My Friends, NFN is now Twitterable! Just set whatever receiver you may have to the following link:

http://twitter.com/Newtoniannews

and you can receive pithy one-liners, requests for 'phone calls, new trousers, sudden re-arrangements of anything, etc., etc.

As always, no surnames will be mentioned, but if it's OK with you, Twitter messages might use the nomenclature 'Alex C', or 'Harry W'. (Neither of which we currently have, btw.)

Greetings from a blustery West Dorset. I hope all is going well in the various parts of the globe, and I note to my delight that this now includes China and North Korea, so greetings all.

Yesterday, I spent the morning in our local market town. I won't say which one, as we are equidistant between each. (I suppose one couldn't really be otherwise.) As I walked around the place, I had a terrifying out-of-body experience, as glimpses of the future projected themselves on to my increasingly anxious retinae. What, I wondered for a start, is this thing with trainers, as I gazed upon those of every vintage desirous of sporting unsuitable sportswear? At nearly 60, I cannot for the life of me imagine wearing trainers when I (rarely) shop. I would rather swim with alligators than walk into WH Smith with Adidas covering my metatarsals. And, considering it was market-day (i.e.: there was nowhere to park), why on earth did everyone look so flipping miserable? I found myself engulfed in a sea of misery, with everyone moaning about their various health 'issues', or the price of fish. Actually, talking of fish, that was one highlight: the local fishmonger does make a wonderful smoked mackerel pate.

They say that our local market town is earning itself a sobriquet of 'A certain part of London'-on-Sea. It's full of bistros and wine cafes, say the various journalists, a thriving hub of society, full of thrusting youngsters in their (t)rusty chick-magnets. Er, not from where I was sitting it wasn't. True, I'd just bought myself a cappucino, which had been proferred with very bad grace, once the little lady serving me had understood what I meant by the term, and when I told her that I intended to take it on to the square (which has yet to be re-named the plaza), I was given it in a not wholly spotless mug. I mean, honestly: cappucino - in a mug?? Where was the fun in that? How could I possibly burn my lip on something that wasn't made of cardboard and didn't have a tiny li-wrecking aperture at the top of it? And a handle? It was like drinking a pint of best from a handle-less glass in the saloon bar. I sat on one of the surprisingly empty benches, with my purchases, namely a digital radio (which was a bit extravagant, I know, but our bedroom radio has been with us since 1982, so I thought the outlay was justified), Elton John's new CD, 'The Union' (which needs to be listened to twice before it can be fully appreciated - i.e.: I thought it was rubbish when I put it on the first time and this morning it's actually pretty good) and Duncan Bannatyne's autobiography. (Because if this blog doesn't make me a few squid when it's published I shall need other ideas.)

I soon realised why the benches were empty There, sitting beside a young lady who was not wholly uneasy on the eye was a young gentleman, doing his best, not to entice her into his own babe-magnet, but into the ways of spirituality. The young lady was remarkably patient, I thought, but after about 15 minutes, she'd had enough - and so had I. Another trainer-bedecked gentleman of advancing years walked past.

I have a confession to make. I do not only have a motorcycle. I have a scooter, too. I suppose that must make me a Mocker - or something. I've had it since it was new in 2006, and it brings back memories of the Vespa and the Lambretta I owned (together) when I was a student. So that's where I'm going now. Once I've put on my parka jacket and leather gloves, loaded up the box with projectiles and a couple of corned beef sandwiches, I'll be on the road.

Oh, the memories.

Nearly there! Already! Wherever have those weeks gone - and have we all achieved as much as we should? Oh dear, such worries, such consternation! Still, no matter: we've now got ten days in which to do whatever we want, whether, like me, you'll be walking, reading, motorcycling (as long as isn't TOO cold), playing the piano, listening to music, clearing those leaves in the garden, skyping the offspring, sampling the fruits of the vine, along with the produce of the local artisans, or jetting off to warmer climes - oh, the joys are endless, and for us, West Dorset is beckoning with its much-loved clarion call.

