Happy Christmas and a Joyous New Year

from

All of the Newtonians!

And especial greetings to those of you reading this in India and the Isle of Wight!

Wow! 60 views on the Blog yesterday! And views from all around the world, too!

It's been a much simpler day today, incorporating a carol service rehearsal and various other things, and I do have to say that all three choirs sounded great in St Michael's Church, as did all the congregational singers - once I'd managed to get the organ wound up! (I'm sure there are many opportunities there for references to metaphorical monkeys and organ grinders, but I'd probably upset the Director of Music if I used any of them ..... !)

I forgot to tell you how lovely your LMs were at the end of the lodge party last night, and a goodly number offered a second thank you this morning, which was very touching. It was a super occasion, and in my end of term, state of Newton address, I thanked Mr Porter and Mr Bryan, opining (!) that they were the best assistant lodgemeisters I could wish for, Mrs C for holding the whole lodge together in the superbly efficient way that she does, and telling Miss Alex that she'd been the best gapper matron we have had, in our 18 years (well, nearly) of lodeparenting. And I meant it, too.

Once the league-feasters had returned from New Room (Moseley, in case you didn't already know), Mrs C and I sat down to the final of the Young Apprentice. Zara and James were both superb, especially when you remember, as Lord Sugar reminded us, that they are no more that teenagers. But yes, Zara did have the edge, and we both thought that the right person won. And just in case any of you from the Young Apprentice should accidentally have landed in this cybersatial corner by googling the programme, many congratulations on a really excellent series.

Well, that's nearly it for this term: I suspect that packing will take over tomorrow night, so if you don't hear from your Blogmeister again, thank you so much for reading. It means a lot.

Goodnight.

My word! Some day that was! For your correspondent, it started with choir practice at 8.55am, which segued into the School Eucharist at 9.45, at which I had been invited to preach. So I did, offering a few thoughts about Advent and the like. This led on rehearsals with various colleagues, who had generously asked me to act as their accompanist in the post-Bombers and Fighters staff entertainment; and so to lunch. After lunch, as MC for the entertainment, I then went to ensure that the finer details had been addressed, which, thanks to the expert skill of Mr Randolph, they had. Down to the far fields then, to officiate as an observer in this year's B and F, and thence into Macmillan for the entertainment. I'm glad to report that all went very well, and Mr Bishop pronounced himself pleased, which was a relief. A most enjoyable cup of tea (enhanced) with the Ives family, and then we were back on duty in Newton, and preparing for the lodge party, which consisted of the boys circulating, in their dorm groups, between three rooms for individual games (mine was charades; the others were Pictionary and the chocolate game), which was followed by what we hope were nice nibbly-type things like crisps, sausage rolls, chocolate chip block, Pringles, that sort of thing, plus a wonderful cake made by the kitchens. I managed to locate a bottle of fizz for the lodge staff, and everyone, including the birthday boy (although he was not offered any of the aforementioned bubbles!) seemed happy. We rounded off the evening with a few carols around the piano in our drawing room.

So that was today, really. Tomorrow the end of term starts with a vengeance ..... !

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, and a warm welcome if you are reading this in Ecuador or Sweden, as my stats tells me a few of you may be!

Mrs C and I have just returned from Dorset, where we had the great pleasure of enjoying our daughter's final Carol Service at Milton Abbey. As a senior prefect, she was, as her parents will be in a few days' time, begowned (but not behooded) and looking every inch the graduate-elect as she strode purposefully around the abbey! The music was lovely, the organ sounded magnificent (although, sadly, the assistant organist had to play, as the Organist was unwell and had to miss an Abbey service for the first time in 54 years!! That means I was just six when he was appointed organist!), and the surroundings were, as you can imagine, superb.

It was quite good to step out of the freneticism of SF for a few hours, not because it isn't fun, but simply because there is so much going on at the moment! You just have to be here; it's manic. (But, as I say, fun, too.) What a lot of commases - as Victor Borge would have said.) (And what a lot of parentheses, too!)

Quote of the day from Our Leader, upon seeing the Chaplain's transparent tupperware box of locusts for his son's pet lizard: "

"Good Lord! They look dead, but they're really alive! Just like a staff room!"

Ha, b***** ha. At least the Thursday biscuit upgrade is good now.

Goodnight.

The little man sat, cross-legged on his upper bunk, and with Santa's hat fixed firmly about his head, unaware of his preceptor looking on from the open door. In the lowered light, silver and gold tinsel glistened, gently, as he gazed, entranced, at his emptying advent calendar and all the familial photos that, having given so much comfort during the term that was now beginning to take its toll, but whose spirit was still very much alive, now became part of his own private nativity. He was in his own world: a world that was no-one else's but his; a world that said, quite simply, 'This is Christmas'. And he beckoned me in. For just that moment, our worlds were one. His the innocent longing of days to come; mine the reflection of days that are passing, all too quickly. The little man turned his head and said, softly, 'Sir, how does it look?'
'Terrific', I replied, and, turning away, I knew that, for us both, this is Christmas.

Funny how creativity gets the better of one, is it not? I just felt I wanted to write that down - so I did. Perhaps it gives you just a tiny glimpse of Newtonian life at the moment, bourbons, pink biscuits, apple juice and shoe-cleaning notwithstanding!

Last night went well, I'm pleased to report, although as I said to several people today, I was far outside my comfort zone up in the organ loft of that mighty instrument! But what a privilege! I'll never forget it.

Before I forget, congratulations - sincere ones - are due to a Newtonian parent on his graduation as an MBA today! Wonderful news, and I hope the celebrations went really well. I can't mention any names, of course, but his son's name begins with an R. And his surname is hypenated.

We had the senior poetry reading comp tonight, in Macmillan, and I'm glad to say that many Newtonians participated, and that one Newtonian won the third year section! No names of course, but the LM in question's name begins with A and his surname ends in -ton. Two others, whose names I can't mention, but whose initials are G.C. and C.M. did really well, too and made their lodgemeister very proud.

That's it, then, for tonight, so until tomorrow,

Goodnight.

My friends, I'm writing post number 435 at 6 o'clock in the evening, because I won't be here later. I shall be endeavouring to aspire to the very zenith of my Oxford organ playing career, accompanying the SF Red Choir in a charity concert in Christ Church Cathedral, and, right at this moment, I am rather anxious about it all. You see, I'm not really a top, top drawer organist like our esteemed director of music, and while the privilege of being asked to do a gig like tonight's is one that is beyond compare, the fact that people like Tom Ward (Harry off Silent Witness), Rula Lenska and Tim McInnerny (off Blackadder) are the readers, and the cathedral will probably be full to capacity, does make me just that tiny bit terrified. So I've reached for the Newton Blog for solace - and you know what? I feel better already, because I know that if any of you log on to tonight's meanderings you will be sending your support through the ether. And added to that, my friends on the staff (of whom there are very many) have also made encouraging noises. So thank you for caring. I know the choir will perform brilliantly: I can only hope I won't let them down. I'll let you know tomorrow.

Mrs C will be looking after Newton tonight, along with Miss Alex, and I'm quite sure they will manage without me. Can you believe that this time next week the term will all be over? Impossible. But true.

I must go. Have a nice evening - or I hope you had one, if you're reading this late at night.

Good evening.

Good evening, one and all, and especial greetings tonight to our new Followers in Georgia and South Korea!

I hope those of you who have had your young at home this weekend have enjoyed the time: Mrs C and I went off to our hideaway in West Dorset (although it's not so much of a hideaway now, since the Chaplain told his flock the name of our village ...!) and had a wonderful time. Quite a bit of it was taken up by report-writing, but we still found time for some glorious walks along the coast and in our own extremely photogenic locality. Isla loved it all as much as we did, although she didn't do as well as she hoped at Sunday lunch, not least because she's not as much of a connoisseur of Ch. Nenin '98 as your correspondent.

I must make mention of all the Newtonians who took a part in 'Peter Pan', which everyone enjoyed. In particular, of course, I must highlight the lead, whose performance, I thought, and so did many others, was superb. I think there's a real dramatic future there. It never ceases to amaze me just how splendidly the SFian boys learn their lines faultlessly and give such fantastic performances. I've produced ten plays over the years, and I haven't had a prompt for any of them. (Yes, I know that's a risky business, but you'd be amazed how much it sharpens the wits!) (Especially mine!)

So here we are then, ready for the home run. It seems no time at all since the term began and we were welcoming our newcomers into Newton. All of them seem to have been here for ever now, and it's a real credit to them all that they have settled so well. They're all real Newtonians now.

As for now: let the frenetecism of the end of term begin!

See you on the other side.

Goodnight.

'Sir! I did my music exam today!'

'Excellent! Well done! How did it go?'

'Oh, OK, I think'.

'Did you have nice examiner?'

'He was OK.'

'Young? Old?'

'Er, old-ish. About your age, sir.'

So that's good, then, is it not. Could have been worse. Still, I felt rejuvenated when one of your LMs came up to me, just before silent reading and said 'Sir, you're like a dad to me'. That made my evening.

There was great glee among those involved in the Play tonight, when they returned to lodge, as they wasted no time in regaling us with the details of the crash landing into the doghouse! Mrs C and I will be going to see it tomorrow, but I doubt whether anything quite as exciting will happen then. Apparently, it's terrific, and we can't wait to see it, especially with a number of Newtonians in it.

Wednesday night is TV night, as you know, and we all opted for the Top Gear Polar Trek episode, which went down very well, as did the bourbons, pink wafers, fruit and apple juice. Oh yes, and I meant to tell you: last Thursday, in the HM's drawing room, where we all gather on that day for Break, there was, finally, a biscuit upgrade! The Newton Blog has done it again, and the selection of cookies that accompanied our (real) coffee was superb. I'm looking forward to tomorrow already.

Nearly Short Leave.

Goodnight.

Latvia, Egypt, Israel and Lithuania! Those are just some of the regions of the world whence visitors to this blog have joined us during the course of today: and if any of you happen to be reading this now, welcome!

