It's been a good evening, and now the troops are reading silently. I must apologise for highlighting my mathematical inability earlier as far as reporting the number of blumberjacks (blog followers; log, you see.) that formed the nucleus of my audience, but I hope those of you who tune into the other Newton channel (Twitter) received my update.

Tonight's feasting amid the revelry consisted of orange segments, lovingly cut up by Mrs C and Miss A, jammy dodgers and fruit. How different that all is to my one cup of milk - or was it one of those tiny bottles? - and two ginger nuts. We always tried to get away with taking more than our rations, but we invariably heard the stentorian tones of Mr Burton, the deputy head, who was watching us from the landing above, rebuking us and threatening us with a good thrashing if we were discovered. (His bark was worse than his bite, though - most of the time.)

Games night incorporated a jolly game of Twister, in which the competitors gave very good and convincing performances as contortionists. No-one turned the radio on tonight, which was surprising: perhaps they were just too busy having a good time.

I must apologise, too, for the series of terrible puns. That arises from my having stated (oh goodness, I sound like a Latin textbook) that I could make a pun out of anything, while on a choir tour. (It was during dinner in the hotel, and a jolly good one it was, too.) One of the choristers looked at me, picked up a napkin and said "Go on then, sir, make a pun out of this in the next sixty seconds and I'll give you a sweet ration. That's the deal."

"And if I don't I suppose it will have folded," was my instant riposte.

Oh the wit. And the self-effacing modesty, of course.

Bonne nuit.

Marvellous. We've passed the 300th milestone - and I'm able to celebrate in style, for various (much appreciated) reasons. Good wishes have been arriving from all over the world, and my international audience has surpassed all previous records, the greatest to date having been 33. I'm still being monitored by the Chinese authorities, so my stats tell me, and Romania and Georgia are also on the radar, not to mention (although I'd better) Australia, France and Switzerland. Japan has featured, and so have many other nations, so if the Newton Blog is playing even the smallest part in uniting nations, then I'm pleased.

I hope you all had a wonderful weekend, as Mrs C, Alice C and I did. A lovely and bracing walk by the sea was just what the doctor ordered, as was much reading, the chance to listen properly to Sir Elton's latest album, 'The Union', which I have to say left me a little disappointed, but that's probably because I need to listen again; Casulaty, of course, which the Mrs and I thought just a little heavy this week; then off to play for the morning service, where my rendition of Bach's Toccata and Fugue in D minor at the end led to generous applause, back for a deliciously fine Sunday lunch and then another very agreeable walk through the Dorset countryside with the ever-active, affectionate, ever-loving, ever-forgiving friend - and Isla, of course. (Oh don't worry, Mrs C never reads the blog, so I know I'll get away with it.)

Tonight has been as enjoyable as ever: Jaffa cakes, Quavers, which nearly left me a little crotchety, as I thought I wasn't going to be able to wangle a packet, but I just had to wait a minim in order to stave off my hunger pangs. Mind you, I did end up in a little trouble from Mrs C and Miss A, as I'd invited the petrol-heads into our snug to watch Top Gear and was happily ensconced myself, when suddenly I heard uxorial tones suggesting that perhaps I might care to bear in mind that there were other members of the lodge, and that sitting in the snug for most of the evening wasn't exactly as helpful as it might be. All was well in the end, though, once I'd exercised diplomatic powers.

Time to go - and search for a post-retirement position in the United Nations.

Goodnight - wherever you may be.

So here we are, then: the 300th post.I said I'd do something different, and this, my friends, is it. I'm sitting at my computer in West Dorset, having successfully led a Bridport choir through their service schedule for Sunday, and they were, as always, most appreciative. They also give out Quality Streets at the end of every rehearsal, so that's another reason for going.

As for tomorrow, well, it'll be a 'somewhat relaxed' start to the day, and then, subject to weather conditions being clement, I shall mount my trusty motorbike and take it for a spin around the locality, endeavouring not to instil too much fear into the more senior members of the community, one of whom I am due to become in the not-too-distant.Not exactly earth-shatteringly spectacular, I know, but just a small way of celebrating.

Normal service will be resumed on Sunday night. For now, though,I will wish you a wonderful weekend - and

goodnight.

There: I told you it would be different.