My dear colleague Mr Porter has been on duty tonight, so there has been good order throughout the evening, with no problems and plenty of fun. Fun. Yes, that's what lodge life should consist of. Good order, of course, and all the usual requirements of family life, but fun, too, and plenty of it. I was talking with Mrs C on Tuesday, and we both agreed that your LMs are extensions of our own family, in a way that I'm sure you'll understand, and we love it when they feel that they can wander into our kitchen and worship the dog, or chat to the cat, or talk to us or our own young freely.

I'd better go. One of our residents has to catch a 'plane early tomorrow morning, so he's in the room next door to where I'm thumping this out, and he probably wants to go to sleep. So, my dear Followers, whether you're in Rio, Romania, Russia, Rekyavik or, of course, you-know-where, thanks for reading, and have a wonderful Long Leave.

Goodnight.

Oh - my - goodness. (Or the equivalent of the young on Facebook.) I knew it. I knew, as soon as I mentioned it to the Head of Classics, that I would be shown up as the complete ignoramus that I am. I quote - or rather, I would, if my stupid computer would allow me to do so - Mr Bryan's expert counsel on the use of the gerund versus the gerundive. I will endeavour to add it to this post if my irritating facilitator will allow me to do so.

Ce soir je suis tres fier de mes Newtoniens. And I wrote that because, notwithstanding the strikes going on in France a ce moment our top scorer today hails from that excellent country, and there was much celebration as a result. Une demie trimestre, comme j'ai dit. I made a very rash promise tonight, that, in view of the fact that the Newton record of goals in one day, when all teams were playing, is 16, if we ever manage 17 there will be a sweet ration all round. You can imagine, no doubt, the enthusiasm and alacrity with which that was received .... !

It's been a great day. Mr Fradgley, our splendid new-ish recruit, achieved fully qualified status today - and, as you can imagine, this caused considerable celebration. (At his place - and his expense.) We're thrilled, and we couldn't wish for a better colleague. The fact that he can now enter the staff room without being a guest of the Director of Studies is tremendous. (Joke.) (But not much of one.)

Oh, I'm SO frustrated at my inability to incorporate Mr Bryan's explanation of the gerund! I've tried everything, copying and pasting to all conceivable places, but without success.

So I must welcome our new Follower from Singapore, instead. Welcome, my friend, whoever you are, and I hope you will be happy here. (I promise not to mention Richmond in this post.) It was good to see that you had come to see what we get up to. Incidentally, I had a nice Facebook message from our Follower in Uganda - and learnt to my (our) delight that she is expecting a baby!

I have a wager with a Newtonian that Wayne Rooney won't leave Man U. I think I'm going to lose.

And on that note .......

I wish you an appropriate and topical 'Bonne nuit'.

Good whatever it is, wherever you are - and thank you for tuning in once again, especially our new Follower in Slovenia! (Madam/sir, should you ever be in the UK, may I suggest that you make for Richmond? A fine place on the outskirts of our capital city.)

My info feed is telling me that 'image uploads will be disabled for two hours', which is not a problem to me, as I never post any images. I have to say, though, that if I did, you'd raise a happy smile when you saw an image of your LMs all congregated in the laundry, on their knees, not because they'd joined some bizarre religious cult (actually, it wouldn't be all that bizarre, I suppose, if they were on their knees), but as a result of their cleaning their shoes. (I can never remember whether that's a gerund or a gerundive. I know it's a verbal substantive, but I've always had a problem with that. Oh well, I'm sure someone will tell me. Like Mr Bryan.) Another two images would be of 'boy adoring dog' and another would be of 'two boys in happy mood'. And if you want to see those images, I shall be happy to show you when you next visit Newton.

Mrs C and I have enjoyed a very happy half day today, with a delightful luncheon party chez la grand'mere d'un ex-Newtonien, qui cuit les cookies les mieux du monde and offers her guests a menu of distinction, along with delightful company. On return, we took Isla out for a walk - and got utterly soaked in the process. A fine trio we looked, Mrs C, Isla and I, sheltering under a fir tree. Still, it could have been worse, and we returned to settle down to a 'nice' cup of tea (have you ever had a 'horrid' one?) and a rather boring edition of that celebrated television programme for those of advanced years, 'Escape to the Country'. I then did more piano practice than I usually do, and, following convos on the phone with friends who follow these jocular jottings, we continued to idle our time away by getting engrossed in our weekly indulgence, namely 'Holby', which, with the arrival of the new Director of Surgery, Mr Hansen, looks as if it's going to change a little. Yes, I know, I know: I should be ploughing my way through educational tomes in the Bodleian rather than goggling at tripe on the telly - but I'm not as intellectual as Mr Hannah. (Bang goes another invitation to one of his college dinners. Not that I'm jealous or anything, Dr Dean.)