'twas the dress rehearsal for 'Peter Pan' tonight, and it sounds as if all went very well. I'm looking forward to it enormously, and I'm sure you are, too. Incidentally, talking of successful Newtonians, I forgot to mention last night how well our representative did in the Advent service, so my apologies for that inadvertent omission.

Our DCR TV's been on the blink for the past two days, which has meant that my morning glance at the news as I see the LMs out in the morning, having dealt with their various sartorial 'issues' (collar issue, shirt-tucking-in issue, hair issue, wrong shoes issue (you'd be amazed how many get half way across to school before realising that they still have their slippers on) and the like) has been rather impeded by the lack of televisual accompaniment. Funny, you know, the morning cup of instant doesn't taste half as good without the anchorpeople's banter. Not to worry, though, because the wonderful Miss Alex (who, sadly, will be returning to Oz at the end of this term) managed to fix it, and now all is well again.

Apple juice, fruit and pink biscuits formed our lodge sustenance tonight, which disappointed Mrs C and Miss A, because they favoured chocolate digestives, of which there were - sorry, was - none. (Sounds all wrong, doesn't it.)

I managed to get all the Latin scripts marked, you'll be pleased to hear, so I didn't feel too guilty about watching Ice Road Truckers. Let's see how the Young Apprentices get on. Then I must start writing some reports.

Goodnight.

Evening all. I forgot to tell you last week that we had the record number of hits on the Blog on one evening: 105! Yesterday's was 37, which is just about average, and today I see that 15 of you have already had a butcher's.

After Mrs C's and my final Advent Carol Service, in which the Chaplain gave a very kind and appreciative note at the beginning of his sermon, things have been quite theological over here tonight. It all began, you see, with one of your LMs telling me that as he was a Catholic, he worshipped in a church. I opined in return that that was quite a sensible place to do so, but that as far as I was concerned, you don't need a church to worship The Almighty. Of course, this led to the inevitable rejoinder about what was considered to be an appopriate location for private devotions (yes, that's right), and I agreed that such a spot was perfectly acceptable, as it was, after all, S/He that had created it in the first place. My theological understanding of such things was then challenged, as my conversational partner then expressed the view that it most certainy wasn't the Creator who had done so, but, in his opinion, the builders what done it. (Actually, his exact words were, 'Ah. I thought it was the builders.') After having played through Bach's Fantasia in G minor, conducted a hymn and prayed while in Chapel, I didn't pursue this fascinating exegesis.

I then went into another dorm and found two rezzies in devotional posture, kneeling by their beds, silently.

"Oh, sorry, are you praying?"

'Well, sort of.'

'To whom?'

'Father Christmas, of course'.

Behold, then, two boys, kneeling by a bottom bunk, hands clasped, gazing at a picture of St Nic on the wall.

I can only hope that their petitions are answered positively.

And now I'm going to see how the Ice Road Truckers deal with deadliest roads. I love that programme. (Mrs C gets scared by it as she thinks they're going to fall off the edge.)

Yes, thank you, I know I should be marking Latin CE Trial papers.

Goodnight.

Good evening , one and all, and welcome to bloglog number 430! Only 70 to go now before I reach the magic number ....!

I'm sorry that I haven't been on air for the last few days: there have, in fact, been a couple of Twitterings, but I'm afraid exam marking (a whole load), report writing (masses) and an episcopal visit (must be some pun on mass to be had there, but I can't find anything that doesn't sound contrived) rendered the noble art of bloglogging impossible. Still, His Holiness was a delightful guest, and we chatted into the night about many things before we turned in. (There's another pun to be discovered on the word staff somewhere there, too, but again, I'll move on.)

We have only twelve Newtonians with us tonight, which is in some ways strange, but in another way rather nice, because it's all quite intimate and cosy. 'Men in Tights' seemed a good option as far as things cinematic are concerned, and it seems to be going down well, other than for the two who are in the UCR, playing on the computer. (They think I can't hear their conversation, and of course, I'm not eavesdropping, or anything like that.)

I think I'll stop there tonight. It's been quite a day, and after having read over 100 English II scripts, my eyes are going all funny. (It's a good job none of the candidates wrote as terrible a sentence as that!) The Bishop has now left us, and he very generously left us a lovely jar of marmalade.

Mitre known he would. (Yay!)

Goodnight.

Did you know that Mexican people don't believe in pandas? No? Neither did I. It's amazing what you learn during a night on duty (what a horribly formal term in these more cosy days of pastoral care) in Newton. Anyway, you do now. So if you should happen to be going to Acapulco or the like, at least you'll be saved the trouble of packing any bamboo shoots.

As you will have seen from the newsflash below, the Newton Twitter account has reopened, having descended from its perch rather seriously in its previous incarnation. (OK, Mr D, I know you're reading this, and I confess that that's your line, but you should be flattered that I'm using it.) If it works more comprehensively this time then you might pick up one or two titbits from time to time, but that means that I have to remember that we actually do have a Twitter account and that it needs to be updating. Oh well, if there's nothing on the NN account you can always read Stephen Fry's fascinating life details. ('Just having cup of Earl Grey tea', etc.)

I was reminiscing with some of the rezzies tonight about how my director of music at Kingswood School www.kingswood.bath.sch.uk) suffixed everything he said with 'So there we are, so to speak, as it were, through there'. I could appreciate most of that, but what on earth did he mean by 'through there'? 'Now Cheater, I want that essay by tomorrow at the latest. So there we are, so to speak, as it were, through there.' Don't quite know why I'm sharing that with you, or the LMs, but I suppose when you get older you do start wittering on about former days. At least I don't mention the war.

As for tonight, well, all very pleasant, with jammy dodgers, custard creams, apple juice and a barrowload of fruit, accompanied by an episode of Top Gear in which the trio tried out a number of electric cars. They didn't impress, and I won't be buying one. At least, not one that's about the size of a Mini and costs the earth.

Exams are nearly over bar the shouting, not that we do any of that any more, and tomorrow will be quite an interesting evening, I expect. I hope Mr Bryan will enjoy it. I know he can cope.

Goodnight.

Newsflash from Newton: The Newton Twitter account has been resurrected. You'll find it at twitter.com/newtoniannews

"Sir, sir, why can't you stay.sir? Why do you have to leave? I'll give you all my sweet rations between now and the end of the summer term if you stay!"

That was just one of several offers I received tonight and for which I showed my immense gratitude, but as I assured my charges, que sera, sera. However, once I'd suggested to my confectionery beneficiary that if I were to accept his kind offer, I'd be too large to get out of the Newton door, he felt that this would be a good thing and not a bad one. I politely declined his offer. I was even offered a four-figure sum, which would have emptied his bank account, so I decided that this would not really be entirely justified - and I managed to put the sepulchral vision of the MG out of my mind.

So we got on with things in the present. Shoe-cleaning is always good for a few edible goodies, and chocolate buttons managed to ensure many a shine, as did the whatever-they-were sours, which were used by one winner to have another go at bribing me to stay on. Now, had it been those wonderful Maynards' Sours, sometimes available from motorway service stations (but not often, it seems) that might have been a different matter.

Exams are at the forefront of everyone's minds, but I rabbited on about them last night, so no need to do so again now. I think everyone's pretty calm, if tonight is anything to go by.

And, of course, the rugyby season kicked in today, much to the pleasure of so many. But that's for another night, and now I'm off to see which young apprentice manages to upset the rest of them.

Goodnight.

Good evening, and welcome back, after what I hope has been a most enjoyable weekend - and especial greetings to those of you who have joined us in the UAE, Brazil and Ukraine!

We spent day celebrating a friend's 50th birthday, over in Hertfordshire, which was great. He's a headmaster, and he's godfather to our daughter Alice and his wife is godmother to a junior Ives, so the six of us, who used all to be colleagues together when we were working at Papplewick, were reunited, as we often are. Much laughter ensued, and we enjoyed a terrific meal. Of course, we were all sensible, responsible (which has taken me three goes to type correctly) and abstemious. (Of course.)

Tonight I was asked if I could find one of our company a 'like tweezer like thing'. I confess that I couldn't, but when I've located one such, I will let you like know. He had a like splinter thingy in his foot, you see, and he like wanted to like remove it. (I always tell my own offspring to replace the word 'like' with 'similar', and see how that sounds. It seems to similar work.)

Big thank yous are due to the one among you who kindly transported our daughter for us: it was very, very kind, and earned the text message which read, 'X's mother is so, so nice!' So, thank you. Mrs C and I really appreciated your help.

Twixes, crisps and fruit all played their part tonight, as did Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May, and while it's been a lively evening, it's been great fun, too.

Exams they are a-looming, so we will keep an eye out for any pre-test jitters, but I'm sure they'll all be fine. I shall probably be more anxious than any of the rezzies, worrying about whether I've printed out enough question papers, or whether I'm going to meet the marking deadlines - or something .....

All is well.

Goodnight.

Yes, well, I think that's quite enough about Coke floats for the time being.

My apologies for not writing last night: my excuse being that I was responsible for arranging last night's entertainment for the boys, which was billed in the calendar, as you will have seen, 'An Evening with George Stiles and Anthony Drewe'. They write musicals - successful ones - and ones that many of the boys have either seen or performed in. Their most recent is 'Betty Blue Eyes', and they have many, many others on the go at the moment, too.

I have known George Stiles for over 30 years. He was a gapper when I was a very young master at Papplewick School, and he decided then that he wanted to write musicals for a living. To cut a long story very short, he has achieved his ambition, and when I tell you that one of their musicals managed to beat 'The Lion King' for an award, you can see that things are going well. Only the night before last, George and Anthony were dining with Stephen Fry, discussing other possibilities. They were with Julie Andrews, not so many weeks ago, too.

But if you'd like to learn more about this amazing duo, have a look at their website, which is http://www.stilesanddrewe.com/ and see what you think. And if you get a chance to go and see any of their shows, do take it, because you won't be disappointed. Their music has won many international awards, too.

After the show, Tom C and his girlfriend, Christine, and George, Anthony and I went out to dine at Xi'an, that splendid Chinese restaurant in Summertown and we were able to reminisce, talk about the future, all accompanied by a great deal of laughter!

