, Followers. When I signed off last night, I imagined, stupidly, that I would enjoy a good night of contented slumber and awake refreshed, ready for an eagerly-awaited Long Leave. Yeah, right. Behold Mrs C and me, then (and yes, once again I'd like to stress that 'me' is the correct pronoun in that context, lest you should be worrying that your sons' English tuition is being delivered by an ignoramus), at half past midnight, dressing-gown clad, as we scrabbled around on the floor outside Curlew dorm, screwdrivers in hand (and I don't mean cocktails), endeavouring to de-bleep the fire door's persistent and repetitive call. I was not a happy bunny. Nevertheless, this is Newton, and there was a funny side. (When I think about it now.)
As I did my best to avail myself of my benorsic capabilities (which amount to just above zero on the capable scale), I stuck the screwdriver into the socket with as much force as I could manage, and twisted, imagining all kinds of malevolent thoughts, about which the less told the better. Whilst struggling with this confounded door alarm, which continued its siren calling throughout my attempts to shut the thing up and remove it from the door upon which it was attached, one Curlew resident, who was thoroughly enjoying the sight of his lodgeparents in such a submissive state, beamed happily down from his comfortable top bunk and opined,
"Do you know? This is great entertainment!"
Well yes, I'm sure it was. Fortunately, at that moment, the things just came away in my hands, guv, honest, and it was Mrs C who rescued the said member of the audience from being rendered senseless by a bleeping door alarm, as she deftly removed it from my grasp and chucked it into the bushes, whereupon its bleeping bleeping let out a final, dying gasp - and ceased its unholy row.
Then we went back to bed.
Oh yes, one more thing before I disappear: this morning was, according to Mrs C, one of those 'everything' mornings as far as laundry was concerned. I continue to fail to get my head around that concept, and I expressed my opinion to one of our more practical residents. Of course, he had the answer to my belief that the female understanding of the word 'everything' is very different from the male appreciation of the word. I mean, to me, 'everything' means 'everything'. Towels and flannels included. It doesn't, apparently. So the suggestion was made, by my conversational partner, that I should compose a 'Male to Female Dictionary'. What a brilliant idea.
Have a great Long Leave.
As I did my best to avail myself of my benorsic capabilities (which amount to just above zero on the capable scale), I stuck the screwdriver into the socket with as much force as I could manage, and twisted, imagining all kinds of malevolent thoughts, about which the less told the better. Whilst struggling with this confounded door alarm, which continued its siren calling throughout my attempts to shut the thing up and remove it from the door upon which it was attached, one Curlew resident, who was thoroughly enjoying the sight of his lodgeparents in such a submissive state, beamed happily down from his comfortable top bunk and opined,
"Do you know? This is great entertainment!"
Well yes, I'm sure it was. Fortunately, at that moment, the things just came away in my hands, guv, honest, and it was Mrs C who rescued the said member of the audience from being rendered senseless by a bleeping door alarm, as she deftly removed it from my grasp and chucked it into the bushes, whereupon its bleeping bleeping let out a final, dying gasp - and ceased its unholy row.
Then we went back to bed.
Oh yes, one more thing before I disappear: this morning was, according to Mrs C, one of those 'everything' mornings as far as laundry was concerned. I continue to fail to get my head around that concept, and I expressed my opinion to one of our more practical residents. Of course, he had the answer to my belief that the female understanding of the word 'everything' is very different from the male appreciation of the word. I mean, to me, 'everything' means 'everything'. Towels and flannels included. It doesn't, apparently. So the suggestion was made, by my conversational partner, that I should compose a 'Male to Female Dictionary'. What a brilliant idea.
Have a great Long Leave.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
What a great half of term - certainly as far as Newton is concerned. Your Little Men have been tremendous: fun without being overly familiar, engaging, entertaining and generally great fun. Of course they try to push the boundaries from time to time - they're ten year old boys, what does one expect?! But I've always tried to work on the 'extendable dog lead' principle (even though I hate those things, ever since a puppy of a friend of ours ran into the road when it was attached to one, in front of a car, with the inevitable, tragic result), namely that I like to let it out further and further until it reaches its full length - and then, by gosh (I was going to use various other words beginning with g, but I'd probably be in big trouble if I did), I yank it in with a vengeance - and they know all about it! I don't do 'army dog leash', I'm afraid. You can allow yourselves a moment of pride, if I may be so patronising as to say so, and reflect on the splendid reflection that your LMs are on their parents.
