Another active and enjoyable day has just passed, with non-stop golf for many. I have to confess that my golfing skills are not what one might call spectacular, so I opted for only the afternoon session, whereas others had been playing in the morning, too. However (to use a word that Mr BT always forbade us to use in reports), I was not displeased when my golfing partner and I managed a not altogether disgraceful 41. (9 holes.) We did manage just the one in par, or whatever one says, and the other holes we completed in either four, five or six. And what's more, the rain that was promised never really materialised in the afternoon, although there were many soggy figures seen returning from the course this morning! The Choral Concert rehearsal was held in the church around the corner, and I was delighted to be visited by son and friend, who joined me in the organ loft. As for packing, well, Miss Alex and Mrs C had the whole thing zipped up in no time, and their combined powers of organisation leave me standing. Sitting, actually, looking enviously around me as they make everything happen just like that. Remarkable. So there we are. Another term has come and almost gone, and all that remains is for me to thank you, as always, for reading, and to wish you all a very Happy Easter hols. Goodnight. Bonne nuit. Guten Tag. Whatever the words in the other languages are.

For some obscure reason, the elves that drive this blog have decided that despite the fact that I incorporate paragraphs into the nightly bulletins, they will remove them, and so what flashes on to your retinae is one huge galumphing block of text. Well, if you're reading this in Elfland, perhaps you'll be so kind as to reinstate my paragraph privilege forthwith. An interesting Tuesday has been had by all, including the junior and senior poetry reading competitions, the annual cross-country run for all, and then a choral concert rehearsal in Macmillan this evening. So any thoughts you might have had about our 'winding down' towards the end of term have been, I'm glad to tell you, misplaced. And tomorrow, of course, is BOSFAM day (the day on which the boys and masters and mistresses of SF play much golf), although looking at the weather forecast it looks as if we're in for a few downpours. No doubt there'll be a proliferation of Sumbrellas. Holby was good tonight, as I hope all fellow followers discovered, and far-fetched as it may be (and no doubt there will be plenty of cynics who will not waste a moment in saying so) ..... ah: I've just realised that if you happen to be living in, say, Oman, and you haven't yet seen the latest episode on iPlayer, if I give away the storyline my popularity will be somewhat gadaffian. If you see what I mean. My son and heir and his friend went punting this afternoon: they must be among the first to do so! Apparently all went well. I've also discovered that the latter is one of the best ice-skaters in Dubai, and is already an international champion for her age .... Tom C's not bad, but I suspect that a visit to the Oxford Ice Rink might be quite interesting ..... ! I'll let you know. For now, though, Goodnight.

Try as I might, I cannot for the ligfe of me work out why this cyberspatial minisculocity should have attracted 98 hits yesterday! The stats do actually add up, though, and it seems that someone was having a good read ....... I can only hope - sorry, hope only, that it wasn't too much of a disappointment. Incidentally, I was asked whether I could see who was reading at any one time: no, I can't, but I can see the region of the world where the most people have had a quick butcher's. I even get a little map, to show me the said regions! (Slightly anti-climactical, because if one person in New York has been reading, then the whole of the United States shows up.) It was the night of the League Feast tonight, so well done, Congreve, and I'm sure a very jolly time, under the direction of Mr Lagden, was had by all. I nipped down to the postbox with my census form, and then back via the dining room, but all the festivities were over, so that, as they say, was that. Apparently, though, Our Leader took part in the Bond Challenge, in which the competitors were asked to name the Bond film that was being described, but although it seems that his knowledge is quasi-encyclopaedic, he was outdone by Lagden Junior, who scored a colossal 59/60! Oh well, HM, just keep watching. (I've often wondered why his laptop sits next to his PC in the study.) My early-evening festivities consisted of my participation in the SF director of studies' gathering, which translates as a glass of wine (or two) at Joe's, along with Cheater the Younger and girlfriend (q.v. elsewhere on this blog, and btw, I was informed that both 'do actually read the blog you know') , our current DoS, RPSH PhD, and the former one, GWH, MPhil, PhD elect. All very intellectual, but I think we just about managed. Lights are now out, the LF is over and the revellers have returned, and I'm going back downstairs to natter with the young until the small hours. Probably. Goodnight, all.