So, yes: the splendid Mr Bryan, who has no difficulty whatsoever in distinguishing his substantives from his particles, has been on duty - and, from what we couldn't hear, it sounds as if all has gone very well. As always.

Goodnight, one and all.

Shalom, bon soir, guten abend, good evening, skol (probably), salvete and dobry wotsit to one and all around the globe, whether you're in Romania, Richmond or Rajistan.

It'e been a fun evening here tonight, with shoe-cleaning and the ensuing competition for the shiniest of them all and three runners-up; fruit a-plenty; Digestives and jammy dodgers for the taking (which I did, and, by negotiating with Miss Chloe that she wouldn't sneak on me to You-Know-Who, got away with); helicopter-flying - yes, you did read that aright; and then, for the last ten minutes of downstairs time before silent reading, bopping in the clubhouse. And yes, you read that aright, too. Someone, you see, turned on the state-of-the-ark hi-fi centre, and the handful of rezzies that were there at the time (with your correspondent being one of them), decided that the volume was a tad minimal, so 'someone' (OK, me) pumped it up a bit (lot) and we enjoyed letting our hair down. As you can imagine, such enthusiasm was short-lived, and a diplomatic fade-out was necessary as we saw the Newton matriarch striding purposefully towards our place of reckless living. As those who had been party to the party, as it were, made for their dorms, following my gentle call to silent reading, a request was made to me that such anarchic enjoyment should become a nightly feature of Newtonian life for the last ten minutes of 'down' time, prior to 'up' time. I think not. One - that is I - can only get away with that sort of thing once - or possibly twice.

Did you not think Downton Abbey was good last night? Although there was one expression that Her Ladyship uttered that I thought was a bit anachronistic, and a trifle trendy, although now I try to remember it, I can't. And apparently, in one scene, although I didn't see it, double yellow lines on the road made a fleeting appearance. Still, such errata are but mere nothings in an otherwise exceptional drama.

That's it, then, for another night. Goodnight, one and all.

If Tom C were here, he would no doubt be able to tell me, four weeks into his Japanese course at London Uni (versity) (I only put that because Tom reads this blog from time to time and he hates the sobriquet 'uni'), what salutation I should use in that fine and ancient language for this time of day. Sadly, he isn't, so he can't - but I did have a very enjoyable Skype convo (ersation) (no, not convoersation, that would be silly) earlier. (What a lot of paretheses.) (I'm always amused by the page in Eton's calendar, which, of course, they wouldn't refer to as such a chavvy name as 'calendar', preferring, of course, the more idiosyncratic and refined 'Fixtures', that shows 'Masters' initials and of others in parentheses. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to be an Eton beak in paretheses, as I'm sure it would be most interesting.) Enough of all that, for I have a serious point to make in a moment. For now, though, my warm greetings to our readers in Richmond, who tell me that all this talk of welcoming people from Outer Mongolia, or anywhere ending in -istan, etc. makes them feel rather left out. There is an inclusivity policy on this blog, so everyone must feel as welcome as anyone else.

To serious matters, for a moment. Tonight I had occasion to upbraid a dorm as a result of an incident that could only be described as bullying. I have assured all of the Newton residents that they have nothing to fear if they feel they are being bullied, and that they should inform me, Mrs C, their tutor, or any member of staff with whom they feel comfortable, immediately. They should never keep it to themselves. On the other hand, I have advised anyone who is involved in bullying that such behaviour will be reported to the highest authorities, as well as their parents. The silence, after I had delivered this advice, was deafening. I wasn't angry; but I was firm - and I think they got the message.