I like to think that our own offspring aren't too bad, either, in that respect. Tom has a slight 'accommodation issue' at the moment, but I am greatly indebted to aprticularly helpful Newton parent with connections over there who is so very kindly assisting in the quest. In answer to a reference to an e-mail that referred to 'P rather than L' when expressing the hope that things would work out satisfactorily, I was, to begin with (i.e. during most of today) somewhat confused. Yes, I know you're ahead of me. Anyway, pace my correspondent , I wrote in reply:
'I have spent the best part of this afternoon trying to work out your reference to L and P, thinking that I must be very, very thick! Tonight, while Diana was having a review meeting with Miss Chloe, I took myself off to Joe's bar in Summertown and, while consuming a very nice glass of Pinot Gricio and a load of pistacchios while catching up with the news in the Daily Telegraph, I suddenly realised what you meant - and let out an embarrassingly loud guffaw, causing my neighbours to turn around and see what on Earth was happening!'
I like to think that our own offspring aren't too bad, either, in that respect. Tom has a slight 'accommodation issue' at the moment, but I am greatly indebted to aprticularly helpful Newton parent with connections over there who is so very kindly assisting in the quest. In answer to a reference to an e-mail that referred to 'P rather than L' when expressing the hope that things would work out satisfactorily, I was, to begin with (i.e. during most of today) somewhat confused. Yes, I know you're ahead of me. Anyway, pace my correspondent , I wrote in reply:
'I have spent the best part of this afternoon trying to work out your reference to L and P, thinking that I must be very, very thick! Tonight, while Diana was having a review meeting with Miss Chloe, I took myself off to Joe's bar in Summertown and, while consuming a very nice glass of Pinot Gricio and a load of pistacchios while catching up with the news in the Daily Telegraph, I suddenly realised what you meant - and let out an embarrassingly loud guffaw, causing my neighbours to turn around and see what on Earth was happening!'
Indeed so. I hope that Tom gets his Ps and his Ls sorted out, too.
Oh, Per Lease.
Sorry, loyal Followers. I know some of you will have logged on and found no report, but when you have a daughter whose brother's in Tokyo and sister's in Bristol, notwithstanding that there are daily (if not hourly, sometimes) cat and dog altercations when they're at home, when they're apart they communicate happily via Skype and Facebook - and any chance I might have to get onto the computer (despite my hatred of this machine) is rendered impossible.
However, be that as it may, etc., last night was full of activity, following what was a particularly animated junior school debate on the relative merits of Fairtrade. The motion was that the school should become a Fairtrade school, and, by a whisker, the ayes had it. I was surprised that that the eyes and the noses of those who disagreed didn't get it, too, but all remained calm.
Sh cleaning took place and our ever-helpful shoeshine boys were on hand. All manner of games were happening, and TV was available, too, for those who favoured a simple dose of escapism
I had, until last night, a huge box full of electrical stuff. In looking for a particular lead, which I found, I tipped the whole lot out onto the floor of our drawing room, whereupon three terrific volunteers stepped forward (eager for the pickings) and untangled a few miles of cable. Fantastic!
This morning I informed the throng in the common room that, unfortunately, as I had had to sack the last Newton servant, they would have to collect their own black shoes from the corridor and replace them in the lockers. One particular resident, who decided that he would engage with the irony, walked, with nose in the air, past me, opining that this was 'terrible news', picked up his shoes as if they were pieces of the worst kind of dirt, then walked back again, tutting at my thoughtlessness in getting rid of the aforementioned servant and replaced the offending items.
Quality place, this.
However, be that as it may, etc., last night was full of activity, following what was a particularly animated junior school debate on the relative merits of Fairtrade. The motion was that the school should become a Fairtrade school, and, by a whisker, the ayes had it. I was surprised that that the eyes and the noses of those who disagreed didn't get it, too, but all remained calm.
Sh cleaning took place and our ever-helpful shoeshine boys were on hand. All manner of games were happening, and TV was available, too, for those who favoured a simple dose of escapism
I had, until last night, a huge box full of electrical stuff. In looking for a particular lead, which I found, I tipped the whole lot out onto the floor of our drawing room, whereupon three terrific volunteers stepped forward (eager for the pickings) and untangled a few miles of cable. Fantastic!
