Greetings, Followers. I write to you tonight from what is, I hope, a squeaky clean Newton - to coin a phrase from a parental e-mail received today. Certainly the boys seem in excellent humour and we've had a lovely evening tonight. Or at least, the part of the evening that I've been able to enjoyfollowing a very pleasant parents' evening over at main school.

Humiliation, they say, breeds contempt. I now know that to be true, and I'll tell you why. On Saturday, I decided to take my motorbike for a spin around the coast roads of West Dorset. I was having such a great time, travelling at speeds between 50 and 60mph, with the most stunning views across Portland, Abbotsbury and the like, and other Moonfleetish and Hardyesque regions, when I realised that I seemed to be wobbling a little excessively. I don't usually do that, which is the only attribute I possess that outdoes those of James May. (He's got a music degree, you see, and he, like me, is enthralled by modes of transportation, but he admits that he's 'a bit of a wobbler' on two wheels.) Guessing what had happened, I leant over the handlebars to see a very flat front tyre. Not good in itself, but at that moment, two ruddy great Harleys overtook me, with their leather-clad riders giving me rather patronising looks. Yeah, thanks for stopping. Anyway, I limped back to our house (insofar as motorbikes can limp) to inform the members of my family that yes, I had had a great ride, other than suffering a flat tyre. Typical. Oh well, it should be sorted out in my absence on Thursday, apparently.

So yes. we had a great weekend, as I soon recovered from my fury (having two daughters soon puts paid to any kind of irritation, as some of you will know) and the sun shone on us all. I hope you all had a great time, too.

Until tomorrow, then.