Post number 299, and I must tell you, my Followers, that my day started with the jocular headmagisterial rebuke I'd been expecting since telling you about Coffeecupgate. And seeing as Our Leader is one of my most ardent and faithful Followers, I'd better make amends, say sorry and agree that my post did indeed contain, as he so aptly put it, 'a little too much information'! As for the Thursday morning biscuit upgrade, well, I'll let you know. Nothing wrong with custard creams, or digestives, of course, and people such as your correspondent consume far too many of both, but those shortbread cookies that you and I enjoy at parents' mornings, they're as good as it gets.

Mr Porter-night tonight, and it sounded as if all was going swimmingly. Indeed, I think the aforementioned was enjoying one of the computer games himself, from what I could hear through the green baize door.

I should tell you that as I am typing, Jasmine, our ancient tabby, is on the floor behind me, chomping away at the contents of a tin of 'Gourmet Gold' cat food, 'with Ocean Fish'. Ocean fish my **** : if the purveyors think I'm going to believe that some Scottish fisherman risked life and limb in the Atlantic to catch the contents of the meal that Jasmine's just finished then I'm King James the First.

And that, dear readers, enables me to segue nicely into telling you that a new guitar teacher (I think) really is His Majesty. I couldn't believe my eyes at lunchtime, for there, sitting on Mr Bishop's right hand (!) was, honestly, James I. All that was needed was for him to be clutching a copy of the Authorised Bible and I'd have been completely fooled. Perhaps I'm wrong, though, and he's actually the new lute teacher.

I'd better stop. Already I can feel another tap on the shoulder coming on, so I will desist from writing more, and wish you, on the eve of this blog's 300th post, a very fond goodnight.

This, dear friends, is post number 298. So this means that number 300 will need to wait until after Short Leave, or, as you will have already calculated, you'll have to log on to an extraordinary post (no change there, then) from deepest Dorset. The thing is, I'm due to take the choir practice at a church just outside Bridport that night (they want me to take over as organist and Master of the Choristers when I leave SF at the end of next academic year), so it may be a bit later than usual. And yes, we do have computers down there. One of the farmhands (and we know about them and their frumbling ways) puts the coal in every two hours.

Talking of such things as broadband speeds, what I've never understood is when people (who pretend to know such things) say that their broadband is 'five times faster', what DO they mean? Five times faster than what? It seems to me, Luddite that I am (although my younger colleagues are always amazed to learn that Grandpa has a Twitter account and can text), that there is no starting point. I mean, your broadband speed could be 'three times faster' than mine (although mine's pretty speedy) or vice versa. So, so what? No, I don't get that. And there's a jolly good letter to the Telegraph today, from a bloke in Kenya, about such things. Worth a read.

I was asked tonight whether the rezzies could watch 'The Nail Biting Match'. Imagining, wrongly, that our minimalist Sky package incorporated Sky Sports, I said yes. Unfortunately it doesn't, so they couldn't see it after all. Fortunately, they're a very forgiving lot. And anyway, what's they joy in watching people biting their nails? No, seriously, I did try to upgrade, but I couldn't find our PIN, and the only person I knew who had it was Hannah C, and she was at a celebratory 'do' in X'ian, the local (excellent) Chinese place in Summertown. (Btw, if you're looking for somewhere to lunch on Friday, try X'ian, and tell Gary, the owner, that I sent you. Discounts have been known.)

It's been a lovely evening here tonight, and all is well. Mrs C's sister is off to NZ tomorrow: perhaps they'll call in to see my rival blogmeister! (On the other hand ...... )

Goodnight.

We're coming up to the 300th blog-log, dear friends, and that will happen in three days' time. I must think of some way in which to celebrate, possibly by doing something very excitingly daring such as typing in a different colour. Or font. Or some such. You'll just have to wait and see.

As it's Tuesday, Mrs C and I have been off duty, and, save for a persistent thumping from the common room above our snug (which, on obergrupenfuhrial investigation proved to be no more than someone tapping their foot on the floor) during Holby City, all has been calm, so my excellent deputy has obviously had everything under control. I'm still curious to know why so many of the Holby cast are leaving the series: I really must ask those in the know. Trouble at t' mill, I suspect. I do enjoy Mr Hanson's pithy comebacks, I must say: I wish I could be so apposite so quickly. There's a book, I think, containing some of the finest retorts made by eminent people; it's called 'I wish I'd said that', but I've only ever browsed through its pages, and that was years ago now.