This morning I informed the throng in the common room that, unfortunately, as I had had to sack the last Newton servant, they would have to collect their own black shoes from the corridor and replace them in the lockers. One particular resident, who decided that he would engage with the irony, walked, with nose in the air, past me, opining that this was 'terrible news', picked up his shoes as if they were pieces of the worst kind of dirt, then walked back again, tutting at my thoughtlessness in getting rid of the aforementioned servant and replaced the offending items.
Quality place, this.
Monday, 8 February 2010
Thank you, Dr Harskin, for pointing out my typographical inexactitude. Solent reading would be a rather soggy affair. However, I was, as always, outdone by my son, in a Facebook message from Tokyo, in which he tells me that he needs a bank account in order to get paid. Or he would have done, if he hadn't misjudged where the letter 'p' is on his keyboard and typed the letter 'l' instead. (At least, I hope that's the case.)
Mr Bryan, who is still awaiting the imminent arrival of his second heir(ess), was discussing with me just now, following what was obviously a pleasant evening while Mrs C and I watched Holby, whom we would choose if we were to select a 'Head of House'. We're not going to, so don't get excited. Nor am I going to disclose any names that were mentioned, either!
H'm. Methinks I hear a rumpus from next door. Not for long!
Bonne nuit.
Mr Bryan, who is still awaiting the imminent arrival of his second heir(ess), was discussing with me just now, following what was obviously a pleasant evening while Mrs C and I watched Holby, whom we would choose if we were to select a 'Head of House'. We're not going to, so don't get excited. Nor am I going to disclose any names that were mentioned, either!
H'm. Methinks I hear a rumpus from next door. Not for long!
Bonne nuit.
I am going to do something very, very serious to this heap of technological junk. It's just taken me eight minutes to log on to this site, and if it does that again then, as Mr Wilkins (MA, Cantab) threatened in every Jennings story, I'll, I'll, ........ corwumph! (In fact I shall do rather more than corwumph, even though when used as a verb it does sound rather ominous.)
There was a whole load of nightlife in da clurb tonight, and it was indeed interesting to see one very fine couple doing the tango. I must admit that they did it rather well, even if the music was not wholly appropriate to that particular form of dance. I was then invited to join one half of the 'coople' as what's-her-name will insist on pronouncing the word in doing the foxtrot, an invitation which I declined with apparent eagerness. All this was going on while others were engaged in a rather extreme game of 'Twister', so you can picture the scene. Solent reading came as a great relief.
Two of our members have fracture their collar-bones. They informed me, when I arrived at their dorm to turn the lights out that they had broken the record for doing up a shirt one-handedly. I made the inevitable 'joke', to which another member of the dorm drily told me that 'that joke has already been cracked, sir'. (Yeah, but that one hadn't, had it?!)
On being asked whether I would like to hear the joke of the century, I was asked why the brick cried. Answer, apparently, is that it's father was up the wall and its mother was round the bend.
Night night.
There was a whole load of nightlife in da clurb tonight, and it was indeed interesting to see one very fine couple doing the tango. I must admit that they did it rather well, even if the music was not wholly appropriate to that particular form of dance. I was then invited to join one half of the 'coople' as what's-her-name will insist on pronouncing the word in doing the foxtrot, an invitation which I declined with apparent eagerness. All this was going on while others were engaged in a rather extreme game of 'Twister', so you can picture the scene. Solent reading came as a great relief.
Two of our members have fracture their collar-bones. They informed me, when I arrived at their dorm to turn the lights out that they had broken the record for doing up a shirt one-handedly. I made the inevitable 'joke', to which another member of the dorm drily told me that 'that joke has already been cracked, sir'. (Yeah, but that one hadn't, had it?!)
On being asked whether I would like to hear the joke of the century, I was asked why the brick cried. Answer, apparently, is that it's father was up the wall and its mother was round the bend.
Night night.
Sunday, 7 February 2010
Well that's a relief! To judge from the wonderfully supportive comments of tonight, it seems that there are a few members of the Newton community who do indeed blog-log each night, or at least from time to time, so I'll keep turning the mangle.
Wasn't Mr Little teriffic? I thought he spoke wonderfully, and I was hugely impressed when I had the privilege of one-on-ones with him and with his delightful wife, Jenny, over a lovely buffet supper. No wonder he got the job. He's smart, diplomatic, careful and intellectually challenging - and I thought he was great.