Anyway, the presentation they gave to the boys was fantastic, and everyone enjoyed themselves. It was a great personal privilege for me, too, to join with George in an improvised piano duet: we haven't done that for 30 years, but we discovered that we could still do it, and the boys and staff were duly appreciative of our efforts .... !

My dear wife very nobly elected to look after Newton, with Miss Alex, and all was well. They're a remarkable duo - and all the more so, when I know I can simply hand over the reins with total confidence.

Have a lovely weekend, as always, thanks for reading.

Bon weekend.

I know it's Tuesday, and that there isn't usually a bloglog, but I just wanted to thank those of you who wrote in to tell me that my ageing memory is not failing me and that there really was a Coke and ice cream concoction all those years ago, and that it was called a Coke Float over here, but by a different name across the Pond. I heard first that it was called a 'spider' over there, but as one of you had already written, telling me about its name over there, and that it wasn't a 'spider', I began to wonder whether I'd need to exercise diplomatic skills that I might have learnt from a different life. Within minutes, though, I received another message, in which my correspondent told me that, in fact, it was called a 'spider' in the southern hemisphere and not across the Atlantic; Australia and New Zealand, to be precise. So, Miss Alex, you can confirm - or not. Actually, you probably can't, because you've probably never heard of such things .... !

Anyway, I'm most grateful for your contributions, as I am to the 38 of you who tuned in last night - and may I welcome our new Follower from Hungary, who my stats tell me has joined us.

I think I'm going to wallow in nostalgia and make a coke float. Personal, social and health education. Well, not really education, other than a bit of history. Not really social, either, as I don't expect Mrs C will want one. Health? Er, no. Just personal, then.

Goodnight.

I hear that some of you fathers are not without your similarities to me! I learn tonight, for example, that some of you are forbidden from consuming too much chocolate, and that to compensate for this, you have been known to indulge in a little fridge-raiding ...... ! I have to admit that a chilled Coke is often very pleasant when one's attempts at grabbing the Cadbury's Dairy Milk or the Galaxy bar have been foiled - but wouldn't a few squares of the delicious bar have been so much better? I was thinking the other day about my own boyhood days: was there not some concoction which consisted of a dollop of ice cream and a Coke? I can hardly remember it now, but I almost convinced myself that the ice cream was place within the Coke, but that may be my memory playing tricks on me. Didn't it have a special name? Whatever it was called, though, I remember it being a true highlight of a summer evening. Perhaps one of you could enlighten me .....

I must say that your LMs have been great tonight: it hasn't been the greatest of days, for one reason or another, but the Newtonians, on seeing what must have been a slightly more sombre lodgemeister than usual, all ensured, to a man, that lodgemagisterial spirits were lifted quickly, and by the time we came to silent reading, I was ready to assist in an operation that required me to rescue a teddy from possible suffocation - much to the adulation of the crowds that had gathered in Kingfisher. All was well, and a cheer had to be quelled.

Shoe-cleaning was most enjoyable for all, with small edible rewards on offer for those who made an effort, and more generous rewards for the four winners. I managed to secrete no less than three Heroes of different kinds without let or hindrance.

Which brings me back to where I started, more or less.

And not a word to SWMBO, if you wouldn't mind.

Goodnight,

80 posts to go until I reach the magic 500 mark .... ! Well, 79, after this one. I do appreciate your tuning in to this tiny part of cyberspace regularly, and it's nice to know, too, that my ramblings are read by ex-Newtonian parents as well as current ones.

Today has been long, but good. From getting the boys up and ready for the Service of Remembrance, to the service itself, in which both choirs sang and Mr Music Price and I shared the organ playing (well, he played the grand finale, because he's the boss) to the winding down of a busy day. Pleasingly, no-one chose to wind their lodgemeister up, and everything seemed very calm. Mr and Mrs Sparrow once again hosted a wonderful post-service get-together for the staff, and I found myself reflecting, not without a touch of sadness, that this was the last such day that Mrs C and I will have at SF.

As for tonight, Top Gear provided automibilian entertainment, and Club biscuits, as well as custard creams and bourbons provided sustenance. Liquid refreshment was available in the form of hot chocolate, which went down well, as it always does.

And now, if you know what the French for 'mother of pearl' is, that is what I am, when you translate it back into franglais, so that, dear friends, is that for tonight.

Goodnight.

Interesting old day today. I won't bore you with the details of my trip to the JR last night, because (a) it wasn't that interesting and (b) other than to tell you that the Newtonian involved was the most brilliant example of Summerfieldian stoicism imaginable, there isn't really much to tell. Eventually, we were seen by a senior nurse, and all was well.

Apart from that, well, I found myself helping to push the car of one of our parents from its rather curious resting place, which again, in itself wasn't that much of a big deal, although I shall relish for some time to come the fact that I felt confident enough to greet the aforementioned in a 'familiar' manner, which caused some interesting looks from some of the fathers from the other place ...... I say 'the other place', as I used to work there, as some of you will know, and I have to admit to a little satisfaction about the fact that we did rather well this afternoon. (I know the HM, and regard him as a friend, so to say that it was a veritable rout would put paid to a few glasses of decent vino, so I'd better exercise diplomacy.)

Our Leader kindly invited us all to drinks tonight, at his place, which was extremely pleasant, not least to hear him speak so enthusiastically about this term's winning ways. He told us that he wasn't very competitive, which enabled us all to award him the Nobel Prize for Litotes. Mrs C and I have worked for only one HM who was as competitive as he, and he was an Olympic sportsman. I became his deputy, many years ago, which was quite an experience. I do remember playing against one school, whom he regarded as 'the old enemy', and losing: this gave rise to Mr and Mrs C, and Mrs and Mrs Ives, who were colleagues together, hiding behind our form room doors when he returned, parking the car with a screech of brakes and storming up and down the corridors of the classroom block, looking for anything that might further his fury, such as a desk that was out of place. And no, I'm not joking. Ask the Ives.

It's a good job things are different now.

Goodnight.

Despite my best efforts, it seems that my exhortations to the troops to return from their excursion to Cadbury's World with 'something nice for their lodgemeister' fell on deaf ears, for there hasn't been a sign of a flake, whole milk bar or a fruit and nut anywhere tonight. At least, that's how it appears, and I'm not sure I can be troubled to investigate fully. There've been some enterprising hiding places in the past, though: behind the clock, behind the fire alarm bell (discovered when there really was a fire practice that night!!), in the pillow, in the mattress, sewn into Teddy - and even in the hollow bit of an old iron bed frame! Oh yes, I've seen them all. And usually discovered them. Still, they all came back happily after their chocolateering adventure, had a shower, and came out smelling like, er, Roses. Talking of which, last year we used to have what I call 'fragrance nights' (which actually really are 'fragrance nights') when the rezzies would compete with one another with their various bath oils and shampoos to ensure that Newton was pong free. It did, I suppose, have a whiff of what my classics teacher used to call 'houses of ill repute', but at least it cloaked the Cloaca. Oh, the wit.

We watched Fawlty Towers tonight, because I didn't really feel that Waterloo Road was a very good option as far as viewing was concerned, and yet again I fell about laughing as Basil beat the old 1100 Traveller up. They used to have hydrolastic suspension, you know, which was based on Citroen's excellent system, and then taken on by Bentley after that. Or possibly Rolls Royces. (Which one should never call 'Rollers', and which never break down. They simply 'fail to proceed'.) That's why they're so smooth. (Oh yeah, James May, get a load of that.)

A good evening all round, then, and now Frozen Planet is calling. Or is it 'cold calling'?!

Goodnight.

Good evening, all - and thank you to the 27 of you who tuned in to this corner of cyberspace last night. Oh yes, it all shows up, you know! My 'stats' page is very interesting!

'twas shoe-cleaning ce soir, and our judge was Miss Alice Heinrich, whose surname most of you won't recall, so I will tell you that her parents used to be the lodgeparents of Newton before our predecessors, the Smiths, and Mr Heinrich was the deputy headmaster before Mr Bishop. Mr Heinrich is now the HM of the supremely successful Cumnor House School in Sussex, where he has managed to attract at least three former SF members of staff ..... ! The Heinrich children and the Cheater children grew up together, you see, and there was much interaction between Mayfield (where we cut our teeth as lodgeparents for 13 years) and Newton. But to return to the shoe-cleaning: that went very well, with all four winners being delighted, and Miss Alice opining (yes, my word again, for those of you who observe such things) 'I wish Mum and Dad ran a lodge: they're all SO CUTE!' I concurred, of course. And thank you, yes, my cough is getting better.

In Break today we had the most superb flapjacks - and the only reason I mention that (you cynics: do you really think I'm just being political?) is that last Thursday, when we all foregather in the Headmaster's drawing room for coffee and a (usually) brief meeting, the coffee was superb, as always, but the biscuit upgrade, to which I had referred at the end of 5C's Latin lesson, and told them how much I looked forward to Thursday Breaks, didn't seem to happen. Now I have no problem with custard creams or digestives; indeed, I enjoy both very much, but when you know that flapjacks, inter alia, might be awaiting, one tends to arrive with a spring in one's step. I just thought I'd mention it.

I was asked by a senior boy, after games, whether I thought that teenagers and older people were really the same. I asked why.

'Because when you're young you slide down the bannisters, and then when you're old you slide back up them again.'

Not bad.

Goodnight.

For those of you who are interested in my inexorable quest to achieve 500 blogposts before the end of the academic year, and the time when I print the whole lot out and send it off to some unsuspecting published, this one is number 417. I still can't think of a suitable title, though; 500 Nights seems a bit tame to me. I did think of 500 (K)nights, but even though it sometimes sounds as if there are that many rezzies here sometimes, there aren't. Oh well, I'll go on thinking.

Today we had the Old Summerfieldians matches, first Eton v. Radley and then Old Boys versus the staff. I won't spoil the surprise for you, because if I did, you wouldn't need to read the Newsletter: that rival SF publication. (I used to work for a HM whose letterhead stated that letters were 'from the Headmaster's desk', which made me think that desks are pretty clever things if they can compose correspondence.) Anyway, it was great to see so many former pupils here, and how they have all grown into charming young men. For the most part.

