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.