I keep meaning to tell you about how the Newton Blog featured (features) in the most recent Ofsted inspection report! I hadn't noticed it myself, so thank you, loyal Follower, for drawing it to my attention, and, as I said to my informant, I think (but cannot prove) such a mention is an international first. I know there's a HM in New Zealand who writes a regular blog (Huntley prep school), but whether it's ever featured in an inspection report I don't know. Anyway, the NB wouldn't have been mentioned if you, dear readers, hadn't told the inspectorate about it, so - thank you very much indeed.

I think that'll do for tonight, revelling in indulgent self-aggrandisement as I am, so I crave your forgiveness, and wish you goodnight.

Team Newton was in full swing tonight, what with shoe-cleaning, custard creams, hot chocolate being served, fruit and Cadbury's Celebrations for those whose footwear warranted such reward! All accompanied, of course, by the music of the 80s blasting through the mighty (well, not really that mighty, but they do have a good bass on them) speakers of the Clubhouse.

Many congratulations, by the way, to our new Follower, who's managed to weave her/his way through the maze of this blog's idiosyncrasies so that s/he can join the swelling band who can comment on anything that might arise in my nightly ramblings.

Did you know that three of my former pupils are now my colleagues? Mr Edwards, who was my tutee in the 80s, Mr Corry, who was in my form when I was teaching at Papplewick, and whose youthful features feature in a team photo, also from the 80s, have often been used to raise the odd smile. And now Mr Hawkins, our 'super-gapper' (he's a graduate, you see, so he's not just a gapper) has joined us, and he was a member of my 3C here in the 90s.

I received another 'LOL' from the HM in an e-mailed response this morning: he was(quite rightly) getting annoyed with us for taking mugs of coffee into form rooms. I sent a response, saying that yes, there was indeed a mug in my room, but it was nothing to do with me. I labelled the message 'No mug', which, as I say, resulted in 'LOL. D' (For the unitiatiated, and those not up to speed with text-speak, LOL stands for 'laughing out loud'.) (Btw means 'by the way' and atm means 'at the moment'. There are others, like ROFL, which means 'rolling on floor laughing', and then they get rather rude, so I'll stop there.)

Some Followers have been enquiring about Newton's other channel, namely its Twitter account. It's very simple: just log on to www.twitter.com/newtoniannews and there you are. Or rather, there it is. If you're feeling very techno, you could add it to your RSS feeds and then you'll automatically receive any updates. Please don't imagine, as one Follower did last term, that no tweets means that the parrot has fallen off its perch; it just means that either that I haven't had anything of note to say, or I've forgotten that I have a Twitter account.

It does occur that parrots seem to be featuring in this blog rather regularly: I wonder if there's anything significant about that. I know another stupid joke about parrots: man walks into pet shop to buy a pair of parrots. (Is that the right collective noun?) He sees one pair and doesn't really like them, but then spies two more much higher up. 'Can I buy those?' he asks. 'Well, yes, but they're on higher perches'.

ROFL. (Having fallen off perch.)

Goodnight.

You know, when I think back to my own prep school days, back in the 1960s, I remember having a really great time in so many ways; not least when the HM used to invite some of us to his quarters to listen to classical music. I was thinking, tonight, that not much has changed, except that instead of listening to music, my guests (who had opted to come through, rather than accepted any kind of invitation) and I were enjoying watching the first of the new series of Top Gear. And very good it was, too.

Talking of cars, as I was (because that's what Top Gear is all about, lest any of you should not be aware of such things), and also continuing the theme of my prep school days, no-one ever believes me when I tell them that the HM allowed some of us thirteen-year-olds to drive an old car around the grounds - but he did, and that was fun, too. Can you imagine what H and S would have to say about that?!

It's been a great weekend, active, what with 'Just a Minute' last night, and then various other responsibilities. One of my pleasures, though, was to wander over to the model railway room and discover to my absolute delight, that the members have managed to get three trains to run simultaneously! Wonderful work: so well done the club sec and assistants, all of whom are Newtonians. We're now planning an 'official re-launch' in the near future, when we can show off all that's been happening.

