I know there are those of you who are eager to read tonight's blog entry, so here it is. And a happy new week to one and all.

So. I made a complete hash of Bach's 'Great' G major prelude at the beginning of the service, and, as our Director of Music said, ever the diplomat that he is, 'Do you ever find that you put down a piece that you're going to play and then discover that you can't. actually, play it?' He claimed he was referring to the brilliantly played E minor prelude that he offered as the exit voluntary, but, as he's been a friend of mine since long before SF days, I reckon I know what he meant. Anyway, if The Great happens to be one of your desert island discs, then please accept my apologies. And if you want to hear a really good performance of it, then that which is executed by the great, late, blind (!) Helmut Walcha is probably the best around. You can probably Youtube it, I expect. I have an old 45 rpm of it, which is truly excellent. I must get round to learning it properly. I did have a lesson on it from the current organist of York Minster, Philip Moore, once, but that was a long time ago. (The lesson I had from Dr Harry Gabb, who was the organist at the Coronation, was the most memorable, as I played the Bach Fantasia in G major as my 'model' piece, and I thought I played it rather well, but I was dismayed when, following my rather excessive finale, he quietly rose, and pointed to one single note that I'd held when I shouldn't have done! Honestly! One wrongly-timed note out of six billion ....! Still, it was a good lesson in how not to indulge in self-aggrandisement!)

Back at the ranch, I've found the two mini-mini cricket bats that Mrs C and I were given when we were guests at a friend's birthday party held at Lord's. I've charged one of our cricketing stars to come up with a plan for an inter-dorm cricket comp, and I've already been regaled with embryonic ideas. I'll keep you all enloooped about that.

It's amazing what pur boys notice, you know: having enjoyed a glass or two of decent vino in New Room, amidst excellent company, I went down to the drawing room to express my appreciation of such hospitality and my apologies that I couldn't stay for dinner, and wandered back to Newton Lodge.

"Sir, you're late," was the greeting I received.

I grovelled, of course, and I think I got away with it.

Goodnight.