I had a lovely chat with one of my ex-tutees earlier this evening: he's now at Radley, and was absolutely charming. And I'm not just writing that because his parents are NFN Followers, either. That was an added bonus, of course, to the fact that a former Mayfieldian, from preblogistoric times, came back to see Mrs C and me, complete with girl friend, for tea. We meandered down Memory Lane, inevitably, and I learnt all kinds of things ..... ! I do like it when my former pupils make a return visit, as I do when I receive e-mails from them - and I've had several already this term, all telling me of early achievements and successes.

Time for Downton Abbey, methinks. Truly uplifting drama, imho.

Goodnight

And here we are again. Time really does go very quickly, does it not? Only a few years ago - golly, it has been a long day! - I mean, of course, hours, I was promising to bid our new Follower from Poland a fond 'Good evening', and I bet there were some of you who thought I'd forget. Ha! Oh ye of little faith. A quick visit to Google Translate and I'm able, without let or hindrance, to do exactly that. So, my friend, 'Dobry wieczov' - with apologies for the missing accent over the o.

As for tonight, well, it's been a fairly quiet evening, following a very good debate entitled 'This house believes that a president would be more effective than a monarch', wherein many fine speeches were made, both by the official speakers and those who chose to speak from the floor. Not sure what, as Dr Dean described him, 'the one person who's had more experience of speaking from within a chamber than the rest of us' made of it, but to judge from the occasional cry of 'Excellent!' and the odd guffaw from behind me, it seemed to have gone down pretty well. (As he's a regular reader of these nightly offerings I have to be diplomatic, you see, otherwise my time might be up sooner rather than later.)

The good old shower deception tricks are in full swing again, though tonight I came across a development of the old ones, with the discovery of a flannel being wettened and pulled across the hair, face and upper torso. Nice try, but they do tend to forget that Mrs C and I have been at this game since 1994, so we've seen almost all of it before. One step ahead ...... !

Two of our residents appeared on our stairs, which happen, for reasons historical, to be in the kitchen, and stood on same, asking of me whether I might avail them of their rightful sweet rations. They looked for all the world like characters from 'The Sound of Music', but I elected to forego the utter delight that would no doubt have been provided if they chosen to sing for their sweets.

That'll do for tonight. I'll see some of you tomorrow. But probably not those of you from far-flung parts of the blogosphere.

Wherever you are, I hope all is well.

Goodnight.

Good evening, my friends - and the warmest of welcomes to the new Followers that my stats tell me we have, from Israel, no less, and from Poland! How very nice to welcome you, and thank you for reading. With all these pageviews from around the world, I'm beginning to think that our new HM was right when he informed some prospective parents recently that the Newton Blog had become a cult! I find it fascinating to see who's been reading my nocturnal ramblings - and even when! (If I'm feeling particularly sad I can always log on to NFN and then click on the stats tab and see it telling me that I'm reading it ..... Actually, of course, I'm not, at that stage, because obviously I'm reading the stats page.) Anyway, Shalom, sir or madam in Israel, but I'm afraid I don't know the Polish greeting - although if you're still with us tomorrow I promise I'll look it up on Google Translate and incorporate it in tomorrow's post. Although having experienced the, er, 'wisdom' of GT in the past, goodness alone knows what I shall actually be writing, so apologies in advance for that.)

It's been a very calm evening here tonight. Not much of any great import has happened, other than the normal Friday night jollities, such a Jammy Dodgers and Rich Teas, although there was a bot of incident concerning the number of each to which residents were entitled. Two of one and one of the other seemed to be the order of the night, so when one of our number arrived in the clubhouse with two of each, there was a 'discussion' about it. I suggested that we didn't really need to get too worked up about one biscuit, whereupon another resident opined that it wasn't 'one' biscuit that was causing the problem, it was 'three'. I countered this clever move by retorting that if the recipient of said biscuits was entitled to three in the first place, and was apprehended with one more, then it was, in fact, one biscuit and not three that was causing the consternation. Crumbs! You have to be so careful here, you know! Anyway, it was all resolved amicably.

As for entertainment, well, that's been limited to a woolly dog with a laughing box inside, that sounds as if it's having total hysterics. Even old Grumpychops himself had to laugh .... ! In fact, the sound was actually quite musical in its way. Bach, perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

Goodnight, all - wherever in the world you may be.