As for tonight, well, Kit-Kats, fruit, dorm-tidiness prizes (well done, Osprey) and other such things have made for a good evening, and it was with very great pleasure that we welcomed Miss Alex's parents to Newton, who are on their way to France for a bit of ski-ing before returning down under. I was presented with a lovely bottle of Australian wine, which I shall greatly enjoy.

So, on to the next week - and the run-up to short leave. I can't believe it's nearly upon us already!

Goodnight, one and all.

It's late, dear readers, so I'll keep it brief.

Tonight, I organised another episode of 'Just a Minute', which is a direct crib of the radio version, complete with the theme music, and that seemed to go down well. It's amazing how Sumerfieldians can talk when they're asked to - and even if when they're not ..... !

As for things Newtonian, well, the film was 'Rock School', which many of the rezzies greatly enjoyed, and for others the thing to do was to relax in the upstairs common room. Indeed, just before Casulaty I went up to ensure that all was well, and it was, I have to say, a picture of contentment, with two at the computer, one sprawled in the big armchair, and the rest on the 'sofa' (a spare bed), watching the telly.

Tomorrow is, of course, another day, and mine starts with the leading of worship at the United Reformed Church in Summertown, while all the LMs are here, happily enjoying a bit of free time. I don't doubt that the model railway room will be in full swing, and I'm very glad to report that this initiative seems to have been a signal success. Some can't see the point, and imagine that train nerds like us have gone off the rails, but it's easy to catch such cynics off guard. So we shall station ourselves in the railway room and I'll continue to train up our new recruits.

These posts get worse. Sorry.

If your LM is at home with you, I hope you're having a lovely time: here, all is well.

Goodnight. Oh, by the way, I'd like to thank you for your entries for the parrot-naming competition - or at least, I would if I'd received any - and tell you that winning answer would have been Isaiah.

My computer is performing a background check, apparently: all very ominous. Amazing how it has a mind of its own. Ah! Apparently it's found and fixed various threats. Very good of it.

I think I ought either to visit Specsavers or book an appointment to see someone. (Ha ha.) You remember I told you last night that we had acquitted ourselves with distinction in handing in sheets, pillowcases, etc.? Well, it transpires that I must have been only half awake, as I discovered, to my great surprise, three baskets in the common room this morning. Apparently, it was towels and flannels that were submitted and not, as I had assumed, the rest of the laundry as described last night. Anyway ...... oh, I've had enough of talking about laundry: let's move on. (Although I did have to enquire about Miss Alex's mathematical skills when I heard her telling Mrs C that there was 'one more pants and socks to come'. Strange, but not as bizarre as a response I found myself writing to a parent of a tutee, who had expressed concern that her son was not attending all of his Mandarin classes: 'Dear Mrs X, Thank you for your message. I will look into the Mandarin ...... ' I couldn't help but smile at the surreal sight in my mind as I peeled a tangerine while watching Ice Road Truckers.)

There's been a great deal of bed-swapping tonight - by which I mean (he says, quickly) people have been transferring their locations in the dorms. Everyone who's moved has elected to do so, and everyone seems happy with the arrangement, so all is well.

During the removals, we found time for a joke or two, with my own contribution being the one about a chap who wanted to buy a parrot, went to the pet shop, was offered one that looked cute, other than the fact that one eye was in the normal place and the other eye was two inches higher. When the owner returned to his house, he wondered what he should call his new pet. The answer was blindingly obvious, of course, and if you'd like to submit your suggestions to my e-mail address I shall look forward to reading them tomorrow.

Quick-wittedness seems to have been the order of the evening, as when I was told by one of our new members that biscuits were being served in the common room, I gave my customary response, 'Crumbs!' Usually, that just gets a vague smile or a look of hopeless sympathy, but tonight, quick as a flash, the rejoinder of 'That really takes the biscuit' served to impress. We then moved on to the subject of Latin imperatives. Which was a bit hard to digest. (Sorry, it's late and it's the best I can do.)

That'll do for tonight.

Goodnight - and thanks for reading.

As I type, the happy sound of contented chappies is emanating from the common room and beyond. It all sounds very relaxed and happy - and Mrs C and I are off duty, it being Thursday night, and Mr Porter is steering the good ship Newton through calm and untroubled waters. He's just called for silent reading and within a few minutes, silence will reign once again. No, honestly, it will. The chatter is already dying away.