Good evening, one and all, and welcome to post number 341. You probably think I was slacking last night, as no post appeared, but let me put your minds at rest and tell you that I had, in true Kipling manner, been filling every unforgiving minute of yesterday pm, first by dashing 120 miles down and 120 miles back from Dorset and back to collect our younger daughter, who'd requested a visit home, back with moments to spare before attending Doc Harksin's marvellous play, grabbing a bite or two of elder daughter's delicious lasagne that she'd made for the family gathering, rushing up to the Thornhill bus station to collect son and heir and his girlfriend, who were meant to be with us much earlier in order to enjoy the family meal but had been delayed and inconvenienced hugely by the protests in London, and then, by the time it was 10.15pm I thought that it might be a little more prudent to write the remaining half of the sermon I delivered this morning, rather than a late-night blogpost. Anyway, eventually I was able to turn in - and then to remember that the clocks were going forward and that the extra hour was not going to happen. I must confess that as I don't have a printer over here I e-mailed my sermon to myself and printed it out just minutes before the service, hoping and praying (appropriately) that there hadn't been another computer outing. (I do love that expression: camp computers on a coach trip ..... Almost as good as Our Leader's 'We shall eventually splash out on the outdoor pool', to which my ears were treated a couple of days ago.) To Newton, then, and to tell you that tonight's festivities have gone well, and that the Krispy Kreme doughnuts, kindly donated to note one of our member's birthday, were absolutely delicious, and to say thank you very much to our generous benefactors. In addition to the aforementioned, were Jaffa cakes (loved by some; depsised by others), fruit, in the form of apples and bananas, and see-in-the-dark carrots. (No, I don't mean that they were radioactive, or that they glowed like Mr Music-Price's new conductor's baton, so proudly displayed for all to see in the choral concert rehearsal this morning.) I now need something to keep the levels topped up, having enjoyed a fine roast lunch prepared by Mrs C, which was accompanied by a very fine '99 claret. All the family were together for a rare gathering, which necessitated a bottle of equally fine bubbly to be consumed pre-prandially, in the garden. So there we are. Just a few days to go now, and much to look forward to. Goodnight.

The Saracen's Head, in Old Amersham. And it's not at all bad, if you're after a straightforward pub supper with friends, as were we, last night. Thus my apologies, lest you should have been one of the 24 who logged, unsatisfactorily, on last night. Unpretentious, but the food is adequate and the beer's not bad. I suspect their wine list is perhaps not as extensive as that of Summer Lodge, in Evershot, which claims to have one of the finest on the planet (trust me, I know, we've been there, and seen it, and what's more, I wrote a review for the place, which seemed to go down quite well), but if you're happy with a choice of red or white (which is as extensive as the wine list gets in our Dorset village pub) it's fine. I've now forgotten where the parentheses started.

The Confirmation service has been the highlight of the day, with a fully-clad Bishop in attendance, complete with Mitre and crook, and, as always, your correspondent acted as the performing monkey on the Wurlitzer. I think I got away with it, despite the fact that the organ is a state of parlous decay, and one of the loudest stops on the machine is stuck fast. Oh well, no doubt my successor will have the privilege of playing on some superb, new, all-singing, all-dancing wonder.

As for news Newtonian, well, you can tell it's getting near the end of term. Sheet change, at this stage, tends to be a somewhat riotous affair, with plenty of noise, both from the inmates and the warders. Curlew narrowly avoided a libyan sweet-ration crisis, and when Japan met Russia in Heron, both duvet-clad and engaging in some form of bizarre mystical humming ritual, one could not but wonder.

