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So here we are, then, on the eve of the end of a long, active and thoroughly enjoyable Michaelmas term, limping, as the HM put it in assembly this morning, across the finish line. We're squeezing the very last drops of adrenalin from our bodies, and, with luck, we'll make it to tomorrow.

Tonight in Newton we started packing this morning, over at school, with locker and form room tidying. Lunch was an interesting affair, more a sort of picnic in New Room, as the juniors were having their Christmas lunch in the dining room; then on to choir practice for some of us, followed by games, followed by 'serious' preparations for packing. Tonight we all left Newton at 6.53pm, as instructed on Mr Bishop's end of term timetable and made our way to the dining room for a first class Christmas dinner. Your boys did you proud, as they always do, and a jolly time was had by all.

Back here for the business of packing everything else into cases, and then a sad and emotional farewell to Miss Chloe, who's going back to Australia very soon, took place in the common room, and we told her - and showed her - just how much we had appreciated her being with us. Not every gapper matron always gets the right mix between being the matron of the lodge and the 'elder sister' figure, but Chloe certainly has done, and through the Newton blog, on your behalf if I may, I'd like to thank her for all she has done for the lodge.

Our final stop was someone's birthday, when we sang Happy Birthday and consumed a delicious cake between us - for which further thanks are due.

I hear that some of you are so worn out by reading these end of term posts that you are convinced that I'm 'on somethng'! Well, it's no more than Ventolin, Seretide (strong and not so strong, depending on the situation), Nurofen, Ibuprofen and Paracetamol - and whatever that particular cocktail of potions may do, it's worked, and I'm still going. Limping, but still going.

And so to the Carol Service. If I catch your eye from the organ loft, give me a discrete wave - or something. Thank you all so much for reading these jottings every night, and if I don't see you tomorrow, have a wonderful Christmas break - wherever you may be going.

Goonight, my friends.

Am I, I have to ask, standing on the very edge of superstardom? Such has been the enthusiasm with which my song of yesterday has been greeted that I am almost tenmpted to try and find a nice music agent who may, just possibly, think similarly. I know, I know; that sounds very egocentric, but if you'd played - and sung - something that received comments like,

'Sir, did you really write that?'

'Sir, please can I have a CD of that song?'

'Sir, I can't believe you wrote that: I'd put that on my Ipod straight away'

'Paul, I just love that melody: please can you do it again?'

wouldn't you?

I've honestly been amazed, because, when all's said and done, it's really just a song. Still, people seem to like it, so who knows?

And talking of songs, we had one of those 'let's get round the piano' evenings tonight, while the others have been at the league feast, and we've simply been enjoying a bit of music together. It culminated with the 'Silent Reading Song', about which, no doubt, your offspring will tell you all. There's talk of it going on to YouTube, as I do have a YT account, but we shall see about that .... !

Honestly, I can't believe that we've made up a silent reading song .... ! It must be very, very near the end of term.

Oh boy.

Goodnight.

My friends, we are still going. Adrenalin has kicked in big time, and after a day like today, it needed to.

The day started early enough, with choir practice after a very rushed breakfast, and then into a heavily-musically-laced School Eucharist in which the Rev Dr Canon Bunch (former parent) preached a most excellent (theological, thank the Lord - we get all too few of those) sermon on Mary.

Out of the Eucharist and on to secret preparations for the staff entertainment after the annual 'Bombers and Fighters': something that even those of us who've been here for ages don't understand, with its tails, bottle tops and corks; but suffice for me to say here that it's really a massive - and I mean massive - wide game. The boys are given all instructions in Macmillan before setting out, and by the time they're let loose, well, little angels they aren't!

An hour of that sufficed, with all boys and every member of staff involved in various ways, then back to showers and on to what was, ostensibly, a lecture on Nuneham House, given by our own Mr Hannah. Of course, it was nothing of the kind, but the boys were completely taken in, and Mr Hannah played along beautifully for ten minutes - after which he pretended to ring Mr Bishop on his mobile and ask permission to abandon the lecture.