You'll be glad to hear that sheets, pillowcases, duvet covers and pyjamas were all successfully collected this morning, and that we all acquitted ourselves with moderate distinction. Four did really go into three, and the big bags were then done up and sent on their way.

It's now silent, after just two paragraphs. Well done, Mr P.

It's always tricky to report on evenings when we're not around with les garcons, and I do feel that I'm clutching at straws a bit, so I will tell you that my thought for the day in Chapel this morning (I always lead the service on Thursday mornings) involved inviting the congregation to consider whether Christianity really could be described as a monotheistic religion if it divided God up, Gall-like, into three parts. I wondered how that would go down, and I must confess that some of the Mynors did look a little perplexed, as I suspect that they don't really discuss heavy-duty theology on an every day basis. However, I found myself sitting among some members of 5th Form at supper, and they were eager to combine such exegetical consideration with the chomping of tortillas and chile con carne, so that was good. As always, we parted without any conclusions being reached, although we did have a good discussion.

Ah well, tomorrow, as they say, is another day. Deep, that old adage. I can't think of anything of great note that's due to happen, so I suspect it will be just another Friday, with HM's assembly to kick things off - although I've just remembered that he's going to be away until tomorrow night, so Mr Bishop will take the helm, then lessons, then games, then , well, the rest of the day, then lodge. But that's the joy of a place like this: you never quite know what's going to happen next. So tune in tomorrow, same time, same place - and see. For now, though,

Goodnight. (Oh, and just to prove that standards are being maintained, I spotted a gerund in a round-bin e-mail to all staff from Mr Bishop today. I bet you thought they were extinct.)

I sometimes think, dear readers, that such are the workings of the male mind that we simply would not be able to exist, in any reasonable way, without what is perceived by the female of our species as practical common sense. Let me give you an example. Tomorrow morning is a bedding laundry day. Count up the items: sheets, pillowcases, duvets, pyjamas. All of those have to be placed in laudry baskets in the common room before the rezzies go over to main school. Now my mathematical aptitude, as you know, is worse than useless, and I remain convinced that there are only three types of mathematician: those who can do maths, and those who can't. But, to me, a mere mortal male, the total of those items is four. So, fellow fathers, how many baskets would you need for that, then? Answer? Three. Of course. Because, you see, duvet covers and pillowcases go in the same basket .... ! Of course, Mrs C understands that, because she's been here for the past 17 years, but Miss Alex, who's been here just over a week, seemed to grasp the concept just like that. Anyway, that's how it all works, and you must by now be open-mouthed at the excitement that we enjoy here in our capacities as Newtonian staff.

Football on the telly provided all the entertainment that almost everyone required tonight. (Other than complex discussions about laundry, of course.) Leeds versus Arsenal. As usual, silent reading cut right across a large part of the game, but being the big softy I am (thanks, HM, for that new e-mailed sobriquet) I couldn't do otherwise but accede to a request to remain in the common room for an extra two minutes. It was then suggested by a well-respected wit that I should add on 'injury time' ... - a suggestion which I ignored, as I did the further request to accompany yet another rendition of the Silent Reading Song. (Move over, though, Sir Elton: the Newton rezzies are coming.)

One moment of heavy irony occurred when I passed 'a dorm' and as I did so, a Scalextric model car flew towards me and landed at my feet. I did not condone such behaviour, and enquired as to why it was that such a vehicle as is designed for road (or track) use should acquire the identity of an aeroplane. I then suggested that if I were to pick up a possession of the quasi-test pilot and thrwo it around the room, he might not be best pleased. He took the point and said sorry. I forgave him.

One more thing about the match. When I sent the downstairs common room spectators upstairs for silent reading, I'd forgotten that I'd tuned in the television in the upstairs common room. Guess where I found the downstairs crowd .......

You have to admire the cheek sometimes, do you not? Not? Oh well. One to them, then.

Goodnight.

Honestly. Sometimes I really do think that television dramas are so far-fetched. Holby tonight, for example: a fat bloke who lies on his bed, surrounded by attentive staff, bossing people around, generally making a nuisance of himself and writing a blog that he imagines is read by thousands around the globe. Get real.