Still, they're all quiet now, and have been, ever since I caught three of them reading by torchlight ten minutes ago. They thought I'd gone back into my quarters you see, as they'd heard the door go. Thing is, I didn't go any further and stayed on their side, and crept back along the corridor.

'Ah.' I said, in chilling, machiavellian tones. (Actually, it's difficult to say one syllable in more than one tone, but I'm not going to tell you that.)

That was enough to extinguish the illumination.

It usually is.

Goodnight.

Typical, isn't it. The one night Our Leader logs on to my nightly jottings is the night after the day in which, unusually, Mrs C and I are off-campus for the whole time. I'm sure he thought we were skiving. I needed to go to the study on another matter, and as he looked over his headmagisterial spectacles, he said:

"H'm. I read your blog last night. I see you and Diana had an away-day."

"Erm, yes, Headmaster. That's right." I was about to apologise for the trouble I'd caused, but thought that I'd quit while I was ahead. Those glasses are pretty scary, you know.

Anyway, perhaps he'll be a little more impressed by my report of a very lovely, calm and enjoyable lodge evening, in which we were treated once again to the delicious French delicacies of choquettes (I can spell it now!) and mini-croissants while watching an assortment of channel-hopped telly. It really has been a delightful time, with well-behaved boys and ever-efficient and kind support staff! I do sometimes think that I'm redundant, because I know that Mrs C and Miss Alex would run the place perfectly. I console myself by thinking that I have my uses, either as Grandpa or the Barker. So, very many mercis beaucoups for the wonderful supplementary delights: they were scrummoi.

It's Thursday tomorrow, and just in case O.L. is reading this, while I'm hoping for a general biscuit upgrade (as you know), I shall be enjoying my own personal scoffing session, as I sip that superb coffee. I might even offer one to higher powers. So further thanks are due for that, too.

Anyway, it's been a busy, but most enjoyable, sunny day, and all my various duties have been a pleasure. Isn't it amazing what a little sunshine can do?!

Here's to the summer term.

I bid you all goodnight, but not before welcoming our latest Follower in India!

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear and loyal Followers, wherever you may be around the globe.

It's Tuesday, and that, of course, means that it's Mrs C's and my half day. Today was a very special one, as we journeyed to a village just outside Bath, to the fine home of my dear mother-in-law, Mrs C's mama, to celebrate the matriarch's 90th birthday, which, by happy coincidence, falls today.

The three sisters and their respective husbands were in attendance, and a happy and jolly time was had by one and all. Plenty of celebrational fodder was on offer, complete with some particularly fine oenological offerings, and of course, a stroll around the village that has been so prominent in all our lives for so many years. The mother-in-law has lived there since 1949 - and is still making her own bread and has today decided that she will step down from (a) driving (which has been particularly beneficial for our eldest daughter) and (b) giving out the hymn books in church. Only recently did she resign from being in charge of weekly teas for the elderly ... !! She is a remarkable lady, and although she'll never know what a blog is, let alone read one, I'm sure you will join me in wishing her a very happy birthday.

Tonight, because Mr Bryan is at the Bridge match over at school, my friend and colleague Mr Bush has been directing operations - and very well he has done so, too. I look forward to hearing his version of the evening's jollity tomorrow morning.

Mrs C is bringing the matriarchal car back, - ah! she has just arrived. I will go down and greet.

Plus ca change, alors. Who's the first member of the family to be greeted? Yes, that's right: the dog.

Ah well. It's been a good day.

Goodnight.

Amazing. Mrs Stoop, as you know, arranged a whole day of football, for just about everyone in the school, playing for 20 minutes at a time. (Quasi-OAPs notwithstanding.) It was a tremendous effort, and Our Leader was very appreciative, in front of the whole school, who were spectating from the sports hall gallery, and fulsome in his thanks for a job well done. I expect the grand total will be announced somewhere on the website very shortly, so do keep an eye out for that. I think it will be a pretty spectacular total.