Dorm raids and young bloggers: that's what I'd put in the subject line tonight. Dorm raids, because the one that was planned was intercepted by Mrs C, who just happened to overhear the logistics being discussed, and soon launched her own ICBM, which, as well as extinguishing the fire of youthful enthusiasm, took out a number of the key figures as well. As you can imagine, there was considerable (un)diplomatic fall-out, but as the politburo that run this place have a zero-tolerance approach to dorm-raiding, if a member of the resistance is found lurking with that deadliest of weapons (a pillow) in his hands, he can expect the worst. Peace broke out soon after that, I'm pleased to report.

And young bloggers feature due to the fact that Channel 4 News is running a 'Young Blogger of the Year' competition. I thought, for a nano-second, of entering, but then dispelled any such fanciful ideas rather quickly. I wonder why.

Chapel was remarkable this morning. I always lead the service on Thursdays, and, after I'd had my usual rant at the non-appearing lesson reader and substituted the one advertised on Mr Lapwood's sheet with a volunteer, we settled down and enjoyed the tranquillity of our place of worship. The lesson was part of Psalm 40, which, as I'm sure you know, goes on about being rescued from the mirey pit. Of course, in my opening homily I spoke about the Chilean success story, so you'd imagine that the lesson I had chosen was particularly apposite, would you not?

Except that I didn't choose it. The lesson readings were planned by Mr Lapwood - two days before the beginning of term.

Goodnight.

Good evening, my Followers, and I hope you've all had a really good day. Especial greetings to anyone who isn't actually a Newton parent, and welcome aboard!

It's been a fairly high-spririted evening tonight: there's been a good deal of success on the games field, and so everyone's fairly jubilant .... ! I must admit that it's quite easy to be swept along on the tide of euphoria, and I'm just as much as culprit as your LMs are!

'Er, what are you doing in X's bed, then?' I asked, innocently.

'Um, getting my book back,' was the instant response.

'Ha! That's what you say!' said a voice from an upper bunk.

'And you are where, exactly?', enquired the lodgemeister.

Collapse of stout party, as voice came from an upper bunk, who also claimed to be 'looking for a book!

Honestly, sometimes I think our rezzies think I was born the day before yesterday. As you know from last night's post, I wasn't. It reminds me of being on duty, as I was today, and walking into a form room, asking the person at the computer whether he's, um, 'checking his emails ....' Oh how I love euphemisms.

I was invited to engage in a staring-one-another-out competition tonight. Now, I think I'm pretty good at that, and indeed all went well for the most part - until one of our more athletic residents asked to have 'anothe go'! Oh my, he's good! (Not quite good enough, though.)

Jusqu'a demain.

Goodnight.

So this is what it feels like to be 59, then. Actually, not bad at all. And a call from my 91-year-old mama made me feel a whole lot better.



It's been a quiet, but thoroughly enjoyable day: lunch a deux (sorry, still can't do accents on this blog), a very long walk through the Oxfordshire countryside with Diana and the dog, and then back to a spot of lawn-mowing, which I always find rather therapeutic. Being of advanced years now, we've taken to pouring ourselves a 'nice' cup of tea and settling down to watch 'Escape to the Country', when we can, so that was nice. No, we didn't, in fact, put a rug over our knees.



Thank you, though, for all your kind wishes: much appreciated. Can't wait for next year: that should be some bash. (d.v.)



Your LMs all looked the part this morning, as a number of them prepared to make their way to Eton. They were all extremely up-beat, and all, as far as I can gather, were looking forward to the experience. They were to be transported headmagisterially, and also ex-tutorially, with the overflow travelling in the brand new Audi belonging to my former tutee, Mr Edwards. We've seen them tonight, and they remain in good spirits, all having had a good time.



Mr Bryan and Miss Chloe were kindly duteous this evening, and all seems to have gone well. We were all sitting round the kitchen table, enjoying a celebratory glass of Lanson, and I have to admit that my deputy lodgemeister was taken aback to note that LMs suddenly appeared! As they do.