Am I grumpy tonight, just because of hyperbolic (you have to be careful how you say that) storylines? No, I'm not. Well, actually, yes I am, because when I went to collect our daughter, Hannah, from Oxford station, I put the telly on hold, assuming that Mrs C and I would be able to enjoy Holby together on our night off, and what happens? The wretched Sky Plus thingy gives the programme the chop, 40 minutes in. Oh well, I suppose we'll have to watch it on iPlayer.

As for things Newtonian, well, my splendid assistant lodgemeister, Mr Bryan, has been on duty tonight, assisted by the very able Miss Alex, so we've been entirely confident that all has been well, well. (Rather too many wells in that sentence, methinks.) That, of course, is teacher-euphemism for 'I haven't got a clue what's been going on, but they haven't been rioting, so I'm sure everything's been under control'.

I caught up with Tom C, on Skype, this evening. All seems to be going as we'd wish, and he's now thinking about his digs for next year. Upon asking him where he imagined his student quarters might be located, he opined that Russell Square would be nice. Yes, very. And if he imagines that anyone of my readers might have a spare house lying around there that they might care to offer to a bunch of arty-farty SOAS students, I suspect he's more likely to have moved into an address that features in Cloud-Cuckoo Land. And even if they did, I suspect that any inspection thereof during the time of occupancy would result in the owner suffering instant catatonic shock.

I took Isla for a walk at Wytham this afternoon, it being a Tuesday. Mrs C wasd engrossed in entry test papers. I think I preferred the long straw through which I was walking, rather than the short one she drew.

Wednesday tomorrow: I may see some of you here. Until then, then,

Goodnight.

Well, it was like this, you see. I had turned on my old analogue Yamaha keyboard, and one of the rezzies noticed it. Now you may not know this, nor might you believe it, but years ago I was the keyboard player for a band called 'First Offence'. We achieved no notoriety whatsoever, and although some of the songs we wrote were OK, we didn't really try very hard to do much with them.

Anyway, I was invited to play, and, having learnt many years ago that it's very rude to decline an invitation to play the piano, I did so. Once again, my faithful fans insisted that I should make an album, and I received the compliment with good grace, before remembering that I'm 59. Oh well, who knows.

Inevitably, we sang the Newton Silent Reading Song, which went down rather well, with the outcome of such vocal virtuosity being that when they got to the end of it, they assumed it must be, indeed, silent reading time (ten minutes earlier than usual!) and made their way to their beds! I think Miss Alex thinks she's come to a very strange place. (She's amazing, btw, and I'm sure she could run Newton single-handed if asked to do so.)

Prior to Newton duty, though, I made my way to the staff room annex in Summertown, otherwise known as Joe's Wine Bar, where I had the great privilege of talking with a colleague who has just had a family bereavement, and whose lineage goes back a very, very long way and is absolutely fascinating. Thereafter, he and I discussed the first and second axial waves of humanity, considering the various empires and religions, and why it is, sociologically, theologically and otherwise, the West is as strong as it is now. And, of course, whether it's likely to stay that way. Which it probably isn't.

What a kaleidoscopic way of life this is. I noticed one LM training his torch and gazing earnestly on a ladybird, during silent reading. I wonder what might come of that.

Goodnight.

Jaffa cakes. That's what your/our LMs have been gorging on tonight, and very nice they were, too. I actually managed to get one from Mrs C, but trying for a second was a lost cause.

It's been an interesting day. Chapel started things rolling, with the Chaplain's sermon about Pringles: sadly, I couldn't stay to hear the crux of the address as I had to disappear from the organ loft (actually, it's not really loft, because it's on the ground floor) and nip round to the Summertown United Reformed Church to play for their morning service. (Btw, the Chaplain was amused (slightly) when he told me that about the topic he was to speak about and received my instant rejoinder of 'Crumbs!'. I went to suggest that as this was still the season of Epiphany, his sermon would be a Golden Wonder. It almost worked.)

This afternoon I took a group of railway enthusiasts (of which I am one such nerd) to the Pendon Model Railway Museum , where we were greeted cordially by fellow trainspotters, and, as I observed last year, it's interesting to note that they're all of advancing years and have beards. Especially the men. No, I shouldn't tease: they're lovely really, and they make nice cups of tea. For each other. We were all given complimentary tea/coffee vouchers, but I'm not sure that such luxuries would really have been wholly appreciated by les troops.