Allow me to express public appreciation for the kind benefactor who has resolved my biscuit upgrade crisis. I won't reveal too many details, but suffice to say that my anxiety has been allayed by a very happy outcome. So, thank you very much.

"Sir, will you have a laughing match with me?" Such was one of the questions of tonight, post-football. I replied that yes, I would, and, by flaring nostrils and waggling ears in the face of my adversaries, I was able to reduce any challenger to a gibbering and hysterical wreck on the floor. Sad, isn't it, that I have to make up for my athletic deficiencies by engaging in such minor contests as laughing matches, but there we are. Oh well, you wait until you're 60. OK, 59. And a half.

Thank you for your very kind comments about our 'offspring happiness issue': your support has been terrific, and helped us through a pretty tricky time. I think things are on the up now, and we're hoping all will be well.

As for your petits hommes, they're as happy as Larry. At least, they were just now. I suspect they are at this moment, too. I shall go and listen.

Goodnight, all - and welcome to our Follower(s) in the U.A.E., who I see joined us earlier today.

Good evening, all, and welcome to post number 336. Random, I know, but there we are.

I've just been fraternising with the Registrar of Harrow, over a plateful of very decent curried something or other, and some half-decent vino, and I was amused, as I said to a few of you at the HM's reception, that a queue formed in New Room, with so many wanting to exchange a few words with His Highness. He's such a nice chap, and I was able to chat informally for a while, which is fine, because I don't have a potential Harrovian son! If I did, oh boy, would I be in that line-up ..... !

What a lovely day it's been. OMG, I'm now writing about the weather, how sad is that? My daughters would be ashamed of me. But it has, actually, and Miss Alex, who, as you know, comes from other, southern hemispherical climes, has been enjoying the sun. So have I and so has Mrs C, whose formative years in teaching were spent in Kenya, which she and I have much enjoyed visiting subsequently. Flying into the Mara in a friend's four-seater 'plane was an experience I shall never forget, not will I forget our stay in the Costa Rican Consulate, which acted as our home for the time we were there .... !

The organ was playing up tonight: did you hear it? Major panics behind the scenes, with Mr Music-Price and I trying to sort it all out. I think we just about got away with it, but only just, and that's the biggest organ crisis (stop it) I've had since I've been the school organist.

Dear Followers, I think that is that for tonight.

Goodnight, one and all.

It's very quiet here tonight, with so many rezzies on double credits. Or rather, it was, until we went through the usual film selection ritual. Soon sorted out, though, as I informed the assembled troops that if they couldn't decide within three minutes, then they - and I - would watch 'The Sound of Music'. 'Ice Age 3' was very soon selected, and they're happily watching it now, as I type.

It all seems to be about food and drink with me, doesn't it. Well, let me reassure you that I'm not really a gluttonous alcholic, but I do enjoy good and substantial nourishment and a good liquid accompaniment to same. Quite why I've started on this particular track I now have absolutely no idea, but it seemed pertinent at the time.

Today's matches seem to have gone well, which should please Our Leader, especially after his attendance at the Governors' meeting. He seemed to be smiling when I passed him earlier this afternoon, so I assume that his transfer from one side of the fence to the other must be pleasing his new masters. And quite rightly, too, because I think he's doing a great job, and if the scholarship and exhibition awards we've achieved to date, academic, sporting and musical, new minibi, and the fabulous new astro and various other sporting facilities that are currently under construction are anything to go by, SF is in for a very exciting time. And he's only been in harness for a term and a half!!

All we need now is a consistent biscuit upgrade on Thursday mornings and I shall be as heureux comme une alouette.

Mrs C is currently designing a First Year treasure hunt for tomorrow afternoon, and I'm trying to type (a word, by the way, that keeps coming out as typoe) and shout suggestions down the stiars. Stairs.