'Er, I seem to have fallen over', was the first plaintive cry from the kitchen door, which necessitated a bit of TLC and little more, followed by 'What's the password for the upstairs common room computer?', from a voice from the top of our stairs. We waited for the third to herald us, but nothing was forthcoming.



Holby was good tonight - or at least, it would have been, if Sky Super Extra Incredible Never Let You Down, or whatever its moniker is, hadn't crashed half way through! Oh well, at least there's i-Player.

'twas shoe-cleaning night in Newton tonight, and, consequentially, there was a rather fine line of 24 pairs of shoes lining the downstairs corridor! First prize went to one of our Russian residents (and as there's only one of those it's not difficult to work out who that was: I can't tell you, though, as I have a policy of not mentioning any names in this corner of cyberspace.) We then decided that we'd award lesser edible prizes to six runners-up, and all of the winners were worthy, we felt.

Greetings, by the way, to our new Follower, currently (but not permanently) in Hong Kong! That means, my people, that there are now blogloggers in the UK, Cyprus, the Cayman Islands, USA, France, Uganda, Hong Kong, Japan, the Netherlands, Brazil, Russia, Malta and Romania! Good whatever it is wherever you are, and thank you for tuning in ... ! Amazing things, these blog stats, do you know I even have a map of the world with the countries where NFN is read shaded in green? Remarkable.

You might be entertained (a little) by a comment that was made to Mrs C last night, after the service, in which, as you know, I praught.

'Oh, my, it must be so interesting, living with a husband like yours' !!!

Ever dutiful and loyal, my dearest - indeed my only - wife nodded in agreement. Yes, indeed it must, especially when it comes to logistics and organisation, those great skills that I possess in minus figures.

Well, that's it for another night: I'm 59 tomorrow, so I need to ensure that I'm prepared for another milestone in the inexorable journey towards eternity .....

Goodnight

Good evening from a Spiderman-obsessed Newton. And after a sermon about the difference between faith and fantasy, that's been very interesting. So I worked on the 'if you can't beat them, join them' principle, and made myself comfortable among the resident, placing myself on the floor and trying, with reasonable success, to convince those watching the antics of the aforementioned, that it was, in fact, I who was swinging from roof to roof, running along the tops of trains and rescuing damsels in distress in New York.

They've been lovely tonight. Appreciative, generous, kind. You should be proud of them Not a foot wrong, and it's been a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I succeeded in getting a response from my congregation tonight, and the first comment I received was from a scholarship candidate-elect, who told me, frankly, that he didn't think that there was a choice to be made between faith and fantasy. I told him, in return, that I wasn't suggesting that he needed to make such a choice, but that if he wanted to, the option was there. I don't doubt that there'll be a bit of cyberspatial correspondence flying around tomorrow .... !

I loved the compliment from one resident of 'Sir, you did a really good preach'! Well, if I did, I'm glad. I'll be in for 'a bit of a teach' tomorrow.

All is well.

Goodnight.

Good evening, my friends, from a happy and peaceful Newton - and a warm welcome to our new friends in Brazil, whom, I see from my 'stats', have joined us. Ah, Brazil. How I remember it well. 1979, it was, and I was a private tutor in Rio. If you look through the posts of last year, you will see a reference to that wonderful time, and to a time last year when a yummy 5th year mummy came up to me at the leavers' do, and greeted me with 'You know A**** I*****, don't you!'

Er, well, yes, I did, and was amazed that this particular chapter from my bachelor days (he says, quickly) should be resurrected. As you can imagine, feeling like the playboy that he isn't, to put it in the vernacular, he felt 'well pleased'. Such smug satisfaction was short-lived, though, when the Y.M. in question went on to say 'Yes, she's a great friend of my mother.'

Anyway, I'm now a very happily married man, and I have been for 30 years on September 5th next year, so that's enough detail from the past. (If I'm feeling brave, I'll tell you one other story in due course, but you'd better promise now that you'll keep it to yourselves.)

'What's the loudest you've ever shouted in Newton, then, sir?' asked a resident tonight. I declined the invitation to give an action replay, so, with a 'Probably not as loud as your father' response, we moved on.

