It's all a pretence, you know. Muesli, I mean. There I was, first thing this morning, having ushered the LMs out of the door, pouring out the nutty mix of whatever's in our favourite brand - or rather I would have been, if there'd been more than a single cashew nut on the floor of the box. (I have to be careful, (a) not to mention a brand name, and (b) because the originator of the aformentioned cereal was, until recently, one of our neighbours in our other life.) I reached for our emergency pack, which claims to be a luxury item from a store not so far away from where I type. I'm blowed if I could spot the difference. Still, not to worry: they're both very agreeable mueslis.

I held a lodge meeting tonight, in which I spoke about growing up and personal hygiene. All the usual stuff: how the male body changes, how we all want to live in a fragrant lodge, how we should use soap as well as water in the shower - and, like the best cabin crew members, I informed the residents about the location of the Newtonian shower units. They were very receptive, you'll be glad to hear - and the only thing I need to add here is that spray deodorants are not permitted here. I've initiated the term 'PSFAs', or 'proper showers for all'.

As for tonight's chocolate intake, that took the form of Penguins. You can imagine, can you not, the stream of biscuit-wrapper jokes that are imprinted on every one! I endeavoured to give appropriately glacial looks to each, but failed, miserably. Mrs C was standing, in a manner akin to the fruit-parfait girls of the Empire cinemas of yesteryear, doling out the biscuits, which seemed to be as crumby as the jokes thereon, and, when her gaze was averted, I attempted to reach into the box. No chance. I was told, pretty directly, that 'they are all counted out by Mrs Hannah, you know', so that, dear Followers, was (almost) that. But I know that there are three left downstairs in our kitchen ..........

Incidentally, the mention of breakfast earlier reminded me that I learnt tonight that one of you de-shells boiled eggs for your ever-loving at the table. I bet you don't really. (50% of what I hear ..... !)