The staff revue kicked in, and acts of all kinds took to the stage. For my part, I accompanied Dr Dean in a Schubert song, re-enacted a spoof tutorial session with Mr Edwards when he was a tutee of mine at Papplewick, which most seemed to find amusing (i.e.: it got a big cheer), I sang one of my own Elton John soundalikes called 'Moment of Love', which seemed to go down well (indeed, I've been asked for a recording of it several times), and then accompanied Mr Lagden, who was pretending to be Matt Candle or someone from X-Factor in a rendition of 'Your Song' by Elton John.

Thence to supper, and then on to Newton for the lodge party, which consisted of party games like charades (which they loved), Pictionary (which they also loved) and the Chocolate Game (which they adored.) Food a-plenty, like sausage rolls, crisps of all kinds, sausages, drink of various flavours, and, thanks to the fact that one of our number has been celebrating his birthday today, a delicious birthday cake shared by all.

X Factor was going on at the same time, which some opted to see, and then back into our drawing room for half an hour of singing carols and Christmas songs.

As I type, Mrs C is busily clearing the kitchen, so I mustn't be too much longer as my servcies will be required, but it's been a great day in every way.

For now, though, I am completely 'mother-of-pearled' (translate into French and you'll get my drift) and ready to get a few hours' kip before starting bright and early tomorrow.

Goodnight, one and all.

Oh dear. It seems that this blog is losing its attraction, as my stats tell me that no more than 18 people had a squint at yesterday's offering: a serious decline on the previous average of over 25. Perhaps I'm getting a little over-pompous in my jottings; after all, yesterday's was, it seems to me on re-reading it, a little indulgent.

Anyway, for the faithful among you, I can tell you that vengeance has been wreaked upon me as I'm feeling rather 'sous le temps', and having to squirt myself with my inhalers of various hues and live on a diet of Paracetomol and Nurofen. (Although the bread and butter pudding at lunchtime was irresisitible. It needed custard, of course, but, as Mr Bryan put it, as a solo effort it didn't do at all badly.)

One thing I must tell you, though, is that I've been bullied into resurrecting the Train Club. Five of us (appropriately - oh, come on: 'Five Go to Train Club' ..... ?) spent a very happy hour in the model railway hut (I bet you didn't even know there was one, did you?!) this afternoon, checking out the engines that worked (7) against those that didn't. (12.) It was lovely, though, to see the rolling stock rolling once again, and within twenty minutes we had three trains going at once. So I think this signals the shape of things to come, as it really is a very pleasant sideline. I hope I'm not crossing anyone with these silly puns. At least I'm stationed here, after an afternoon spent checking reports, rather than, er, coaching. Ha! Nearly caught off my guard there. Fortunately, therefore, if the HM wants to know what areas of extracurricular activities I'm involved in, I can say 'Model Railway Club' and he can tick it, and tell me I'm doing a first class job. That and the Junior Choir should earn me a couple of points. Dear me, I seem to going on and on: anyone would think I've been training for this.

Er, yes. I think that's quite enough from this silly old buffer. Back to Newton, and to Mrs C's amazement and mine, X Factor is a definite no-no tonight, and they voted unanimously for a film. That and sweet rations, and they're all as happy as larks. Or, as my readers across La Manche have it, 'aussi contents que les alouettes'.

18 readers. Ah well. (Sigh.)

Goodnight.

After a pretty normal morning, Mrs C and I left the campus. Not in any fit of pique, I hasten to add, and not without headmagisterial per, either; we did so because we made our way to that most beautiful of Dorset educational establishments, wherein our younger daughter, Alice, resides during term time, Milton Abbey. We went there for their Carol Service, and, held in the Abbey itself, with a wonderful choir, excellent readings and a magnificent organ, it was a truly joyous event. And whom should I bump into as I went into the boarding house, but Mr and Mrs Jack Dee, who were, as ever, charming. He really isn't the curmudgeonly chap we see on our TV screens. (Re: 'whom'. I forget the originator's name, but his full quote was 'Whom is a word designed to make anyone who uses it sound like a butler. Anyone who is not a butler cannot use it without afterwards feeling a bit weird.')

I don't doubt that there were umpteen things and duties that I should have been doing, but I like to think that I covered all eventualities, but I'm still wary of opening up my inbox after this bloglogging session .... The number of internal memos that are flying around at the moment is very, very alarming.