Now this bit is a tad weird. I know that Winston Churchill enquired of his first Latin beak why and when he would ever have cause to address a table, but I can surpass that, as tonight I was invited to speak to a door. Yes, a door.

You see, the thing is, the doors in this place are all on fire thingies, which means that if the noise level goes beyond a certain number of decibels, they shut automatically. No, I don't understand it, either. It was suggested by two members of Heron dorm that their door had a mind of its own. A philosophical discussion ensued, wherein I suggested that a door, being inanimate, had neither a mind, nor, indeed, a soul. Such pusillanimity was greeted with scorn, and I was made to address the door forcibly. Using my best Vocative case (but omitting the O), I did so. The door, of course, shut.

As I said to Miss Alex, as a graduate schoolmaster, and with a collection of other quals to my name, including one in business stuff, I could now be looking forward to returning to my plush and comfortable office tomorrow morning, sitting in that lovely big black chair; Miss - sorry, Ms - Jenkinson bringing me my daily cappucino (and Jaffa cakes) and generally enjoying the satisfaction that I'd made the grade.

But no. What is it that I'm doing on a Sunday night? Talking to a door.

Oh well, it beats working.

Goodnight, all.

Goodness me: Casulaty (see, I still can't type it correctly) was a bit heavy tonight, was it not? I think Ruth's having a breakdown myself, and I have to say, it's not surprising. As for Nick Jordan getting the job he's been after and now about to leave the E.D., well, I suppose that was inevitable, really. And have you noticed that Holby now has a different producer? My friend Diana Kyle seems to have left the show (for that, dear friends, is what it is), so I shall e-mail her and get the low down.

Back to the , erm, 'normality' of Newton. You'll be glad to hear that the upstairs lights are now functioning again, after our wonderful maintenance team went walkabout in the loft, to discover that there was a tiny leak from the roof, and that this had caused the fuse to blow. The LMs, of course, thought the whole episode was entirely brilliant (actually, of course, it was anything but) and were very disappointed to come across to a fully illuminated lodge.

More electrical problems manifested themselves tonight, however, as the DVD player failed to function once again - as is now customary at the beginning of every film. However, before long we had done all sorts of clever things, and placed scart leads in various sockets (with the lodgemeister exuding an air of tenchnical superiority - spurious, but effective, as I haven't really got a clue) and, thanks to a bit (lot) of semi-oriental know-how, the player burst into life and all was well. This resulted in a spontaneous round of applause, at which point I publicly shook the hand of my assistant and plunged the room into darkness. Deliberately this time. Sweet rations were then handed out and we moved on.

As for the non-viewers from the nocturnal fashion show, they went upstairs and read a book, and then went to sleep - and I've promised them I'll never mention the incident again.

So that's the current situation in Newton. No, I'm not going to be tempted to indulge in another list of electricity puns: I did that last term. Some of you thought I was being a bright spark, just because I thought I'd socket to you. Ohm my goodness, I'm doing it again. That's enough for tonight - although ......

.... if you hear of anyone who wants to know what happens in this lodge, give the blog a plug.

Goodnight,

H'm. Interesting day today. I went to play the organ and give the address for a Thanksgiving service for the wife of a former SF governor this afternoon: it was a lovely service, with a packed church, and Im sure she would have liked it.

Back here tonight, of course, and there's been great excitement, as the upstairs lights fused earlier this evening, causing all the first floor rezzies to find themselves in pitch darkness, informing me, with no uncertain degree of optimism that they hoped there would be a 'power cut' every night as it was such fun. Such 'fun', my dear readers, was not entirely shared by your correspondent, who spent a large part of the evening in (appopriately!) Fawlty mode, offering large and small ironic comments, at various degrees of volume, which seemed to keep the troops entertained. Of course, Mrs C, whose representation of Sybil has some way to go, was the voice of common sense, doing mature things like finding a powerful torch - that worked.

Still, it was good news for all, as silent reading had to be abandoned (for reasons that are perhaps more evident to you than to the half a dozen of the upstairs crew, who asked me whether there was going to be any) and Channel 5's 'The Real Story of the Pirates of the Caribbean' was turned on.