Mr Bryan's barrister wife, Sophie, is expecting their second child at any time now. All very exciting, and, as I have reassured Matt, it's a nail-biting but wonderful time. I remember it well - as will many of you, dear Followers. Anyway, I want only to be supportive at this juncture, so I have let Mr Bryan know that I am on hand to accompany him to Majestic Wine at any time, in order to select an appropriate fizz for the Great Event. You could never accuse me of not caring. I'll keep you posted about all this.
Until tomorrow.
Wasn't Mr Little teriffic? I thought he spoke wonderfully, and I was hugely impressed when I had the privilege of one-on-ones with him and with his delightful wife, Jenny, over a lovely buffet supper. No wonder he got the job. He's smart, diplomatic, careful and intellectually challenging - and I thought he was great.
Mr Bryan's barrister wife, Sophie, is expecting their second child at any time now. All very exciting, and, as I have reassured Matt, it's a nail-biting but wonderful time. I remember it well - as will many of you, dear Followers. Anyway, I want only to be supportive at this juncture, so I have let Mr Bryan know that I am on hand to accompany him to Majestic Wine at any time, in order to select an appropriate fizz for the Great Event. You could never accuse me of not caring. I'll keep you posted about all this.
Until tomorrow.
Saturday, 6 February 2010
First, my congratulations to Dr Harskin, who managed to solve last night's conundrum very speedily - although he did admit that his mother had shown him the solution (many) years ago. Sorry, Doc, there's no prize, other than the smug satisfaction that you were the first (and only) Follower to get it.
Whilst wallowing in a moment of self-despair, I wondered to myself this evening whether my much-respected colleague was now the only person who tuned in to this blog each evening. Here I am, I thought, churning out this quasi-informative tosh every night, imagining that the majority of Newton parents are logging on, but perhaps I'm living in the land of cloud cuckoos, and I flex my fingers in vain.
If you're still there, though, here's a snippet for you. Tonight I sat on the bench in the common room and instructed my charges to (a) sort out the DVD, (b) turn off the lights (c) turn up the TV volume. They did so with flattering alacrity.
'Watch and learn,' said I. 'When you people are running your multi-national conglomerates' (and some will, trust me), 'make sure that they know you're the Boss - and get your minions to do the work. If they know what's good for them, they will.'
They will, too. And some of you will know that far better than I.
Whilst wallowing in a moment of self-despair, I wondered to myself this evening whether my much-respected colleague was now the only person who tuned in to this blog each evening. Here I am, I thought, churning out this quasi-informative tosh every night, imagining that the majority of Newton parents are logging on, but perhaps I'm living in the land of cloud cuckoos, and I flex my fingers in vain.
If you're still there, though, here's a snippet for you. Tonight I sat on the bench in the common room and instructed my charges to (a) sort out the DVD, (b) turn off the lights (c) turn up the TV volume. They did so with flattering alacrity.
'Watch and learn,' said I. 'When you people are running your multi-national conglomerates' (and some will, trust me), 'make sure that they know you're the Boss - and get your minions to do the work. If they know what's good for them, they will.'
They will, too. And some of you will know that far better than I.
Friday, 5 February 2010
My apologies, Followers. Mrs C and I were out last night, and Newton was in the hands of another. It was, you may say - as T.S. Eliot in fact did say, satisfactory, but there were moments, I understand, over which a veil or seven should be drawn. Enough said, I think.
Tonight, though, we are being treated to the most wonderful birthday cake, and my sincere thanks to the creator of such edible loveliness. You are most kind. (I'm going to try and sneak ito the laundry room, whence the aforementioned delight is being served, when Swmbo isn't looking ... I'll let you know what happens - and if I get away with it.
Further to my recent media appearances, it now seems that BBC Breakfast would like a live interview in the not-too-distant - and, as I told our local BBC reporter who informed me of this development, that's scary. However, ot does depend on whether we can persuade ABC to let BBC use some already-canned footage of the college in Kabul, so I'll keep you posted on that. (Scary, but quite exciting - as if I can get a bit of national interest that would be terrific. And thank YOU all for your support, too.
Still, enough alphabetical talk: it's time for the residents to go to B-E-D.
Work this out if you can:
YYUR
YYUB
ICUR
YY 4 me
Goodnight.