But to return to Milton Abbey. There were some wondrous gowns and hoods strolling around: one, clearly a Ph D from somewhere or other, surpassed anything that any of my doctored colleagues are entitled to wear - although I've just remembered Dr Dean's psychedelic number from the University of Manchester, being that of Doctor of Renaissance Lit, and I think that with its bright red and yellow gown and dazzlingly yellow hood, really does prend le biscuit. Personally, I'm happy with my old and trusty black number, although I suppose I do have a choice of hoods to go with it. Oh dear, here we go again: yours truly sounding like an academic fashion mag. (Or a (fill in your own sobriquet)).

As for things back here at the ranch, I have no reason to doubt that Mr Porter has done another superb job on my behalf, enabling me to type this out, sipping a nicley (oops, too much so, it seems) chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc.

Jusqu'a demain, alors - et bienvenue a nos amis qui habitent en France, qui lisent ce blogue pour le premier fois.

This evening, as I strolled through our house, I noticed a rezzie on the stairs, and on the 'phone. I couldn't help but overhear (I don't usually eavesdrop), in response, no doubt, to the question 'What have you been doing today?' the response 'Not much'. There follows now a Victor Meldrew moment.

NOT MUCH????!!!!! I DON'T BE-LIEVE IT!!!!!

The day has been nothing short of mental, and I'll tell you why.

Normality until Break. Boys hyper because things are going to get very active.

After Break: French Presentations for the whole school. Normal lessons are abandoned. (I had a winner in 2P, so I was pretty pleased.)

Lunch of chickenburgers, chips and salad, and Sarnta hats everywhere.

Boys to changing rooms to change into games clothes, and thence to form rooms, wherein the whole school donned Santa outfits.

Off to playing fields, en masse, with everyone (many staff included) sporting Santa outfits, including beards and hats.

Other schools there, too.

Local radio station present, with live commentary throughout. HM interviewed life, plus various boys, plus senior and junior winner of the Santa run, plus senior winner's mother, who had flown over from the Cayman Islands. (Oh what a giveaway.)

Surreal sight, in superb sunshine (alliterative showing off, last written in an email to Our Leader, where I used the words vile, vitriolic and vituperative. Not about him. Or any member of this school.) of 300 hundred-ish Santas running, in junior and then senior groups, around the top field Twice. Mrs C got a mention, but your correspondent didn't, as senior management have to maintain standards and a sense of gravitas. No I wasn't skiving.

Boys by now running on the highest possible octane adrenalin and have to change out of Santa kits for the handwriting comp. All made an effort, but only member of each form can win. Winning entry from my form was worthy of a place in the National Gallery.

Supper, about which the less said, the better. You can imagine.

Prep abandoned for the worthy cause of the newly-instigated League Music Competition. One ensemble, one solo and one league shout (as they say at Harrow; song, as we plebs would say). Oh my goodness. (Or alternative Facebook text speak versions of same.) It was a fabulous occasion, with Mr Price and the Band of pros, and a very, very merry time, with graphics on the screen at the front, and boys in Santa hats, tinsel, and Lord knows what else, dark glasses featured in one act, and everyone had the most marvellous time. The HM, who gave the valedictory appreciation to all involved, and to Mr Edwards in particular, who adjudicated, pronounced it as the best hour he's had in his three months at Summer Fields.

To lodge, where Mrs C and I have been on lion-taming duty, showing off our various magic tricks and comparing notes, and decorating the dorms.

They're now silent. And exhausted. And what a wonderful day.

So there you are. Not much? I don't think so.

Until tomorrow, then,

Goodnight.

Good evening from a very merry and festive Newton - which looks like a cross between Santa's grotto and a turkey farm, Mrs Sparrow having sourced a turkey hat supplier for Buzzer. Silent reading became silent decorating (with a slight difference of opinion about what constituted silence) and the dorms now look very, well, Christmassy. I was asked which dorm I considered to be the best, to which I replied that the 'best' could easily be the most under-stated, and I particularly enjoyed one particular resident's minimalist take on it all, with little more than an angel on a horse. To be fair, there was a scrap of tinsel surrounding the locker-top decoration. So all of that, along with Santa hats (incidentally, are my wife and her mother the only people on the planet to pronounce Santa as if the first a has a macron on it, thus rendering it 'Sarnta'?) and spinning tops that played Christmas melodies, the whole place has a quasi-anarchic feel to it tonight.