As for things Newtonian, we were very fortunate to receive a batch of home-made chocolate cookies; made at home by one of our own - and scrumptious they were, too. And while I'm talking about chocolate, we had what I thought was a rather curious sermon in chapel, which seemed to consist of a delightful cleric handing out confectionery. I missed the theological foundation on which the address was based, but I'm sure I can get one of the boys to tell me tomorrow. (I have to confess that from where I was sitting, which was at the organ, I couldn't really hear much at all, but that's no fault of our visiting preacher.)

It's a joy to have our own young with us for the weekend, and so I'm now going to join them.

Enjoy Downton Abbey: last episode tonight.

Goodnight.

Busy old days, Fridays. But all the more fun for that, of course.

Today started with a fascinating homily from the Chaplain, about angels, which led to some heated exchanges afterwards, and then straight into morning school, where we were all looking over our shoulders to see if our own guardians were helping us to cope with the rigours of the classroom - and to keep us warm. I wasn't aware of my own, but then, perhaps I'm too much of an old cynic.

My morning in-box contained many messages: some from parents, some from staff, and some of which impressed me no end by their masterly use of text-speak. However, there's a D-notice on that, so, in the same way that the Telegraph editorially chose not to give away the name of the character who gets bumped off in Downton, I will exercise magisterial discretion.

We have a new catering company now (I don't think that's classified info) and my word, if their first week's menus are anything to go by, they are absolutely brilliant! Unfortunately for me, Mrs C does supper duty every night, so she's already standing by the door as I walk past with my invariably overly-filled plate, and gives me one of her looks of mock horror. It's like eating in a Michelin-starred restaurant, imho. I'm even thinking of inviting my Telegraph journalist colleague, Matthew Norman, whose reviews in the Weekend section of the DT are always my first port of call on Saturdays, to come and do a critique! (Actually, no, I'm not really, because I'm aware that this blog gets read at top level.)

It's a full house in the private side of Newton tonight, with all three Cheater cubs in residence for the weekend. I shall no doubt act as chief cashier once again, in the B.o. D. I'm surprised I haven't a call from Mr Papandreou yet, but no doubt that will be coming in due course.

Tonight has been fun once again, and they're silent in the dorms, so I will sign off, wishing you a very goonight.

TAFN, and T2UT.

"Sir, sir! We just scoffed our faces with Monster Munch!" was my pre-silent reading valediction tonight. So that's good then.

"Sir, sir! Make sure you write a good blog tonight: my mum reads it every night!" was another.

Well, I can't speak/write for the quality of this bloglog, but I hope it will bring you happiness, not least when I tell you that I was asked by Mr Porter to manage the Colts Ds this afternoon, and that we (ha! 'we'!) won 13 - 1. Once I've written up tonight's post I shall be composing my letter to the Director of Sport, seeking promotion to the upper eschelons of sport management, of course. (I did actually once apply to be the manager of Southampton FC (no, really, I did) and received a very generous reply, saying that perhaps a rookie manager was not exactly the person for whom they were looking, but it was nice even to get a reply.)

Anyway, it's been a lovely night, with everyone being co-operative and charming, and with plenty of camaraderie and repartee. The rezzies were amused, as they always are, by the fact that when I bellow 'Silent Reading!', the dorm doors, which are noise sensitive (for some reason that is beyond me) close automatically.

So, sporting-wise it's been a good day, with many positive results, and Newtonianally it's been a really happy evening. And you know what?I can't hear a word.

Time for Frozen Planet, methinks.

Goodnight.

So there we are, then. Another Long Leave has come and gone, and I hope you all enjoyed yours as much as Mrs C and I enjoyed ours. Our Dorset domain proved to be the haven that it always is, and it was unusual to have the place to ourselves, all young being engaged in frenetic social activity elsewhere.

Tonight being Hallowe'en, we were expecting a whole load of tricks and not that many treats, but, in the event, all went very well, with packets of Monster Munch featuring as the star attraction, accompanied by some rather weird and ghoul-like figures prancing about and making fools of themselves. No, that wasn't Kingfisher dorm, it was X-Factor, that celebrated source of early evening culture and musical harmony. In the end I could stand no more, and switched over to an edition of Top Gear on Dave, which seemed much more erudite, with Clarkson's majestic use of the simile and metaphor, so useful in English lessons.

'twas interesting to learn of the various activities that you and your young have enjoyed in the past week, from exciting theatre visits to concerts, to lovely meals to just simply chillin'. It sounds as if everyone has had a lovely time, which is good to know. It sounds as if a fair bit of reading went on, and my book of choice was 'The House in France', by Gully Wells, which I read avidly. Being the creep I am, I sent a message to her to express my appreciation of a supremely written work - and tonight, to my enormous delight, I received an e-mailed reply from New York, which has made my evening. Do read it: broad-minded parents that you are. (You can always skip the naughty bits.)

Now, of course, we have the lead-up to exams, but I didn't say anything about that tonight; I just wished them a fond goodnight and told them that it was nice to have them back again.

I heard that. What cynics ...... !

Goodnight.

Let's hope that I manage to keep this post without it disappearing into the ether, as the last one did!

It's been a a very pleasant and agreeable evening, with all guernseys having been gathered in from various corners of the school, and with the postponed sweet rations having been earned, following much sensible and mature behaviour since my little, er, advisory talk. They've all been good after lights out, and their natural bonhomie and sense of fun has certainly not deserted them. We've had many a laugh in the last few nights (although last night Mrs C and I were at a dinner in Dorset, so we weren't around), with great jokes and lots of entertaining riddles!

The zenith of our re-connection was the moment when, as I turned out the lights in one particular dorm, I was asked whether I have enjoyed every moment of my teaching career. I replied that I have indeed, and I wouldn't have changed anything. In fact, over the past 38 years and half a term, even the bad times have been good. Oh dear, I seem to be journeying back to cliche-land, for which many apologies, but you know what I mean. And of course, as teachers, we never stop learning. I've often thought that we learn much more from our pupils than they do from us.

As for the French snail and the Ferrari, well, in brief, M. Snail goes into garage to buy Ferrari. Salesman is surprised, but Snail has cash, so no problem. Snail asks for a big S to be painted on each of the doors. Why? asks salesman.

'Because as I whizz past ze uzzer cars, I want zem to say 'Mon dieu! Look at zat S car go!'

Goodnight.

My dear Followers, you won't believe this, and I won't blame you if you don't, but I have just typed out a very long bloglog - and, on clicking 'Publish Post', I lost the lot. So I'm very sorry, but I'm not now going to re-type it, but I am going to wish you a very

Goodnight.

Grrrrr !!!!!

Good evening, and welcome to bloglog number 410, in which I'm pleased to be able to report that after a very frank lodge meeting, normal relations have been resumed. I spoke about being responsible for oneself and also collective responsibility, as well as trust, and all my comments were received sensibly. I explained that the gap between the 2nd Year and the Removes is pretty big, and that that particular gap has to be filled during the 3rd Year. I know it sounds obvious, but when I asked them to think of a Second Year boy and then to think of a Remove boy, they realised what I meant by 'the gap'. I also pointed out that the business of learning is not restricted to the form room, and that it extends to the games field - and to lodges. Your LMs are indeed learning, and making exactly the kind of 'progress' that Mrs C like to see.

So it's been a very enjoyable evening, and the good ship Newton is back on an even keel.

I'll leave it there, then, anchored securely for the night, until the seas of tomorrow present us with their ever-changing conditions.

Goodnight.

As you may well have heard via e-mail or the 'phone, I'm Mr Popular tonight (not), following a brief encounter with a certain dorm at 10pm last night, the result of which was a postponement of sweet rations. This draconian measure has not been taken lying down - which was the main problem, as it happens - and I've been sent to Coventry by one or two. Still, as I said, Mr Nice can very easily become Mr Nasty if people are going to ignore my exhortations to keep quiet after lights out, so they can take it or leave it. To be fair, one who was looking singularly furious did say, when I asked him if he was very, very cross, that he was indeed, but that it was not with me that he was irate, but with himself. I thought that was very noble.

Oh don't worry; it happens. I'm sure we've all had similar issues at home - I know we have in this house! It's all a matter of building the framework, and making sure that everyone knows what it is. There I go again, teaching grandmothers, etc. I should know better, shouldn't I, having reached the age when I could so easily be a grandparent myself! (I'm not, as far as I know.)

The Saturday films seemed to go down pretty well, one in the UCR and one in the DCR, which enabled Mrs C and me (yes, that is the right pronoun, before you all start writing in) to watch Casualty. Hooray! I typed it correctly for the first time ever! Let me try that again. Casulaty. Yes, just as I thought: it was a fluke. Casulaty. That new Dr Nichols is rather, erm, engaging, don't you think?

Enough. I must away. (A strange expression, methinks.) (I seem to have come over all Shakespearean.) 'Age shall not wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety'. The Newton Blog, clearly.

Goodnight.

OK, I admit it. I'm now 60 - and have been since Wednesday, hence the lapse, for which I do apologise, dear Followers. Still, as Hugh Grant says, 60 is the new 40, and to judge from the past couple of days, he's not far wrong.

Wednesday was great, because it started with all the Newtonians (and then the rest of the school) wishing me a very happy birthday, and I was somewhat taken aback when I walked into my form room, to see my whiteboard completely smothered in birthday wishes! (I will draw a veil over the fact that the large writing in the middle of the board read 'Happy Birtday', because otherwise you might imagine that the teaching of English here is a little curious. I discreetly added an h.)

The day went on as it usually does on a Wednesday, until the evening, when we had issued a general invitation to our colleagues to come and help celebrate this momentous event. To my immeasurable delight, just about everyone came, and those who didn't make it all had very valid reasons as to why. It was a wonderful party, and I realised just how fortunate I am to live, work and have my being at this amazing school. My friend of many years, Mr Ives, our latest recruit, offered some extremely undeserved comments publicly, to which I responded that I had been determined not to become emotional about it being my last birtday at SF, but that to do so was to be like the chap who went and bought a gallon of Tippex. Big mistake.