I think that will do for tonight: hardly anyone reads the Blog at the weekend, apparently, so I'm orf.

Goodnight, all.

I don't know about you, but we've been watching Comic Relief - even daring to take it to the wire and continue viewing during silent reading ....... Do not tell the higher powers, otherwise I shall be compromising the biscuit upgrade - or something.

Lunch today was a most edifying experience. I had opted for some kind of Indian chicken dish, complete with saffron rice and something that tasted like a yoghurt sauce. Yes, quite. Or rather, no, quite. A Newtonian walked past me with a vaguely empty plate.

'Sir! Look! This is a chicken lung!"

"Delightful, F***x."

"And look at this! Here's the .......... etc., etc. "

By the time he had finished his explanation I felt as if I'd been prepared for my finals in veterinary science, or at least some kind of degree in ornithology from Bangladesh Uni, and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to plough through my chosen dish. And as one who was brought up to finish everything on one's plate I fear it was somewhat challenging. Mr Music-Price walked by, to whom I took the opportunity of giving him my comments about my selection, to which he retorted, rather too smugly, I thought, that 'the fishcakes were lovely'. I bet they were. He continued to smile smugly throughout choir practice, too, as I watched his contented features through the mirror of the organ as I completed my weekly sight-reading marathon.

Still, the 'Red Nose Pizza' tonight was very agreeable, the 'red nose' in question being a slice of peperami. Do you not enjoy these wonderful sobriquets? 'Henry IV Part II Noisette Potatoes' is one of my all-time favourites. What a load of pretentious twaddle. It's like 'hand-fried crisps': very painful, no doubt. 'Deep-fried cod in egg-based batter, served on a base of Irish-originated parallelograms, with a melee of pea.'

I'm coming over all cynical. It's the biscuits, you know. Flapjacks would have made all the difference.

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Followers, and very special greetings to our friends in Japan, at this awful and troubling time. We are all thinking of you very much, in the knowledge that the world-renowned tenacity of your nation will ensure, as the Telegraph said, that your country will emerge from this as one that is bigger and better than ever. You are very much in our thoughts and prayers at this time, and thank you for your loyal following of this tiny corner of cyberspace. That, in itself, goes to prove all that I've just written.

The biscuit upgrade has become the biscuit downgrade. The coffee, which as you know is served in the HMDR on Thursdays, is superb (as long as you check carefully by sniffing before you pour that the right beverage is in the right pot, notwithstanding what it says on the tin), but the biscuits, about which I eulogised to 3W during their French lesson, as I suddenly remembered that it was jeudi, were no more than standard choc digestives and Rich Teas. Oh, and ginger nuts, of which I took two, and which caused the HM to look askance at me as I dunked one of them into the mug. I know, I know: shouldn't have done it - yes, I know that. He's got quite a Wodehousian look when he needs to use it. (Oyster shells? Paces? Oh, come on.)

As for tonight, well, Mr Porter has been on duty, and all seems to have been well. However, I have received a message from our kind purveyors of French delicacies that my spelling leaves room for improvement, and so it is with some humility and shame that I admit that I should have written 'chouquettes', following the arrival of our delicious cuisine some weeks ago. My apologies, of course, and renewed and sincere thanks for such a treat.

I'm now trying to work out why doors should be banging, so I shall go and find out. Until tomorrow, then -

Bonne nuit. (I know I've got that right.) Oh, hang on: I must tell you of a comment from a Second Year boy this morning:

'Yes, Henry?'

'Sir, you is still cool and you still have da bling.'

'Erm, thank you Henry.'

YAY!!!!

I know, and I'm sorry. The thing was, you see, that Mrs C and I decided that we would take off to Dorset for the day (apart from anything else we have a 'happiness issue' with one of our young and that needed to be addressed), so we didn't return until after 11pm, so I decided that having driven 130 miles back to Oxford, I would turn in, so my apologies if you were one of the 20 Followers who looked in vain to see whether there were any late night jottings.

