There's hardly anyone here tonight, but that hasn't pevented us from having a very pleasant evening. 'Mission Impossible' provided cinematic entertainment, and sweet rations did everything else. And while all the residents enjoyed the film, Mrs C and I once again fantasised about our future in the geriatric home (something that draws ever nearer) and watched our favourite soap, namely (and look, I still can't type it) Casualty. YAY! I spely it correctly! No, I really did - and I really did get spely - sorry spelt - wrong. I'll have another go. Casulaty. Oh goodness. Once more. Casulaty. That's more like it. I'm not making this up, you know.

I have to tell you, dear Followers, that I was not flavour du mois just before the film started. I had put it on, you see, and decided that the volume was a tad minimalist. I therefore increased same, and left the Clubhouse. Next thing I know is that Mrs C is giving the residents a right royal - better not use le mot juste - telling off because 'someone has turned the volume up to an unacceptable level'. I stood behind my dear wife, catching the accusatory gazes of my charges, and, of course, being possessed of the integrity that my station in life demands, confessed that the fault was mine. Quickly, seeing the stifled giggles that were in plentiful abundance, I extinguished the lights and ushered Mrs C towards our quarters, advising her that Casulaty was about to start.

I was flattered to learn that such is my verbal badinage that one of my Followers has been deceived into believing that I must be something of an academic. Er, well, yes, 'tis true that the pinnacle of my academic career to date is to have been awarded a research fellowship from one of the world's finest unis, but it is in enthnomusicology - and I've just spent the last two minutes trying to type that correctly - and when it comes to mathematics, well, it's also true that I am a qualified teacher of same. But I suspect that my marker was in his cups when giving me a licence to train the young in anything that exceeded the two times table, or, like my public school HM, when going through our end of year reports in the Lower Fifth, made the error of being one name ahead of himself. Beginning his congratulatory remarks with the words 'Well, Clark, you seem to have had a most excellent term', my response of 'Er, I'm Cheater, sir', caused slightly less enthusiasm on his part, as I recall.

Oh, if only he could see me now.

Night night.