My friends, I have just consumed the perfect Chinese meal. As take-aways go, Xi'an does the best - and if you haven't availed yourself of that establishment's fare, may I suggest that you do so without delay? And I'm not just saying that because the proprietor is a friend of mine. I should point out that such feasting is a propos of our youngest daughter getting to her first exeat without let or hindrance (other than a couple of members of staff spotting her and a few mates outside the local pub), and our dear son departing tomorrow, to begin his four-year course in Japanese at SOAS, London Uni. It seems only yesterday that he was starting at SF.

Talking of such things, dear Newtonian parents, let me tell you two things. The first you'll have to trust me about, and that is that when your dear offspring are of a similar age to ours, you'll wonder what the heck you were worrying about when prep school 'issues' manifested themselves. Believe me, the concerns don't get any less, and just because Jimmy gets a 2 in Latin this time around, it really isn't a cause for sleepless nights and a phone call to DJCF in the morning. As I say, just trust me on that one.

The second thing is this. When your sons and heirs - and heiresses, of course - get to their teens and beyond, you'll no doubt have conversations like this:

Parent: So, you've finished all the bread, and there's no milk left.
Offspring: Yeah.
Parent: Well one of you can go over to Tesco's and get some more bread and milk before they close (at 11pm.)
Offspring: Yeah.
Parent: No, I mean it.
Offfspring: Yes, all RIGHT!

The following morning, several hours before the emergence of said offspring, you will go to the fridge and the bread board and discover, surprise, surprise, that there is neither milk nor bread of any kind. Thus, one of you (fathers please note) will 'volunteer', with huge enthusiasm, to go and replenish supplies. Which, dear Followers, I did - at 7am this very morn.

I returned, just a little after 7.10am, to discover that Mrs C was doing my job for me, and waking the residents. I strolled casually into Osprey.

"Well, sir, did they have any milk?" was my pre-prandial rejoinder.

"Yes thank you, O****", I replied, and continued on my way.

Going down to the Clubhouse, I sat with my normal cup of coffee, watching the BBC News. Into the room came G*****, full of pride, because, as he put it, he had achieved his 'PB' as far as getting down in good time was concerned. I must confess that we've never had 'personal bests' as far getting down punctually is concerned before!

And so to the declension of deus. Well, you see, it was like this. I said that if one was a god, in Roman times, then one could determine for oneself how one's declension declined, if you see what I mean. Thus, you see, one could arrange, subject to the approval of Jupiter, to have a completely irregular plural, if one so wished. And as far as the Genitive plural was concerned, you could do what the heck you liked. And they did.

This was regarded as being reasonably acceptable to most of the set, but one member did suggest (his words, not mine) that 'presumably the goddesses weren't so touchy about things like that'. Of course not.

I have the first hard copy of this year's magazine, by the way. And as the editor, I think that's fair enough, don't you?

Until tomorrow. Goodnight.