This morning started philosophically, when I informed the rezzies that 'It' was towels and flannels. Thence, of course, this being Summer Fields, to a discussion about how such items could really be 'it'. It's amazing what ground can be covered at 7.10am, and once again I was left dumbfounded at the ready enthusiasm of those in my charge. We decided, in the end, that 'it' probably wasn't just towels and flannels, and could, in fact, be just about anything. I then went to make myself my morning mug of instant and to watch the News as our LMs came downstairs.

The other thing that never fails to amaze, even after 17 and a half years, is the versatility of your young men. Tonight, for example, I attended the Guitar Concert, and was hugely impressed that most of the performers, who had been playing rugby for most of the afternoon, could then go and give what was in many cases a superb performance to an adoring audience! I'd also been able to listen to an 8 year old playing Mozart's 'Rondo a la Turka', as he had press-ganged me into a private performance in Macmillan! Wonderful it was, too.

Tonight, 'it' metamorphosed into leagues and cords, for that it what 'it' was, and all were safely gathered in. Bananas, lovingly-cut orange segments and Bourbon biscuits ensured that supplementary nourishment was happily provided, and your correspondent had (and still has) a glass of some kind of chilled plonk purchased yesterday from Burton Bradstock Garage on the go. Actually, as la planque goes, it's not at all mauvais.

Now, though, 'it' is time for me sign off and go and find some kind of tosh on the telly to accompany my refreshment.

Sorry again about last night, and greetings to our Follower in Israel.

Goodnight, all.

Well! Some day that was! We've been experimenting with a new timetable, you see, and it's been quite a challenge to have been in the right place at the right time! However, as the whole project has been designed and spearheaded by my excellent former (Papplewick) pupil Mr Corry, I applaud all of it, without let or hindrance. I must admit, I rather like it.

Tonight, I made one of my pilgrimages (Mr BT would be proud of me) to the staff room annex that is Joe's Wine Bar in Summertown. Down Mayfield Road I trudged, taking in Magna Carta College on my left and Gordon House, whatever that is, on my right, having passed the area where Messrs Edwards and Pearce park their cars. Eventually, after a journey lasting no less than three and a half minutes, I arrived at my ultimate destination, and was joined by my doctored colleague, Robin Harksin. I live in awe of my endoctored friends, but regard them both with appropriate reverence. The mighty Mr Randolph then joined us, and the two of us sat, wondrous in our appreciation of the intellect that stretched to somewhere just north of the outer limits of the stratosphere, in front of our sage and oracle, listening to his every word, and, occasionally, daring to add our own comments. I sipped my Sauvignon Blanc silently, as I listened to an appreciation of the history of Germany, adding my own twopenny-worth and hoping for the best. Thence to theism and various takes on existential exegeses. As a mere research fellow myself, how could I compete? One day I shall have my own Ph D. One day. Yeah, right. Fat chance.

To Newton thereafter, of course, and to hilarious impersonations of members of the staff - including oneself. The insight was frighteningly accurate, and it served as a salutory reminder that nothing we do passes our pupils (sorry, learners) by. Of course, I couldn't resist the opportunity to add one or two of my own, from my own school days, which seemed to go down rather well.

As ever, of course, silent reading was upon us all far too soon, and so, in the interests of multi-nationalism, I called out 'Lisant du silence!' as I went up the stairs. From behind me, and knowing from the instant I'd said it that I'd be corrected, I heard 'It's 'la' silence, sir.'

That's Summer Fields for you. And that's why we love it.

Goodnight.

After a wonderfully sunny weekend in the West Country, we're back again, and the final countdown is upon us. Already I'm frightening myself witless at what has to be done in the next three weeks, although fortunately my exam marking responsibilty, which was to examine carefully the scripts for the English 1 CE trials, is done and dusted.