Tonight, though, we are being treated to the most wonderful birthday cake, and my sincere thanks to the creator of such edible loveliness. You are most kind. (I'm going to try and sneak ito the laundry room, whence the aforementioned delight is being served, when Swmbo isn't looking ... I'll let you know what happens - and if I get away with it.
Further to my recent media appearances, it now seems that BBC Breakfast would like a live interview in the not-too-distant - and, as I told our local BBC reporter who informed me of this development, that's scary. However, ot does depend on whether we can persuade ABC to let BBC use some already-canned footage of the college in Kabul, so I'll keep you posted on that. (Scary, but quite exciting - as if I can get a bit of national interest that would be terrific. And thank YOU all for your support, too.
Still, enough alphabetical talk: it's time for the residents to go to B-E-D.
Work this out if you can:
YYUR
YYUB
ICUR
YY 4 me
Goodnight.
Wednesday, 3 February 2010
I don't know about you, my dear band of loyal Followers, but I have had a really great day. I took Chapel as Mr Lapwood's deputy, which was followed by interesting and challenging lessons, then duty this afternoon with two excellent and conscientious colleagues in the form of Mr Fradgley and Mrs Corry, 'rugby drinks' (which, for the benefit of those new to this blog means an always-enjoyable get together of all the staff in someone's living quarters, accompanied by drinks and nibbles), a really fascinating conversation with a member of the 5th Year over a very decent supper, and a terrific evening in Newton to round everything off. I am really very fortunate.
Incidentally, my ex-pupil, about whom I told you last night, and I realised that he would have left the school at which I was teaching, in 1974! Now that really does make me feel old! I told a class about this wonderful reunion, and informed them that if they were to write in a similar time hence, if you see what I mean, I would be 98. Oh well, here's hoping. (I suspect it's rather more likely that I shall be having earnest discussions with St Peter about my comments about chocolate Advent calendars, however. Still, my father, who was himself ordained, will be able to support me. I hope.) Said pupil and I, however, have arranged to meet for lunch, and it seems that I must have done something right, as he tells me that he has a penchant for fine wine and fast cars .... ! He's a brilliant pianist, too, although 26 years in the City may have taken their toll on that, allegedly.
Have you noticed that 'Dallas' is back on our screens? It's very exciting to Diana and to me, as I think I've told you before, when I was tutoring in L.A. in the 80s, the house where we stayed in Bel Air was being used as part of the set for the series; i.e.: 'our' bedroom was aka Pam Ewing's bedroom - and there it was, yesterday morning, exactly as we remembered it! (I can only see ten minutes of each current episode, between 7.30am and 7.40am, but sure enough, there it was!) There can't be many teachers who have slept in Pam Ewing's bed ......
Enough. By far. Jusqu'a demain.
Incidentally, my ex-pupil, about whom I told you last night, and I realised that he would have left the school at which I was teaching, in 1974! Now that really does make me feel old! I told a class about this wonderful reunion, and informed them that if they were to write in a similar time hence, if you see what I mean, I would be 98. Oh well, here's hoping. (I suspect it's rather more likely that I shall be having earnest discussions with St Peter about my comments about chocolate Advent calendars, however. Still, my father, who was himself ordained, will be able to support me. I hope.) Said pupil and I, however, have arranged to meet for lunch, and it seems that I must have done something right, as he tells me that he has a penchant for fine wine and fast cars .... ! He's a brilliant pianist, too, although 26 years in the City may have taken their toll on that, allegedly.
Have you noticed that 'Dallas' is back on our screens? It's very exciting to Diana and to me, as I think I've told you before, when I was tutoring in L.A. in the 80s, the house where we stayed in Bel Air was being used as part of the set for the series; i.e.: 'our' bedroom was aka Pam Ewing's bedroom - and there it was, yesterday morning, exactly as we remembered it! (I can only see ten minutes of each current episode, between 7.30am and 7.40am, but sure enough, there it was!) There can't be many teachers who have slept in Pam Ewing's bed ......
Enough. By far. Jusqu'a demain.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
The proverbial wind has been well and truly taken out of my ageing and flapping sails. I am recovering from a message in my e-mail inbox which begins 'Dear Paul, It has been a mere 30 years, I believe'.
