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.