Annoyingly, my motorbike, which I left with my friend Clive at Long Leave, has yet to be fully repaired, as its brake cables needed renewing, or some such, and so it has yet to sit its MOT exam for this year. Frustrating indeed, but my little SymJet scooter came into its own and I was able to follow the routes of T.E. Lawrence - without wrapping myself terminally around a tree, in Lawrensian manner. To be fair, I was going at about a quarter of the speed of a Brough.

Tonight, I was amazed to learn that one of our number could recite 'Invictus' fully - or so he claimed. 'Go on then: let's hear it', said I, whereupon he gave a faultless performance, much to the admiration of others in the dorm - and me.

Quavers, orange juice, and utterly delicious birthday brownies, for which many indeed are due, were on the Newtonian menu tonight, and now that we're all back to normal once again, all is well.

I hope you had a lovely weekend, and, as ever, thank you for reading.

Goodnight.

Mr Porter has been at the helm tonight, it being a Thursday, and while he was steering the good ship Newton through clam waters, all was well. He left, quite rightly, and handed over control. I suspect that the Curlewites imagined that there'd be a little window of opportunity during the handover, so were just a little surprised when I intercepted their late-night ragging. So if you happen to be a Curlew parent, and your son and heir seems just a little tired tomorrow when you are reunited, you'll know why. I'm sure he'll be delighted to know that you are aware of such high jinks ...... I managed to find one or two suitable words myself, as I'm sure you can imagine.

Did you see any of 'Famous, Rich and in the Slums'? Mrs C and I did, and were very moved by some of the stories that were told. It does make one think, and appreciate just how fortunate we are to live the lives that we do. One of the things that we both observed, though, was that the people of Kibera were always smiling: an example, in my opinion. We do tend to get worked up about so many little things. Well, I do, at least.

I gave what some considered to be a fairly contentious homily in Chapel this morning, about the archaic Lenten rituals. I wonder whether you've ever noticed that the adults in the choir don't wear their academic hoods for services during Lent, or that Mr Price or I play more sombre organ music? No, I thought not. Ma valise reste. Does God notice - or care? No, I think not. S/He's probably looking down at us like Catherine Tait, thinking 'Am I bovvered?' Ah, but you see, that's where I'm wrong, and have missed the point. It's all about self-discipline - isn't it? Well, as far as I'm concerned, I've given up neither chocolate nor imbibing, but I have taken up thinking. As I said to one of my supper partners, I don't think Our Lord went away just to give things up. But then I have to be careful, because if I start claiming that I'm trying to be more like J.C. I am no more worthy than the Pharisees.

It's late again, so that's enough. I can't hear a peep from Curlew.

Goodnight.

Indonesia is the latest location to which I appear - am - broadcasting, so welcome, my friend(s), if you are the audience therein.

Tonight, I won't bore you rigid with my fixations about grammatical issues; rather, I will tell you that we had another in our series of nit checks, overseen by Mrs C and Miss Alex. Of course, I would have been only too willing to have been part of the management team for same, but I felt that having a 'thumb match', after receiving an invitation to become my challenger's adversary, was more my sort of activity. The football match provided entertainment for some, and the lodge computer offered alternative entertainment. More orange segments were on offer, as were bananas, apples and Bourbon bics, with only one of the latter managing to secrete itself by means of a hired hand past the eagle eyes of You-Know-Who. Still, not to worry, as a member of another Third Year lodge, as I passed him in school, informed me that he had given up chocolate for Lent and offered six of his Maltesers to me. Notwithstanding my protestations, he insisted that I would make a particularly worthy recipient, and so, in the end, I had no option but to accept his kindness, and guzzle the lot.

You know, I'm struggling to think of much else to tell you tonight: it's been a very 'normal' day, insofar as we ever have any of those here. Duty this afternoon, games with my erstwhile pupil, Mr Hawkins (that makes three of them on the staff now: Messrs Edwards, Corry and Hawkins); detention duty, and all the usual sort of schoolmaster things that one does. Nice lessons this morning: two French, one Latin and two English, always a pleasant mix, a very enjoyable lunch with a few Removes on their table and an equally refreshing supper with a group of Second Years, and now I'm writing this blog.

