I expect all the remains of the broken teacups in Oxfordshire and its neighbouring counties have been cleared away now - and I'm delighted to learn that at least a few of my readers were not wholly displeased to learn that my spouse and I do not intend to disappear over the horizon in the immediate future. I was once told, by a sagacious former employer, that in any position of leardership one should hope only that one could please '50 per cent of the people 50 per cent of the time'. He was right. Another very wise headmaster for whom I had great respect advised the parents gathered in front of him one Speech Day that if they (we) promised to believe only 50 per cent of what they heard from their children about what happened at school, then he would promise to believe only 50 per cent of what his pupils told him about what went on at home. As I said, he was a wise man. It never ceases to amaze me that so much seems to be received as gospel truth when, to coin Mr Lamont's word, the 'actualite' (sorry, can't do accents) is not quite the same. When I had the misfortune to be - sorry, when I was for a short time in my professional career - a headmaster, my Head of Pre-prep came to me in tears, to tell me that, try as she might, she could not persuade a mother to believe that her six-year-old son had not, in fact, been locked in a cupboard for the best part of the day. "My son does not lie!" she was told. Oh, you'd never believe it if I told you the rest.

My apologies. Just a bit of personal musing while I've had the time. No doubt, as I type, our Newtonians are starting to make their way home. We've missed them - a lot - and we're genuinely looking forward to seeing them again. It's their wonderful repartee I miss most, and the sense of fun that they engender. They are a lovely bunch, and it's a real privilege and pleasure to see them metamorphose from 'little boys' when they arrive to much older boys as the year progresses. The angst that goes with running Newton is minimal - and well worth it.

A number of loyal Followers have asked how they might comment on this blog. Well, I tried it, and it seems that all that is necessary is simply to set up a Googlemail e-mail address and then you will be granted access to the 'comment' box. I think that should work, but if it doesn't, then I think Dr H can advise. He's a regular commentator - as you have no doubt seen.

AH! A wonderful old E-type Jaguar has just parked on Mayfield Road! I must go and take a look! More tomorrow - and thanks for reading, as always.

My apologies. I know that a number of you have been bloggerlogging and discovering that there is no news to read. Assume, therefore, gentle Followers, that, as the cliche says, no news is good news and all is well, both here and over there. And if you haven't yet read Sarah Sheldon's report, please do. I think she's setting up in competition as a blogger.

It's been very quiet since the troops departed, and yes, absence does make the heart grow fonder. The good news about that is that we are looking forward to seeing them again, and the bad news is for anyone who was rather hoping that such tranquillity would make us realise that we're too old for this lodgemastering lark. To any such, I say 'tough. We're not going anywhere. Yet.' Sorry, I hope that hasn't made too many teacups fall to the ground, or caused an excess of Bateman cartoon impressions in the environs of the dreaming spires and beyond. I must be losing my sense of diplomacy in my advancing years. I shall be saying things like 'Oh, per-lease! or (a la Gordon B) 'Get real', before long.

Question of the day, froma First Year, asked in all seriousness: "Sir, have you ever seen a mouse with a jet-pack on its back?" To be honest, I haven't, but, to be fair, I haven't really been looking out for them. Perhaps they've all been covered in volcanic ash.

Let's hope that we can soon get this 'Celebrity PM' or 'Somewhere over in Cloud Cuckoo Land' or whatever it's called, over and done with as soon as possible. No-one really wants to commit to anything - and who can blame them. Oh well, it could be worse: we might all be living in Greece. And who'd want to live in a country that has sun, beautiful beaches, culture, ancient history, amazing musea, great sailing, mythological islands ...... ?

I'll write again before the Newtonians return.

It's eerily quiet in Newton tonight. We waved a fond farewell to our charges at 7.30 tonight and they all disappeared into the distance. Mrs C and I eventually put our Kleenex in the bin, dried our eyes and wet our whistles. And very nice it was, too. As for the gin rummy, well, I think that 'Have I Got News For You' and 'Outnumbered' may act as appropriate subsitutes.

I was amazed - although, of course, I shouldn't have been - by the conscientiousness of two Newtonian families in getting their boys back in time for the French leave: I never usually incorporate any names into this blog, but I cannot refrain from mentioning la famille Breteau and the Davies family on this occasion. Both efforts were truly remarkable, and I congratulate both families most sincerely.

So there we are, really. Other than to tell you that Diana was less than amused by my little telephonic prank, which involved ringing the Newton number from my mobile while pretending to text our daughter, picking up the kitchen phone and telling her that Mr/Mrs/Ms X wanted to seek her advice about the right kind of pants for his/her son, it's been a very quiet evening. Not a flake of volcanic ash in sight.

What a way to start the new term - especially after the traumas of the last one! Icelandic ash all over the northern hemisphere and people stuck around the globe as a result! Fortunately, it seems that those who know about such things as volcanic eruptions have seen the light at last and done what the BBC decided to call an 'about face'. (Presumably because they imagine that no Radio 4 listener would have any French at all and would be flummoxed by the words 'volte face'.)

And talking of words, I was glad to learn that many of you have been amused by the Telegraph correspondence that I initiated by informing the nation about Diana's unusual and original verbs. I'm sure that many people have found themselves burridging about while coopying down.

The Newtonians have returned in very good spirits and are eager to cross La Manche tomorrow. Having taken a trip myself some years ago, I know what good value and how very enjoyable they are. Of course, Diana and I will be beside ourselves with grief for the next few days, and as you can imagine, we'll just have to be content with pouring ourselves a glass of something appropriate and playing gin rummy, or something. (And just in case you're thinking 'no change there, then', as I expect some of you are, don't.)

If I were feeling brave, I would attempt to describe tonight's instructions to the troops about the logistics required for packing before tomorrow's departure, but, frankly, it's so complicated that I wouldn't have a hope of conveying it all to you. I'm not even going to try. What I will do, though, is to thank all of you for so kindly unpacking and packing while you were here: it was a terrific help and hugely appreciated.

I was delighted to learn that so many people had had a great holiday, completely unaffected by eruptions. We have, too: I had a truly wonderful time in New York and then we enjoyed a lovely family time in West Dorset. The old bike travelled many, puncture-free miles, and the old man on the back of it was very happy.

I will endeavour to relay any news from La Grand' Ferme as and when I receive, so keep on bloglogging and see what appears. Until then, I bid you all goodnight - and a very happy new term.