Another lovely evening, with a major day of cricket against our good friends and rivals, Cothill. We seem to have had the upper hand almost across the board, but not entirely - and my P45 will probably in my staff room locker on Monday. So if I'm not around next week, you'll know that my cricket coaching career has terminated. (Although for a Colts C team to score 104 runs is a pretty good achievement, imho.) I used to think that the best egg sandwiches were to be found on the Cothill match tea tables: not any more, as ours are terrific. (I had more than was good for me, of course.)

Quite a number of viewing options tonight: a few of us watched the Colour being Trooped in our 'snug' (i you get my drift); others opted to watch 'Mr Gadget' in the clubhouse, while a few die-hards chose to follow you-know-what in Curlew. And those who didn't want to get square eyes (as we children of the 60s were for ever being told) enjoyed playing ping-pong outside - until the ball went sailing through Miss Chloe's window. (She was on the train back from Bath, so her absence rendered any further pings or pongs null and void.)

Sunday tomorrow - and gusess what? I'm the morning duty master until 1.15.

Yippee.