I simply cannot believe it, and I am wholly convinced that while I remember that former pupil with great affection, he, who is about to celebrate his 50th birthday this year, must be suffering from memory loss, as the kindness that he bestows on his now-decaying preceptor of yesteryear is richly undeserved. I am, as you can probably tell, moved beyond words. So there won't be many tonight, and I hope you'll forgive me: I have a bit of catching up to do.
But I will just tell you that Mr Bryan lost me in a sea of classical erudition when he signed off just now, as a resident had asked him all about dice. I tried to follow his wonderful response, and then, thinking that I was well and truly out of my depth, thought I would change the subject to things oenological. I was further submerged under a vat of Gevrey-Chambertin. Metaphorically speaking, unfortunately.
And I'm so sorry I said that Gute Nacht was a liede by Schumann: of course it was Schubert. What must you think of me.
I simply cannot believe it, and I am wholly convinced that while I remember that former pupil with great affection, he, who is about to celebrate his 50th birthday this year, must be suffering from memory loss, as the kindness that he bestows on his now-decaying preceptor of yesteryear is richly undeserved. I am, as you can probably tell, moved beyond words. So there won't be many tonight, and I hope you'll forgive me: I have a bit of catching up to do.
But I will just tell you that Mr Bryan lost me in a sea of classical erudition when he signed off just now, as a resident had asked him all about dice. I tried to follow his wonderful response, and then, thinking that I was well and truly out of my depth, thought I would change the subject to things oenological. I was further submerged under a vat of Gevrey-Chambertin. Metaphorically speaking, unfortunately.
And I'm so sorry I said that Gute Nacht was a liede by Schumann: of course it was Schubert. What must you think of me.
Monday, 1 February 2010
Games night, accompanied by hot choc and the usual assortment of bics, all accompanied by the mellifluous strains of Radio Something-or-Other in the clubhouse was tonight's happy formula for a pleasant evening. Miss Chloe positioned herself in the middle of the Uno area, Mrs C was stationed in the laundry room, as chief dispenser of hot choc (and managed to ensure that there were no sneaky moves to obtain illicit fattening items on the part of the Lodgemeister), and I strode imperiously around my empire, speaking with my subjects on matters of varying non-importance. Such is the high-octane life in the fast lane of lodgemastering. (And in case you're wondering, I still reckon that I can whizz up the Newton stairs more quickly than any of the inmates - even at 58.) (I suppose I shall have to prove it now.)
Silent reading arrived punctually (it tends to do that) and in no time at all the pre-silent-reading ablutions had been executed and everyone was, well, reading silently. But wait! What was that that I espied, lurking suspiciously a the foot of a Heronian (bunk) bed? A rucksack! Now, dear Followers, a rucksack may look like nothing to you, but to an experienced lodgemaster it means one thing: illegals.
"Go on then, sir. I don't mind if you search it. Go on."
Aha! Not so clever as you think, young man! I've been here before you know! Double bluffs won't wash with me! Oh no! I searched the bag in a manner that any airport security officer would have envied. A book.
"Ah, but sir, how do you know that's really a book? It could just be hollow inside, and that's where the illegal sweets might be!" Triple bluff! Clever, this one. I opened the pages: it was indeed a book.
I rummaged through the rest of the bag, in a manner akin to Basil Fawlty discovering that what was under the silver salver's lid was anything but duck -
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Gute nacht. (A rather nice song by Schumann. You may know it. Oh come one, you must allow me just a moment of erudition.)
Silent reading arrived punctually (it tends to do that) and in no time at all the pre-silent-reading ablutions had been executed and everyone was, well, reading silently. But wait! What was that that I espied, lurking suspiciously a the foot of a Heronian (bunk) bed? A rucksack! Now, dear Followers, a rucksack may look like nothing to you, but to an experienced lodgemaster it means one thing: illegals.
"Go on then, sir. I don't mind if you search it. Go on."
Aha! Not so clever as you think, young man! I've been here before you know! Double bluffs won't wash with me! Oh no! I searched the bag in a manner that any airport security officer would have envied. A book.
"Ah, but sir, how do you know that's really a book? It could just be hollow inside, and that's where the illegal sweets might be!" Triple bluff! Clever, this one. I opened the pages: it was indeed a book.
I rummaged through the rest of the bag, in a manner akin to Basil Fawlty discovering that what was under the silver salver's lid was anything but duck -
Nothing. Nothing at all.
Gute nacht. (A rather nice song by Schumann. You may know it. Oh come one, you must allow me just a moment of erudition.)
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