Last night, the celebrations continued, as my dear wife had secretly and very cleverly arranged for our very greatest friends that we have known for many, many years, to congregate over in Mayfield, and then told me that we were going over to the Ives' for a drink. Of course, you can imagine what happened: all of the others jumped out from behind walls, under tables and behind curtains, and, having got over the shock (me of their jumping out, not them of me looking so ancient, I mean) we journeyed to a very nice restaurant in Jericho. (Oxford. No, I haven't gone completely gaga - yet.)

Anyway, it was wonderful, from start to finish, and, as I said in an interal e-mail to 'all staff', I wouldn't mind being 60 all over again .... !'

And so back to normality once again. Sheets and pyjamas were clean tonight, and the nit check elicited a few insectorial dwellings that have now been obliterated. (Not many, you'll be glad to know.)

I learnt of staring competitions with hamsters that take place at home, apparently, which put a new complexion on things, and then I was regaled with a whole load of jokes and quiz questions, some of which I was able to answer correctly by a process of deduction, which seemed to impress.

I was going to tell you my joke about the French snail who bought a Ferrari, but I think I've now been typing for long enough, so that can wait for another time.

Until then, then,

Goodnight

Another tremendous Newtonian evening, complete with a headmagisterial tour of inspection! And I know that Our Leader tunes in to this blog, so, sir, thank you for coming, and for making the evening such fun!

'twas shoe cleaning night, of course, and our guest of honour executed the judging thereof with all the skill of the professional diplomat, congratulating those who had won and making exactly the right noises to those who had not been so successful. (Sorry, brief pause, as I had to go and get mildly irritated' with Osprey, who seemed not to have noticed that their lights had been turned out. They're very quiet now.)

Apple juice was on offer tonight, as were what my brother and I used to call 'dog biscuits', which, I believe, are known as those packeted 'shortbread' things. You know, the ones that look like, well, dog biscuits. The HM had at least two, I noticed, and, unless my ears were deceiving me, then requested a third .... ! (Mrs C was watching me, with a menacing glint in her eye, lest I should get any big ideas.)

One incident did amuse me tonight, and that was the moment when Mrs C and Miss Alex gacve their evening final call for pants and socks to be handed in, and one of our member rushed down the stairs, waving the aforementioned garments in the air, calling 'Sir! Sir! Wait for meeeee ....!'
As I said to him, it was rather like the exact opposite of a scene from a film where one person is waving a handkerchief as a loved one sets sail for the other side of the world! A slowmo replay would be very funny indeed - but unfortunately, I didn't have my camera to hand. (And probably just as well, too. 'Er, well, your Honour, it was pants and socks, you see ..... ')

I must go. Last night's episode of 'Spooks' is calling.

Goodnight.

Well! That caused a fair old fluttering in the dovecotes ... ! I preached a sermon (gave a short talk) tonight, using the theme of 'choices', and regaled the congregation with my brief brush with the security services! I hear there's now a rumour going around that I'm a spy, to which all I can add is that 'I couldn't possibly comment' .... !

Tonight has been great. The boys have all been on top form, and whilst they've been buoyant, they haven't in any way been silly, so we've all been able to enjoy ourselves.

There isn't really much to report tonight, so I hope you've all had a good weekend. Not long now until Long Leave! Can you believe that?

Until tomorrow, then,

Goodnight.

Tonight there have been strange sights in Newton. Ghoulish figures have been seen, roaming the dormitories; ghostly silhouettes of human form lurching from corner to corner and then tumbling, gently, to the ground. Bewilderment has spread across the countenances of the Newtonian staff as they have witnessed these strange, alien visions.

I refer, of course, to sheet and duvet-changing. I could describe it all to you in considerable detail, but, basically, you just had to be there, as they say. Still, they got there in the end, and other than the possible scenario of the rescue team being called out to help a stranded pillow, there were no disasters. Not many triumphs, either.

My apologies for there having been no bloglog last night: Mrs C and I were off duty and Mr Porter was looking after affairs. Affairs of Newton, that is. Oh come on, you know what I mean. Our evening of release meant that we were able to catch up with Holby, and to learn whether Ollie really was going to leave medicine, or whether that ghastly Jac Naylor had managed to cast her witch-like spell over him - again. As for the rest of the subject matter of last night's episode, well, perhaps it may be best to cast a veil over the substance of the plot - as it were. I do admire Mr Hansen, though: I wish I could maintain his cool, unflustered composure so deftly, instead of engaging in my nightly Basil Fawlty impressions.

There being no telly tonight, it being a Friday, we turned on the rather impressive old stereo radio, instead. Radio 1 was blaring out, and this caused further amazing sights on the dance floor of the DCR. Remarkable, the effect that music has on some!

As for the snacks, well, custard creams, digestives, juice and fruit were all consumed with alacrity, although I was dumbfounded to discover that Miss Alex had never tried digestives with cheese before. Obviously she has never camped, been a university student (obviously) or 'enjoyed' (not) a caravan holiday in the New Forest. So I remedied this missing feature of her life, and, to her credit, she said that rather enjoyed it.

As I say, you just have to be here.

Goodnight.

Last night, my friends, Mrs C and I journeyed to Buckinghamshire to be with my sister-in-law and her husband in their lovely home. We had a really delightful time, but our delight was extinguished when we returned (not late) to hear the members of one of our three dorms still chatting. We were not pleased, as you can imagine, and so we made our feelings pretty clear.

So, my dear Followers, would your own hearts not have melted if you had received, as we did, a card inscribed with the following:

'Dear Mr and Mrs C,
I am very sorry we cannot be friends. I do love you and I am not going to muck around any more. Love and goodnight,
xxxxxx xxxx.'

I explained, of course, how it all works, and how, whatever befalls us, we will always remain friends, and so I think - and hope - we are back on an even keel again. I'm sure we are.

Today, I went on a trip to the British Museum, which, by happy chance, happened to be right next door to where Tom C was in a lecture on the Japanese language. He therefore joined us for lunch, which was great, and I was able to catch up with how things are going. Well, it seems, and made all the better by the fact that several boys, who had been in Newton and therefore knew Tom C from yesteryear, offered him their Kit-Kat bars because they didn't want them ..... !

I must say that I didn't know much about African art before I went, although my dear mama (now 92) used to buy various pieces and infer that we'd brought them back from our international travel.s (On which we went as far as France.) They're probably worth a fortune now.

You'll be pleased to know that the Newton telly is now re-tuned to digital whatever-it-is, thanks to Mr Computer-Price's input.

Anyway, it's been a very happy and enjoyable Newtonian evening - and we've all been friends.

Goodnight.

So there I was, you see, strumming my piano as if I were calming the punters in a sleazy nightclub (the last time I was in such a place was many, many years ago in Bath, when, as I recall, several of us ended up in a hedge halfway up Landsdown Hill, so the less said about that the better), when suddenly I found myself surrounded by young admirers who generously informed me that they thought it was the radio. Oh well, there's hope yet, then.

Panda Rescue came into its own tonight, with a tricky situation to deal with down the side of a bunk, but you'll be pleased to know that we didn't, in the end, have to call for helicopter assistance and that all the experience that the team had gained in the teddy rescue of two weeks ago proved to be invaluable. I pointed out the appropriateness of my initials being PRC, which some understood. (Panda Rescue Company, lest you, too, should be struggling. Better than People's Republic of China, which was the moniker (is that the right word?) that was bestowed upon me by no less a figure than Richard Curtis, when I told his brother, Jamie, that his initials, which are JCRC, could be read as Junior Common Room Curtis.)

Shoe-cleaning took place tonight, which was tackled with the customary diligence and a singalong with Miss Alex's radio, which was anything but tuneful. There were five lucky winners, who had given their footwear a decent shining, and each received an edible prize. I feel puns coming on, but it's a bit late to make up silly sentences about sole winners, or lacey boys.

Jaffa Cakes rounded off the evening, and silent reading came and went, well, silently. And now they're all asleep, after a very enjoyable time.

All is well.

Goodnight.

Goods evening, everyone, and welcome back.

I don't know about you, but Mrs C and I had the most amazing weekend, largely thanks to the exceptional weather, but also because it was very nice indeed to get to our house and, as the young will have it, to chill.

I had a glorious ride on the bike on Friday: an evening journey, up through our local villages, then down into Portesham, along through Abbotsbury and along the coast road. Unspeakably wonderful as I rode through lovely countryside, with the sea glistening on my left all the while.

That, and some lovely walks, again in countryide that is unequalled, with Mrs C and the dog, made for a great and memorable time. We were additonally blessed in that Miss Hannah C decided to come and stay on Saturday night, which was delightful and meant that we all had a very enjoyable dinner together. And not just because of a most exceptional South African red, either .....

As for tonight, well it was a pleasure to play for the service once again, especially after a nail-biting race up the M27 and the like, making it back just in time for choir practice and the director of music enquiring whether I'd had a 'good lunch' (I had: did it show?), and then an equal pleasure to be able to speak with many of you at the post-service bash. I arrived back in Newton very happily, where I was greeted by a chorus of 'How was your weekend' and the ever so slightly unamused countenances of Mrs C and Miss Alex, who reckoned that I might have outstayed my welcome in New Room. As you can imagine, I simply retorted 'Well, I'm the boss here, so I can do what I like'.

Er, um, no, I didn't really.

Goodnight,

My friends, this has been a great day - and a lovely evening. It's amazing to me to see early indicators of future success, and I can see such promise when one of our member turns his attention to the collecting of laundry and doing-up of same. You probably think that's daft, but trust me: if that boy doesn't realise his potential in due course - I don't know how yet - then I'll be amazed. So many of your young show me, on a daily basis, that they have wonderful potential, and it's a great joy to me and to Mrs C to think that we are able to play just a small part in helping to bring that out.