It's been a busy old afternoon, as my first duty was to play the piano for the choirs as they entertained about 100 elderly local residents who came to our dining room for a Christmas tea, which of course led to the inevitable comments from my colleagues and so-called friends about where I wanted to sit, and did I need to go anywhere, etc., etc., and then this evening I officiated at the senior public speaking comp, standing in for Dr Dean, who's been called away.

Not all of the rezzies were that taken by decorating, of course, and a group of football enthusiasts watched Arsenal versus somewhere else in the Clubhouse, while two or three foodies curled up on our sofa and watched 'Jimmy's Food Factory'. I love it when they get to the stage when they realise that our home is also theirs during term time.

My evening's highlight, though, was being invited to put on a pair of seventies-looking spectacles and frighten the living daylights out of Miss Chloe. And to think that in that particular decade I really did have a pair of glasses like that ... ! (Next time you go to Papplewick to watch SF beat the hell out of one of their teams, take a look at the school photos from between 1973 to 1980. Oh yes, I bet you already have - and there wasn't a grey hair in sight, was there ... ?!)

Finally, I can tell you with much pleasure that the lovely Miss Chloe is to be replaced by the lovely Miss Alexandra. Who presumably will become Miss Alex very quickly - and not by her Facebook moniker of Miss 'Minx'! Those of you who subscribe to that Colossus of the social networking (or newtworking, as I just typed it) sites can see a photo of her - and I've already informed the HM that no, he can't switch roles with me next term. She's the sister of the excellent Mr L'Estrange, whom (I do like 'whom') many of your sons, and probably you, too, will recall.

So, from a very happy Newton lodge, I wish you a fond goodnight. And this, by the way, is the 276th bloglog since it started. I just thought you'd like to know.

Yoghurt. Yes, that's right, yoghurt. You wouldn't think, would you, that there would be much to say about the stuff, especially on a blog that reports on the modus vivendi of 24 boys (actually, that should probably be in the plural, but let's leave that to Mr Bryan, who's just the other side of the wall as I write), so let me explain.

Tuesdays are our half days. Today's day of leisure has involved writing and checking reports, taking the Junior Choir to Age Concern, dealing with this and that, and so forth and so forth. Such is the nature of half days at the end of term. Mrs C and I did, however, manage a quick snacky lunch together, prior to our Junior Choir gig, and is was then that yoghurt featured.

My dear wife, imagining (correctly) that lunch would be no more than a few minutes long, or rather, short, dived inte Tesco's across the road and did a supermarket dash, placing various items of magisterial fodder into the trolley, including the yoghurt, on about which I am banging. (Winston would be proud of me.)

Having chomped my way through une poitrine de poulet and a baked potato, with various tescoin accoutrements, we made our way to the second course, which consisted of the aforementioned yoghurt, which confused us completely.

'Fine West Country Yoghurt', it said on the lid. Great, we thought. Just right for the Thomas Hardy peasants we are. I looked again. 'Scottish Raspberry Yoghurt', was what was inscribed on the side of the tub. H'm. You see the problem. Best Scottish West Country Yoghurt. Now how do you deal with that? Och arr, that be real noice yogurrt, bain't it, the noo' ?

But to the nub. You now want to know how it tasted, I'm sure. Well, Mrs C described it as 'thick but lovely'.

And so saying, I went and wrote a couple more reports.

As for Holby, well, another fine episode, we thought. At long last Fay's had that baby, but how I wish Joseph wasn't so feckless. He really should make up his mind. And how I enjoy Mr Hansen's satirical comments. Did you not enjoy 'Now, I know little about how an xxx machine works, but I would imagine that it works best when attached to a patient'? As my boss would put it, I LOL'd.

That's it for tonight. Thanks for reading - as ever.

Goodnight.