They're all watching 'A Night at the Museum' at the moment, and sweet rations in the form of fruit pastilles have ensured peace, perfect peace. Mrs C and I are about to watch Caulsaty (oh dear, that was the worst ever), and then we'll all go to bed.

And that, I think, is enough of that.

Goodnight.

Sorry, my dear Followers, but as you will have noticed, unless you were engaged in interplanetary travel, there was no post last night.

I should explain immediately that this was in no way due to my tardiness, but rather to the fact that Dr Dean had invited me to his place to assist him with the consumption of a particularly fine bouteille de vin and some utterly wonderful cheeses. So I left Mr Porter to steer the ship and disappeared down the road.

As is the way when one is foolish enough to imagine that one is on a similar plane to those whose intellect you will have observed in your travels last night if you were one of those engaged in the sort of journey to which I referred in my salutation, what with regular replenishments in one's glass, fine cheeses and deliberations which incorporated a lively discussion about the difference between religion and theology, the works of Cardinal Newman and several other historical and literary figures, various works from the choral reportoire of the cathedral and, inevitably, the leavening of all of that with snippets of SF gossip, by the time I'd meandered back to Newton before my uxorial pass had expired, witty banter on the Newton blog was as likely to be forthcoming as a hay feast with hay. And in any case, my brain hurt. (From erudite discussion, you understand.)

This morning brought me back to Earth with a bump (a rather topical metaphor, as it happens) as it was mega-laundry day. Sheets, pillowcases, duvet covers and pyjamas. And do you know what? I have at long last worked out why Miss Chloe puts out only three receptacles for four items. Mothers will, of course, have worked it out before I'd even written it, but fathers might have more of an issue solving that one. OK, OK, yes, you're very clever.

Time to go. Thank you for reading, and renewed apologies for last night's lapse.

Incidentally, I see from the stats that we have new Followers in the Netherlands! Welcome, my friends, nice to have you with us.

Oh, ha flipping ha. We had our Harvest lunch today, to which we invited the residents of the local homes for the elderly. A very good 'do', what with a glass of wine in New Room beforehand and then a first-rate roast lunch, prepared by our excellent new catering company. As 'community co-ordinator', or whatever I am, it fell to me to act as the maitre d' and to ensure that all of our guests were looked after royally, which I think they were. They certainly seemed to like it all. The boys who were asked to sit by them and chat were amazing, and some even got off their chairs and took the plates to the kitchen!

Anyway, to return to my intro. Once I was satisfied that everyone had been served, I collected my own lunch and sat at the head of one of the tables, between two people who were both aged 89. The boys, of course, couldn't resist it. Before I had a chance to send them away, they were beside me, enquiring as to whether I was all right, whether I wanted any second helpings, whether I wanted my meat cut up, or whether I wanted to go to ....... - you get my drift. I assured them that I was not actually one of the guests - yet - and that I was perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you very much. And anyway, Mr Hannah, who's older than me, was there, too. I told them to go and see him.

Tonight in Newton it's been a spirited evening: fruit, Digestives (yes, they're still here), orange/apple juice, and mini-chocs for those who managed to put their laundry to the wash in time all made for a convivial time. Wednesday nights are TV nights, so The Simpsons made an appearance, much to the delight of many, and computer excitement was available for those who find equal delight in such an activity.

And now they're reading silently as I tap this post out to the world. Not for many more seconds , though, as I'm about to turn their lights out and say good night.

So, good night.

It's all quiet here. Mrs C and I have just had our weekly medical fix - 'Holby City', I mean, lest any of you should be getting concerned. Oh get real: at our age .... ? after a thoroughly enjoyable half day. The Admirable Mr Bryan has been steering the good ship Newton through relatively calm seas and, other than a few thumps and bangs from above, no doubt as a result of considerable exuberance at the computer console rather than anything else, it's been a very peaceful evening. At least, that is, until he informs me of any major catastrophes when he sees me tomorrow morning.

Talking of things going bump in the night, we heard 'goings-on' going on in Curlew last night. Being the conscientious lodgeparents we are (yes, honestly; don't believe everything you hear) Mrs C went to investigate. There, in the corner of the room, was a group of residents, adulating the dog. Two of them had replaced their duvets on the floor, presumably to make room for Isla to enjoy a good night's sleep on a bed other than her own. The various parties were dispatched to their respective nocturnal habitats and that, dear Followers, was the end of that little escapade.