I had a delightful hour or so in the staff room annexe that is Joe's wine bar in Summertown, with my friends Mr Bryan and Mr Ives, during which I was able to express tangibly my appreciation to the former for his first-rate assistance as sport editor for the annual magazine and to initiate Mr Ives into the ways of window-dressing. (There's an hour window between 6.30 and 7.30 when lodgemasters can take an hour out.)

I held an impromptu lodge meeting this evening, wherein I reviewed the term so far, and I told the LMs that after a fairly excitable start (the thrill of being in Newton, of course), they'd all calmed down and were now plulling together as a really lovely team. They all seemed to take it all on board, sat silently listening and nodding appreciatively; many offered a thank you. I wouldn't have had that in MI - erm - wot'eva.

Thank YOU, so much, for your support and your enthusiastic appreciation of my nightly ramblings: I really appreciate it - and all of your lovely boys have been terrific.

Have a really wonderful weekend. Mrs C and I are off to Dorset - and I am determined to get the old girl going this time.

No, the motorbike, I mean.

Goodnight.

Yay! This is the 400th post of the Newton blog! Thank you to all of you who tune in every night, wherever you may be, and I hope you'll keep reading until July, when I shall retire, hawk the blog round a few publishers and then live on an island like Necker for the rest of my days. Ho ho.

You know, SF really is a wonderful place. On hearing one of the rezzies making a strange noise, I challenged him with the following:

'Put the following words in order: you - weird - are.'

Quick as a flash, my respondent countered with the following rapier-like reply,

'Are you weird? ....... Sir?'

Marvellous.

Black shoe-cleaning took place tonight, and as the catering department issued us with enough Cola bottles to sink a battleship, there were some substantial prizes. Miss Alex came to your correspondent bearing gifts, and as I absolutely love the aforementioned confectionery, I accepted with alacrity. Wine gums, too: they're good. I once bought a large packet of same in a garage on my home from somewhere, and then realised, a little late, that I was a bit too close to home to consume the lot and destroy the evidence. Fortunately, I saw a sign that said 'Car wash', so I bought a ticket for the ultra-clean option and managed to guzzle the packet - and get away with it. Not a word to Mrs C, if you wouldn't mind.

You see, that's the sort of thing I'd have had to do if I'd accepted the invitation that came with the late-night knock on the door when I was invited to consider working with the security services in the 1980s. Oh don't worry: I said no, and never signed the Official Secrets Act papers, so I can tell you without fear of radiation in my tea. Yes, I really was. Mrs C will vouch for that. Can you imagine? Johnny English, you'd have had nothing on me. I was interested to learn that Dame Manningham-Buller was a former English teacher, by the way .....

Tonight I spent a most delightful, pre-Newton hour with some former parents, one of whose children is now in his second year at Oxford, one in her first, and one other son at Eton. It was wonderful to stroll down Memory Lane.

Ah well, there we are. Time to go and watch Spooks, which I recorded last night - to see what might have been.

Goodnight.

Now, for those of you who think I make up the Tales from Newton and write them down in the morning, I want to assure you that every single one of the 390 odd episodes composed to date has been written after lights out. The routine Mrs C and I have is that she puts the downstairs lights out and I the upstairs ones. Once I think they're settled, I retire to my computer for about 20 minutes and Mrs C finds solace in the Daily Telegraph. (Not that there's much solace to be found in the world's media reports at the present time .... ) We then do another check, to see if all is quiet on what is genuinely, from where I'm bashing this out, the western front, and eventually, if all seems calm, we might, perhaps, watch the 10 o'clock News. So yes, these reports come to you at some stage between 8.45 and 9.15pm - unless we've been out and I feel like writing something when we haven't been here (weird, I know, but I do like writing: I wanted to be a journalist for several years of my boyhood), when the latest ever edition was made public to the world at just after midnight. (I didn't dare read it the following morning .... )

Another teddy rescue was mounted tonight, and a lost creature was happily reunited with its owner after we'd pulled out the bunk bed from against the wall. We don't think he's suffered any lasting psychological scarring, but he's probably just a little battered and bruised. And squashed.

Mr Bean provided humorous entertainment this evening: it would have been Top Gear, but for some mysterious reason, BBC 2 doesn't currently work on the DCR set. Annoying for the boys, but they seemed to like the antics of Mr B, and as for me, I've recorded it and shall view tonight's programme when I've signed off from this bloglog.

I was asked whether it's true that if you eat protein and do sit-ups, you can get a six-pack. I asked what kind of protein my questioner had in mind, and couscous is, apparently, the elixir that is required for such body-building. So, having learnt something new (apparently Mr Fradgley said this, so it must be true (the sit-ups and the protein, not the couscous bit), I'm off to enjoy whatever Mrs C has on offer for supper.

Don't even think it.

Goodnight.

I dunno. Intrigue, poor professionalism, complacency, illness and a major fight. Not good. Still, enough about tonight's episode of Casulaty: back to things Newtonian.

James Bond has been the order of the evening, and even about a hundred years after he first appeared, Sean Connery still manages to draw the audience. Sweet rations went down well, and they were rapidly guzzled throughout the film, and the dog managed to creep in and take up a particularly comfortable position on the floor.

It's been quite a day today, with the prospective parents all here this morning (rather sad to think that neither Mrs C nor I will ever know their offspring); a successful set of results this afternoon and then a really delightful concert tonight, given by the Bassano family. It was truly splendid, and, as the HM said, many boys will have been inspired by the music that was so superbly performed by such a musical family.

We have all three of our own young with us this weekend, pre-uni, and so we all enjoyed a last supper tonight, which was entertaining, witty and fun. Summer comes to an end, though, tomorrow, when they all return to their various new homes. (Tom C signed his contract this afternoon for his London domain, and moves in tomorrow afternoon .... !)

Anyway, that's the lie of the land from this corner of the world tonight, and the film has just ended, so I will bid you

Goodnight.

ILOP. Yes, that's right, ILOP. I don't suppose that will mean much to any of you, but it does here - now, because that's the word that some bright spark thought up to abbreviate 'Individual Lights Out, Please'. That's what I used to say, until tonight, but now we've decided to abbreviate, so ILOP it is.

Of course, this being Summer Fields, a simple abbreviation like that wouldn't quite coupe le moutarde, as our French cousins might have it, because an even brighter spark decided that ILOPASAP was a much better and more comprehensive version; it standing (or should that be a gerund, i.e.: its standing) for 'Individual Lights Out, Please, As Soon As Possible'. This caused a bit of an issue, however, as we had to soften the I to make it sound more plausible.

By now, dear Followers, you will probably be imagining that your correspondent has lost the plot, or is going a little peculiar. Not at all. All I would add is that the aforementioned spark who suggested the extended version then thought that it would be a good idea to try and put it in the Dative case.

Quite.

Anyway, tonight we were graced by the presence of Miss D.C., who, in her position as Senior Matron, decided to do a tour of duty. As always, it was a pleasure to see her, and your LMs were very welcoming and respectful.

We were also treated to some fine piano playing tonight, in the presence of our guest, which was much appreciated. My baby grand played host to several pairs of hands; with sounds made by same that was of variable quality.

As for the pink biscuits, well, they were as good as they always are.

Time to go, methinks.

Goodnight.

Evening, all.

I fear that the closest I came to burning up on the bike yesterday was mowing the lawn, but that went very well indeed, and now the grass has go-faster stripes on it, and Mrs C and I had a great away day. I even managed to pre-record Holby, one of the two 'soaps' to which we're completely addicted; the other one being Casulaty - which I can never type correctly. It always comes out as Casulaty. I'll try again. Casulaty. See? Now I'm going to really try. (Sorry about the split infinitive.) Here goes : Casulaty. Nope - and I really did try.

Enough of this literary badinage. To things Newtonian. This morning, after I'd done my rounds (it's catching), I sat myself down with my morning cup of finest Gold Blend Instant, and waited to do my final inspection before allowing the rezzies to leave. 'Collar issues' are always a trouble, as are undone hair and untucked shirts. One member of the lodge strode imperiously into the DCR.

'Good morning, sire,' quoth he.

'Good morrow,' requoth I.

'I am his imperial majesty, and you, sire, are my throne.' So saying, he plonked himself down on my lap, pointing to another member of the lodge, declaiming 'and you, young sir, I need a footstool. Bring me that bean-bag'. Meekly, the other obeyed.

That little episode was abruptly terminated and we all bade each other a fond 'Good morning' and went our separate ways, they to the dining hall, and I to my kitchen to consume my daily dose of Crunchy Nut. How appropriate.

Tonight we had a fire practice, which, I have to admit, did not go as well as it might. For a start, the wretched bell wouldn't sound the alarm, and so the alarm box simply emitted a rather weedy repeated bleep, which rather gave the game away to Curlew; then we had boys who couldn't find their slippers, which meant that they had to be extra vigilant lest the neighbour's cat had wandered into the back garden. Added to that, we'd had a little bit of silliness earlier on, so the whole event culminated in a rather grumpy lodgemeister berating the troops.

Of course, such irritations are soon forgotten, so, on extinguishing the lights (no, they weren't on fire) for the second time, I bade (such a useful word) the LMs goodnight and said that we could all 'move on'. I received a chorus of apologies - and charming goodnights.

So here's another one:

Goodnight.

Shoe-cleaning night tonight, which meant a night of considerable industry in the laundry prior to the weekly shininess competition, judged tonight by the legendary Miss Alex, the best gapper matron ever. (Although I was alarmed to learn that our dear friends, the new Mayfield lodge parents, Mr and Mrs Ives, believe that theirs (Miss Iso) is a contender for the title ...!) Anyway, she located four winners and all were pleased with their victory. I should tell you that everyone who participated was allowed two Crunchie Clusters from the tin that Mrs C was holding, and perhaps I should also admit that while ma bonne dame femme (it sounds so much better in French) was speaking on the telephone, she asked your correspondent to hold the tin for five minutes ....... No more should be said about that, perhaps, except that I was accused of 'looking very guilty' by Miss Alex as she walked into the DCR. Moi? Butter (or Crunchie Clusters) wouldn't melt. Well, it might.)