So here we go, then: the final stretch. The Newtonians have been lovely tonight; kind, thoughtful, personable, and fun to be with. I know that you will have had a wonderful time with them, too, and it's because of all of you that I've been offered Christmas greetings of all kinds, asked whether the chosen bedsocks are of the colour and variety of which I might approve (!?), or whether mini -Christmas trees meet with my approval. Oh, and sir, I had a lion on Sunday morning. Er, right, X; how nice. No, sir, a lie-in. Can't you spell, boy? It's li-on, not lie-in ..... did it scratch you? Etc, etc.

Oh, come on, laugh; I know you've heard it all before.

Mrs C and I have had a great time. We decided against West Dorset in the end, in view of the snow and ice, but we were able to welcome our daughter, Hannah (who always loves a mention on this blog) and to, well, just 'chill' - both literally and metaphorically. Sadly I couldn't get on my Hardley-Davison, because that, along with my scooter, is probably frozen solid in our Dorset domain, so that will just have to wait. Instead, we had a lovely icy stroll around Cutteslowe Park with Isla. (The dog.)

I actually did some organ practice tonight! No, honestly, I really, really did! I rattled my way through a couple of Bach preludes - including the 'Great' - and wondered whether I dared play it before the Carol Service this year. I will think further.

I hear that the snow and ice will be back tomorrow: oh well, at least it's festive. Inaccurate, seeing as Bethlehem is currently sweltering in 24 degrees, but festive.

It's great to have them back. No, honestly; it is.

Goodnight, all.

You may find it strange to learn that I work for a HM who writes emails in text message, - and I bet you're getting excited now to discover the internal goings on of this establishment - but I do, and on two separate occasions now I've received replies to my deliberations which have read

LOL. D

And just in case you should be concerned, LOL in text stands for 'Laughing out loud'. I know that because my three teenage offspring use it. Honest. I await the smiley face. (Can you do that?)

Anyway, the point of that little anecdotal offering was because I've just been LOL-ing at HIGNFY, which I find to be the most amusing programme on telly. I loved the bit about goats in Oman bowing to the Queen.

And, surreally, that leads me neatly on to my next point, which is that tonight I was informed that such was the nature of my etymological badinage that one of our Followers had considered writing in each night in order to learn the definition of some of the pompous verbosity with which I compose these pseudo-erudite offerings.

I was once hauled into a HM's study (actually, I wasn't hauled, that would be just bizarre; I was asked to go and see the HM) to explain exactly what I meant by writing a report that read,

'He seems to think that my lessons are an opportunity for him to ameliorate his loquaciousness.'

If that HM had known anything about Latin, he would have known full well that ameliorate comes from the melior,meaning, as you will know, better, and loquacious comes from the deponent verb, loquor, to speak. I was told to re-write it.

And talking of Latin, did you see my letter in the DT today? Always happy to give SF a plug.

A friend of mine accused me of pomposity. Vituperative pillock. (And it wasn't my dear wife - who did, in fact, think I was being slightly au dessus de ma gare .... !) (But she certainly isn't vituperative.)

Evening all, and special greetings to our new Follower in Croatia! Welcome aboard.

My word, that was a pathetic post last night, was it not? I re-read it and thought about how disappointed you must have been. My apologies, but I suspect that fatigue was kicking in for the first time this term. Either that, or the pratfall I sustained on Monday evening had had a delayed effect! (And if you re-read Monday's post, you'll see that I was behaving in a manner akin to one B Fawlty, after he, too, had sustained a knock to the head. YouTube will show you what I mean. Put something like Fawlty Towers, Germans, knock on head, or some such into the search engine.)

Anyway, I'm back on a roll now, first because I can smile smugly to myself about the fact that I've written all my subject reports, and met every deadline there is, and secondly because I heard today that I've been accepted as a trainee Associated Board examiner. I'm delighted, of course, and now all I have to do is get through the training ... !

Tonight was a lovely time here in Newton: the rezzies had the option of watching football in the Clubhouse, or, as six of your LMs chose, watching Jimmy's Food Factory in our snug. It was a wonderful sight, with Isla in the thick of things, as usual, lying enjoying her own personal utopia on the floor.

Lots of fruit, quantities of jammy dodgers and hot chocolate all contributed to what has been a perfect Newtonian evening.

Now: let's see who gets thrown out of Lord Sugar's empire.

Goodnight, wherever you may be.