Additionally, we were able to enjoy gifts from overseas: the first called, I'm very reliably informed, 'chin-chin', which are to the unitiated (such as I), sort of sweet croutons (sweet as in quite sweet to the taste rather than cute. Ha! Cute croutons: cutons. Oh, never mind), and also further delicacies which to me were macaroons, or almost, but nicer. So to the generous providers of this delightful fare, thank you very much indeed.

The lights, as I type, have not been repaired, but as there's no need for illumination in the dorms at this hour, it's of no consequence. But then again, it wasn't last night, either ..... Sorry, I know, I said I wouldn't mention it. Yes, I know.

That's it for tonight, then. Goodnight - and a warm welcome to our new Followers, wherever, and whomsoever you may be.

Ah, the contented sound of slumber, as the rezzies journey softly to the land of Nod. Cares and worries are fading, the calm serenity of peaceful rest surrounds your offspring and the world is a better place.

I wish. As I type, Mrs C has intercepted a post lights-out, inter-floor 'disturbance' with the precision of an ICBM (I know, very sixties) and, if I'm honest, I think, from the right royal rollocking that I can overhear, I'm glad I'm where I am, cocooned in my bunker above the stairs.

There will now be a short pause, while I receive an update on the situation.

Tum-te-tum; la-la-la; twiddling of thumbs ........ Well, the report began with the word 'Unbelievable', expressed with some force, so that wasn't a good start, and it seems, from the intelligence offered, that a few thought they'd 'try it on'. Which, it seems, in view of the items involved, they undoubtedly did, but on rather unorthodox parts of the anatomy. The head, I mean, in case you're wondering.

Oh well, the perpetrators will be missing the film, apparently, but I've received instructions that I am not to 'carry on getting cross tomorrow morning, because our newcomers will think they've come to a horrid lodge'. Of course I won't. I shall be the epitome of sweetness and light, as I see them out and wish them a happy day, and I promise that they won't even have an inkling of the gritted dentures.

Over in main school everything has been brought back to normal very quickly. Academic pursuit is in full swing once again, and the sporting arena is full of action and adventure. There's been a new initiative, though, and that is that all staff are invited to coffee with the HM in the HM's drawing room every Thursday from now onwards! And very nice it was, too. (Although I was rather hoping for a biscuit upgrade. Still, mustn't frumble: you know me and biscuits. Frumble: what a great word. To frumble. Nice. Present participle: frumbling. That's nice, too. However, the whole thing sounds rather suggestive of things that farmhands get up to in haylofts, so I'd better confess that it was a typographical inexactitude, and that I mean grumble. Obvioulsy.

Obviously.

Goodnight - from a silent Newton ...... (!)

And we're back. Welcome, everyone, especially if you're reading the Newton Blog for the first time, and I hope that you'll all find at least something to enjoy during the course of this term's nightly accounts.

It was good to catch up with many this morning: everyone seemed in good spirits, and it's been a real pleasure to welcome our two newcomers, both of whom seem very happy and excellent value. It was good to see the old stagers being kind and supportive, and trying to ensure that the newbies felt comfortable. 'Newbies': what a dreadful word. Sorry, I've been watching too many episodes of 'Scrubs'. (It was Tom, you see; he made me.) (Yes, I know he should have been writing essays on Japanese linguistics. And what with Hannah having to write an essay on such things as pragmalinguistics and sociolinguistics, it all got a bit, well, linguistic, to say the least! Still I quite enjoyed discovering the joys of such things, and helping (euphemism) them to compose erudite literature. Just like this. Smiley face.)

It sounded as if Christmas was fun for one and all: it was in our house, too, notwithstanding the mother-in-law (of whom I'm very fond; don't get me wrong) and her incessantly tinkling hearing aid. I don't know if you've ever watched the Fawlty Towers episode featuring Mrs Richards, the deaf lady, but if you have - or do - you'll get some idea of the Cheater family gathering. You can guess, no doubt, which role I assumed.) I did ask, yet again, for the Aston Martin, but to no avail: something to do with the size of chimney, I believe.

Anyway, all has been unpacked and stowed away, so we're up and running once again. All is well, and let's hope for another really good term.

Until tomorrow night, then, goodnight. It's good to be back.