Greetings, by the way, to new blogfellows deep in a little hamlet in south-west France, where, according to that wonderful cyberspatial medium known as Skype, it's been sunny and glorious all day.

As for stat news, well, today this corner of cyberspace has attracted no less than 30 'pageviews', and I think I mentioned before that we have a follower in Vietnam! Greetings to you, sir/madam. And, of course, renewed greetings to our Ugandan connection, who I see from my stats info has continued to be a supportive Follower.

So yes, there we are, then. Difficult to report on a Newtonian evening of which neither Mrs C nor I have been a part, but good of you to read this far. And on that note, I will bid you a peaceful goodnight.

I don't know if you've ever noticed, but one of the posters along the bottom corridor of Newton shows Picasso's 'Woman in a Blue Hat'. She looks a bit surreal, as I'm sure you'll know anyway, without having to visit the lodge to re-acquaint yourself with that particular opus, and she was in good company tonight, it being shoe-cleaning night.

Various examples of the surreal manifested themselves, from covering a hand in a sock in order to buff up the shoe in the other hand, to an attempt by one resident to use his hair as a buffer-up facility. (He was advised to cease this rather bizarre method.) A number of others decided on more conventional ways of shoe-shining, but even I, who am used to the unusual, was somewhat taken aback when another resident arrived in the laundry (for it was there that tonight's fun and games were happening) and informed me that he could 'fit into his shelf'. He then endeavoured to clamber into his laundry shelf and prove that he could indeed accomplish that which he said he could. I'm beginning to wonder what psychological 'issues' are abroad, with my charges wanting to relocate to drawers and shelves .......

Enough of all that. Of much greater note is the success that four members of SF, but more importantly, members of Newton Lodge, were adjudged the top prep school in the St Edward's Academic Challenge today! The competition was stiff, as all of our major competitors were there, along with representatives from several other schools, and so we were all delighted and very proud when they returned with the joyous tidings! Perhaps that's what they get up to when they're hibernating: mugging up on things academic! Well, whatever they do, it certainly does the trick!

I hope you like the mag: I'm not displeased, I must admit, although you, my dear readers, must be the judges of whether it's any good or not. Suggestions welcome, by the way, seeing as next year's edition will be my last, and I can hide away in West Dorset once it's been published if the ideas are all too radical.

A good day. Until tomorrow, then, although Mr Bryan will be on duty, so the entry will only be - sorry, be only - minimal.

Bonne nuit.

Well, that went all to quickly, methinks. Still, Mrs C and I had a load of fun, as we went up to the Capital to visit our undergrad son, who's now fully installed and in-halled and thoroughly enjoying the cosmpolitan nature of his uni and those on the various course with whom he shares his digs. From there we went on to the theatre to see the brilliant and deeply moving 'War Horse', and if there are any of you who haven't yet seen it, well, you should. At the earliest opportunity.

Thence to West Dorset, where it rained rather a lot, but was no less pleasant for that, as the two of us, Darby and Joan-like, sipped tea and watched 'Escape to the Country' and other progs for the wrinklies like that, usually after I'd returned from a burn around the countryside on my Hardley-Davison. Mrs C provided some excellent repasts, and I managed to find some decent bouteilles to accompany them, and a good time was had by, well, us two. A couple of lengthy walks by the raging sea made for excellent battery-charging, and we now feel ready for the next segment of the term.

The residents all seemed in fine form tonight, and eager to tell us about their weekends. It all sounds like fun, so I'm glad things went well.

One entertaining moment to report. Mrs C proferred two sweet rations in my direction, instructing me to find their claimants. 'And who might they be?' I enquired. 'I think it's Jack Wills', she said. Well, in a manner of speaking, she was right, although the manner in which she was conversing was not, in fact, sartorial. (W.o.t.n.) Anyway, the two sweet-rationless refugees were very happy.

So here we go again, then. Wherever you are around the globe, I wish you a good evening, night, afternoon or morning.