I see from today's edition of the Daily Telegraph that Nigel Havers believes that 60 is the new 40. This is extremely good news if true, especially to those of us who are about to enter our sixth decade on the planet. I've suggested that we could celebrate best by acquiring that lovely MG that's just waiting for a new owner, but such ideas seem to fall on stony ground and are met with unstifled yawns. But I haven't given up yet ...... ! And anyway, seeing as the notion of the 'new 40' comes from my wife's number one pin-up, I reckon I'm in with a chance.

Talking of age, I was asked by one LM tonight whether I was 63. Cheeky monkey: especially when on learning my actual age informed me that I didn't look a day over 70. Well, I can tell you the name of one person who won't get a spin round the car park when the day comes. Actually, I can't, of course, because I never mention names on this blog.

'Twister' went particularly well tonight, although we were all a little confused when one instruction was 'Blue foot, left' ! Curious.

Hey ho. Time to sign off. We're off to Dorset tomorrow, to see if our house is still standing, and perhaps I shall take my motorbike out for a burn, too.

More on Wednesday night. Until then,

Goodnight.

Just a short bulletin tonight, dear Friends, as it's late and I've been boxing (don't worry) and coxing with Mrs C as we've dined with the visiting preacher and the HM and colleagues.

All is well, notwithstanding just one or two small 'boarding adjustments' which are inevitable at this stage. None lasted long, though, and after a reassuring word or two the Newtonian equilibrium was restored once again.

It was good to speak with some of you earlier this evening, and thank you so much for your kind words about this blog: I really appreciated them, and I'm glad you like it. As you can probably tell, I enjoy writing the nightly updates and it's lovely to have an appreciative audience.

Two firsts for me tonight: one, I was allowed to conduct the choir in the first hymn before resuming my normal position as assistant organist, and two, I was given special permission to play the exit voluntary! For those who wanted to know what it's called, it's 'Allegro Marziale' by Frank Bridge. You can YouTube it if you like, by putting - guess what - 'Allegro Marziale organ Frank Bridge' into the search engine. Oh, and by the way, did you enjoy 'Sausage time'?! (It's a great song, though, don't you think? Almost as good as the best ever, which is Elton John's 'Funeral for a Friend', which segues into 'Love lies bleeding', ...... h'm, or 'Hold on my Heart', by Phil Collins, which is a beautiful song.

I'm rambling now, so that's enough. Untiltomorrow,

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Followers, wherever you may be, scattered around the globe as you are! My 'stats' page tells me that you are as far away as Brazil, India, Japan and many other places, too, so welcome, one and all.

Sorry I didn't write anything last night; it was our other night off, you see, and Mr Porter was on duty, doing an excellent job, as always. I used to write about such non-fascinating things as that which I could hear through the wall, etc., but no-one was very interested in that, so I think that I will abandon reports on Tuesdays and Thursdays, unless something of great import should crop up.

You know how I was telling you about my convos with woolly beasts, and how such dialogues were somewhat one-sided? Well, that's all changed now, as tonight I enjoyed speaking to a mechanical (and slightly woolly) cat that spoke back to me. No, I haven't been drinking: it really did. The owner was more than a little taken aback when, having left the aforementioned animal on his bed while he showered, he returned to hear said cat saying 'You have a blue .... ' !!

It was sheet and pyjama change day today, which meant that all sheets and pyjamas were handed in this morning, and 'what I call bedmaking' happened tonight - with differing degrees of success. Yes, I thought you'd be fascinated by that.

There's more. Apple juice, bourbons, jammy dodgers (the biscuits, not the Newtonians who tried to skive showering) and fruit all made for a harmonious evening. Except for the slightest of altercations which occurred when one party decided that another had been using the UCR computer for rather a longer time than was acceptable.

On the whole, though, another lovely evening.

Happy days.

Goodnight.

Goodness! For all kinds of reasons I feel as if I've been through the emotional wringer tonight: massive highs and one or two sadnesses which I've had the privilege of sharing with some. Such, though, is the mosaic that is a lodgemaster's life - and I wouldn't have it any other way. How I shall miss it. I shoould tell you, however, that football-wise, we've had the most amazing afternoon, winning almost every match, and the HM has been very buoyant all evening .... ! Tremendous successes, with many goals being scored by Newtonians!

It's been a lovely evening tonight, with all LMs being wonderful company. TV for some, and games a-plenty for the non-viewers; with Bourbon biscuits and loads of fruit, as well as apple juice for all. One lovely LM, seeing that I was bourbonless, turned around, went back to the laundry (whence the same were being dispensed) and brought me one. Good move, that, and much appreciated, as you-know-who couldn't see my illegal guzzling, so I got away with that one.

Strangely (and unusually) I haven't actually been chatting with woolly mammoths and the like tonight, but I wasn't allowed out of one dorm before I'd said goodnight to Boris the Bat, or whatever he is.

I do apologise if you logged on last night and found the Newtonian cupboard to be bare: in fact,, Mrs C and I didn't in fact go out, but I had a delightful evening discussing Shakespeare's writings, with our amazing head of English and great friend, Dr Paul Dean. Brilliant, he is, with a doctorate in Renaissance Lit, and it's always a joy to escape for an hour or so and, over a flagon of top-class vino at the Summertown Wine Cafe, discuss erudite topics at uni level. He's just reviewed a learned tome, and the review is about to be published, so I felt deeply flattered to be asked for my opinion! I'm just a mere research fellow - and that's in ethnomusicology, which I can just about spell, let alone pontificate learnedly about. (Well, I could for a bit.)

Goodnight - from a happy and contented (and, at this moment, silent) Newton.

It's amazing how many woolly animals one gets to speak to in an evening, don't you find? No? Oh well, I do. Tonight I've spoken to a lion, a sort of walrussy beast and a teddy dog called, believe it or not, Doggy. And, just like your own LMs, all of the aforementioned seem well settled. (I didn't mean 'well settled', like rap songs, but well-settled. i.e.: they have settled very well. And talking of contemporary songs, do listen to 'Blind Faith' by Chase and Status: it's an amazing song. YouTube it, and, for reasons that will become apparent, before you start listening, think the words 'Sausage time'. I bet you'll at least smile .... !)

Our newcomers are indeed settled, and seem to know me well already, as one of them passed me as I was invoking all to replace their shoes after shoe-cleaning, and I must have sounded angry (as if) because, as he passed me, he enquired, 'I presume you're just 'mildly irritated', sir', with a big cheeky grin on his face. No names, of course, but he has a pair of large pretend glasses with mirrors on.

Shoe-cleaning, of course, is a Big Event. Prizes are available, you see, for the four pairs of shiniest shoes, and there were four very happy boys when they discovered that it was they who were victorious. Tom C was the judge, and a very good job he made of it, too.

Silent Reading started at 8.30pm, as always, and that came and went without any major issues, other than a lost dressing gown, which manifested itself within a few minutes in the Upstairs Common Room. (UCR.)

So there we are. Mrs C and I are off duty tomorrow night, and Mr Bryan, our Head of Classics (the youngest Head of a Classics department in the country, by the way) will be at the helm. If I'm here then of course I'll write a few lines, but if Mrs C and I are out on the lash - er, sorry, dining out, then I hope you'll forgive me if there's a break until Wednesday evening.

Thanks for reading - and until the next time, which will be soon,

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, and welcome to the 390th post of the Newton Blog!

We've had a lovely evening tonight, and most of us chose to watch Top Gear, which to me was one of the best episodes ever, because Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May were proving that the sports cars of the 1970s were much better cars than the hot hatches that replaced them. As I'm in the process of trying (!) to convince Mrs C that my life has reached the stage when I should be revisiting the automobiles on which I lavished such care and attention in my younger days, the whole programme was extremely topical. I was not slow to draw the commentary to the attention of the Newton Opergrupenfuhrerine, but I rather think that it may be some time before you see the Austin Healey 3000 parked outside this fine residence. And yes, I am very extremely jealous of my friend Mr Ives' MGB Roadster that he's threatening to bring here. If I could still get into an MG Midget without looking like a sardine in a tin, that would do nicely. If the suspension were reinforced appropriately.

Still, all was not as bad as all that, because we were able to scoff Kit-Kats, quaff hot chocolate, and eat our fill of fruit, which made the misery of knowing that my sports car owning days have passed more tolerable. (For the time being ...... ! I think I shall have to devise a Baldrickian 'cunning plan'!

So yes, all is well tonight, and you must forgive me for seeming to be a cantankerous old so and so last night. It's just that I wanted to hear that lovely performance, and extraneous noises off were not conducive to easy listening.

And that brings me back to James May, whom I see as my arch-rival. He's a qualified pianist, so am I. He has a grand piano; so do I. He's just over 6' tall; so am I. He's got a Ferrari.

I haven't.

Yet.

Goodnight - from a a happy Newton Lodge.

I nearly went apoplectic. No, don't worry, it wasn't with any of your own offspring, but mine. Last Night of the Proms, Lang Lang playing Liszt's Piano Concerto, amazing performance, note perfect. Do I think it is enhanced by my son and heir preparing and then consuming a vast plate of spag bol? No, I do not. Top music scholar that he is (sorry to brag) I really could have done without the rotating spoon and the incessant slurping. Mrs C tried very hard to keep the equilibrium, but eventually I exploded with everyone in sight (Mrs C, son and Isla, who seemed impervious to the beauty of the performing arts) and was then able to enjoy the last movement in peace. Well, a sort of uneasy peace. You know the sort.

Enough of my own family issues. Your LMs have been tremendous tonight: they watched 'Night at the Museum II', and they were brilliant. Perhaps I should have invited them to watch what we were watching .......

Amusement was caused by my falling down the three steps between our snug and our drawing room, and everyone who was there (of whom there were three, including our daughter, Hannah) thought it was extremely entertaining. Ho ho ho, and yes, I'm fine, thanks. The whole incident was reported on the phone by one LM who was in hysterics as he regaled his parents with his crazy lodgmeister's antics .... !

All is well, and everyone's fine. Even me.

Until tomorrow,

Goodnight.

