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.