Oh the blessed relief. Delightful as they were - and ours actually was, double ear-rings notwithstanding - we all breathed a sigh when the final inspectoral vehicle disappeared into the distance late this afternoon. From all accounts we seem to have come out of the experience very well, so a bucket-load of thanks are due to Mr Sparrow, our very own director of boarding (I bet you didn't know that!), for guiding us through the political maze! If I hear any more, I'll let you know. Well, the good bits, anyway.

It was hot choc night tonight, as it's Wednesday, and our hot chocolate policy was operational. Ho ho. No, we don't really have one, although I bet it's only a matter of time before we're required to do so .... !

There was a bit of an issue about whether the majority wanted to watch 'Jimmy's Food Factory' or The Match, so in the end the football fanatics found themselves sitting in our private sitting room (just off the big room that you pass when you return your offspring), watching Rangers do very little and Manchester United do little more. They were very appreciative.

I told them the (true) story of my having applied for the post of manager of Southampton some years ago. Despite the fact that I know as much about football as Elton John, I really have always thought that managing a football club must be rather fun. I received a very pleasant reply, in which the Chairman (Chair?) opined that a rookie manager was perhaps not what the club was looking for at that time. Oh well, at least I tried.

No matter, all of that went out of the window tonight when one of your lovely sons, on hearing that little anecdote, got out of his comfy chair, walked over to me and said,

'Sir, you should be the England manager: you couldn't be worse than ............ ............... ."

All these retirement possibilties ... !

Goodnight, all - and especially to our Follower in Georgia.