PS: Fortunately for me, my son and heir has developed a tremendous sense of humour, and managed to keep us in a state of quasi-hysterical laughter throughout the last part of the LNOTP. Some of it is, actually, ridiculous, I must admit.

Oh my! That alarm clock was exceedingly early this morning, and heralded the end of our decadent cups of morning tea in bed! Still, up we all got, and I could tell that the term had started as I went into each dorm, and received a monosyllabic grunt or three in response to my cheery 'Good morning!'

When they come downstairs, they come via the originally-named Downstairs Common Room, where they are re-greeted by me and by the BBC News, which many seem to like. I did have to change the channel, though, because there was a somewhat inapppropriate article on at the time - but of course, this being the classy joint this is, there was only so much ITV morning banter about the world of entertainment one could cope with, so we returned to the erudition of BBC1 as soon as possible.

Tonight has been generally happy, although I think one or two have been taken a little by surprise at the pace of the new term, and there were, if truth be told (and it must be, on a blog like this one), there were a few fairly tired LMs. (Little Men.) I suspect that a good night's sleep will work wonders, though, and all will be well again tomorrow morning. Of course, Bourbon biscuits, apple juice and a whole load of fruit have helped to keep morale up, as did Miss Alex's game of Twister in the DCR, which had to be seen to be believed. The image you may have in your mind of about eight Newtonians in various contortionistic poises (I know the word doesn't exist, but I rather like it) on a plastic mat is one that may play havoc with your mental decoding!

I just had to get rather cross, as there were one or two who, forgetting that your correspondent types next door to the dorms, seemed to think that a quick post-lights out amble around the top floor was rather pleasant. So I took an inter-paragraph stroll myself, and extinguished the flame of alacrity that was manifesting itself on the top corridor. They're silent now. Strange, that.

Goodnight.

You might have guessed. After I signed off last night, there was a knock on our interlinking door, and three concerned Ospreyites coming in, in a state of great anxiety, to tell me that 'Sir! X is locked in the vins and can't get out!' So off I toddled to the vins in question to release the captive, which I managed without let or hindrance. I just leaned on the door and invited X to turn the lock clockwise, which he did, and he emerged, looking as if he'd conquered Everest. Of course, the rescue team were equally proud of themselves and went back to bed feeling that a job had been well done. (So to speak.)

Tonight, Mr Porter has been on duty, but we felt that as this was just the second night of term, we ought to be in evidence. So we hovered, and all was very well. I enquired of a number of residents what mark out of ten they would give their day, and I was greatly heartened to learn that most would give nine, or nine and a half. There was an eight, but that was revised upwards on reflection.

For some reason, the showers decided to drop cold water to begin with tonight, which didn't go down (well, it did, of course) very well - except upon one hardy soul who informed me, with a shrug, that he actually 'rather likes cold showers'. I do, in fact, myself, from time to time, and that goes back to my own prep school days of the 1960s. (Yes, I really am that old.) (But I can text, and I do have a Facebook account, so I'm still young at heart.)

Anyway, they're all happy, it seems, and our lovely newcomers are quickly getting used to it all. So until tomorrow night,

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends (the 'f' is capitalised because you're all very special people) and welcome to the first post of this year's edition of the Newton Blog! It's a great pleasure to welcome you all aboard, and to tell you that this is where you will learn all about the evening's activities in this happy SF residence. I have three simple rules: no names, no photos and no links. Of course, sometimes, by a simple process of deduction, you'll be able to tell who (sorry, whom) I'm talking - writing - about, but basically, names are verboten.

Tonight has been great. We started with a lodge meeting, in which Mrs C, Miss Alex and I were able to orientate our newcomers, and to introduce them to Isla, our wonderful black lab, who, as you can imagine, was the star of the show and who managed to nuzzle her way into the centre of the proceedings.

Everyone seems very happy to be reunited, and those who are new to Newton all seem to have settled without issue, which is tremendous. I'm sure we'll have one or two who may come and see us during the night, but that's fine, and we've told them to come and find us if they feel they want a little reassurance. It'll all be a bit strange for a couple of days, but I'm sure they will soon settle and all will be well. Just at the moment, from where I'm typing, they're all going quickly and quietly to sleep. And just in case you need reassurance yourselves, between the last paragraph and this one I went to check.

Until tomorrow night, then, I will bid you

Goodnight.

So this is it, then. Another Newtonian year draws to a close, and it's one that Mrs C and I will look back on with much affection. Laughter, tears, successes - triumphs, even -, disappointments, idiocy (usually initiated by your correspondent, viz: 'I don't mind you being silly as long as I'm being silly', and other such daft quotes), it's all been part of the whole, and the main ingredient of the whole has been FUN! I always said that when the job stops being fun then I would give up, so with just one year to go, I'm optimistic about next year, especially as the LMs that will be with us came and 'bonded' with their new lodge (and lodgemeister and ubergrupenfuhrerine) this afternoon. They seem so very young now, but, like your NSLMs, they will be ready to move on when the year has passed.

Tonight we've all packed, enjoyed edible rewards in the form of Heroes, and some other lovely treats supplied by Miss Alex, and now everyone is watching the remainder of the film that, for reasons best forgotten, was put on hold on Saturday night. Actually, there were only seven minutes left, which was a tad embarrassing, so now they've selected The Golden Compass, and that seems to be going down very well.

So there we are. That, dear Followers, is that. Thank you all for your loyal following, and thank you, too, for your huge support throughout the year. We've loved having every single one of your LMs, and I hope that they will all have another great year, wherever they go, next year.

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Followers, for the penultimate time this year - and a very warm welcome to our latest new Full Follower, Paddy by name, who is known well to me because he's an amazing journalist and a thoroughly bon oeuf. (Quite how he's managed to locate this blog is beyond my comprehension, but I'm 100 per cent sure that phone-hacking is as far from his modus operandi as I am from the moon.)

The lodge party seems to have been a huge success, with all the nibbles, sausage rolls, mini-sausages, Crunchie-bites and Sprites that go to make up SF lodge dos. (You see, there's a case where an aberrant apostrophe would actually assist with comprehension, but I will, of course, desist, otherwiseI shall lose all credibility with those nice journalistic friends of mine, and the offers from the DT and others will dry up.)

I made a very brief, but I hope sincere, speech, thanking everyone, and incorporating the fact that Alice C has emerged from her annus horribilis as deputy head of house and a school prefect, which is testimony both to her tenacity, the amazing support we've had from the HM and his staff, and the kind thoughts and words that we have received from you, dear Followers. And while I never mention names on this blog, the school is Milton Abbey, and the HM's name is Mr Gareth Doodes - and he's brilliant. And yes, you can quote me.

Mr Porter took over after the party, and did another fine job, and it is only right and fitting that I should thank him and Mr Bryan for all that they do for me and for Newton. I couldn't wish for two more conscientious colleagues as my deputies, nor could I wish for a better gapper-matron than Miss Alex, who, sadly, is ill at the moment and was unable to join us.

But of course, the real star of the show is Mrs C, who remains the steadfast rock she's always been, and without whom none of us males would have much of a clue. In this, our 30th year of marriage, I know, more than ever, just how fortunate I am.

Goodnight.

It's been a busy old day today, for various reasons. Issues a-plenty to deal with and things to get on with - and, as always, all the more fulfilling for that.

Tonight I received a visit from the erstwhile headmaster of SF, Mr Nigel Talbot Rice, who had very kindly agreed to write an obituary for Nick Aldridge. We journeyed down memory lane, reminiscing about times of yore, and then he asked if he could have a look around Newton.

The LMs, of course, were fascinated to discover that the face that looks down at them whenever they're in Macmillan is actually a living, real person, and I had the pleasure of introducing them to Mr T.R. He was greatly amused, when greeted by a member of Upper Third, who introduced himself thus:

'Hello, sir, I'm **** - and you must be Nigel' !!!!!

'Er, Mr Talbot Rice to you, I think, **** !' I replied.

Anyway, it's been a long old day, so I'm going to turn in for the night, as they say in Cliche-land. (Sorry, can't do accents on the blog.)

Goodnight.

See? I told you there was more to the relationship between Mr Hansen and Zahira Shaa. I know it's all meant to be complicated, what with him being the director of surgery and she being his protegee, etc, but I suppose the irony is that, for all the complications, their liaison is really very simple. Fascinating stuff. That's the stuff of CE themes when the topic for the year is 'relationships'! (It's 'conflict' this year: equally apposite!)

We were going to have our lodge party tonight, but didn't, due to inclement weather conditions. (Have you ever heard anyone talk about 'clement' weather conditions?) We'll therefore have it on Thursday evening - although don't tell the LMs, please.

Hard to believe that another Newtonian year is coming to a close: this one has been very special, with a lovely dynamic throughout.

Mr Bryan has been on duty tonight, and all has been well, notwithstanding a text from him from the other side of the wall, in which he requested that Tom' s private rave (he was learning Bach's D minor Toccata on the bass guitar, as you do, and was, perhaps, a little generous with the volume control) might operate a tad more gently. Loyal son that he is, he acquiesced immediately.

Goodnight.

It's league feast night, and Congreve won, so there haven't been that many charges to look after tonight, although they did come over from main school at 7pm ....... ! The rest will be back in a few minutes, so if I suddenly have to break off and supervise, then - well, you'll probably never realise. Ah - I hear them now.

Good news from Zanzibar has reached us in the form of two text messages; the first telling us that our daughter's room has a view onto the Indian Ocean, and the second informing us that she had been for a swim in the same. (Ocean, that is, not room.) The charity is called 'African Impact', lest you should be interested in seeing what it's all about.

I hear news from the national athletics championships of hurdles records being smashed by a Newtonian, he having also won a clutch of gold medals. You know that I never release names on this blog, but no doubt you can have a pretty good guess who it is ...... ! Many congratulations are awaiting.

The timetable goes a bit strange tomorrow and thereafter, starting with a lie-in of half an hour, so Mrs C and I can enjoy our decadent morning cups of tea in bed withut having to rush. Always a pleasure.

Goodnight.