I could, I suppose, tell you that when I was watching 'World's Greatest Motorcyle Rides' the other day, there were a few shots of the very places in Bel Air, Los Angeles, that Mrs C and I visited/stayed at when I was tutoring to the stars all those years ago, or throw in a bit of free advertising for my proposed post-retirement international tutorial agency whose website is being designed at the moment, but I expect the latter falls into the realms of insider dealing or something, and as for the former, well, that's just swank, really.

Until tomorrow night, then,

Goodnight.

It's surprising what gives cause for concern in the middle of the night. There I was, pondering, as one does at midnight, about whether I should have written 'the Creator Him/Herself', using capital Hs for the reflexive pronoun(s), and, indeed, whether I should have used a capital T for the definite article. I consoled myself by thinking that in French, there would be no question of a capital letter for the r.p., but that didn't really help. And then there was the question of the hyphen, of course. So, just to absolve my conscience, let me have another go: The Creator Him-/Herself. Yes, that's better.

You must think I'm very odd. Well, perhaps I am, but you can't be too careful about such things. Anyway, enough of grammatical issues, and let's hope that tonight avails me of a less troubled night's sleep.

It being Tuesday, it's Mrs C's and my half day. I joined a great friend of mine and my nephew for a splendid lunch at Gee's, and we were able to cover all kinds of subjects. It was a very happy and jolly occasion, and as my nephew was very kindly paying, it seemed all the more enjoyable for that. Mrs C, nephew and I met together here first, and managed to polish off the better part of a bottle of something appropriately chilled and bubbly - OK, yes, all of it - accompanied by a packet of Honey Roast Ham-flavoured crisps. I don't know whether you've ever come across them, but if not, they're available from Tesco's - and jolly good they are, too. Unfortunately, we had to sit in a field, due to the fact that, as Mrs C was keen to remind me, I hadn't mown the lawn, but as I pointed out, I wanted the crisps to be enjoyed in what would have been a free-range environment, similar to that in which the main contributors to the crisp packet would have spent their days. You can imagine the alacrity with which that was greeted. Anyway, stuff the crisps: the smoked mackerel pate at Gee's is to die for. Which, of course, come to think of it, is what the ....... no; too far.

Mr Bryan has been on duty tonight, and once again 'Newton's Got Talent' has been the main attraction of the evening, as we heard from time to time during tonight's episode of Holby. Donna's gone now, so it really is all change, is it not?

Not much about Newton, is there, but as I've said before, when one hasn't actually been on the shop floor, other topics have to take over.

I'll let you know how I get on with my reflexives.

Goodnight.

39 hits last night, it would appear, and a new Follower in Denmark, I notice! How I love your country, sir/madam, for it was there that I achieved my mountaineering zenith by climbing the highest mountain therein, aptly called Himmelbjerget, or, for those of you whose Danish is on the wane, 'Sky Mountain'. Yes, I walked up it one morning and back down again in the afternoon. As strolls go, it was a real pleasure. Seriously, though, I really did love the place, and wanted to stay. The trouble was that in order to do the only decent job I knew anything about I had to be fluent in Danish, and, in short, I couldn't. So I stowed my tent back into my MG and came back across the North Sea with DFDS.

To Newton, once again. Imagine, if you will, three Newtonians walking along the bottom corridor towards me. I was standing at the base of those three steps, just outside our drawing room.

"Sir, if I fell forward, would you catch me?"

"Of course I would."

So saying, the first of the trumivirate fell into my receiving arms. Seeing that he had nothing to fear, so did the second, and so, finally, did the third, calling out as he did so, '"Daddy!!" Flattering, of course, and fascinating to know that you do that sort of stuff at home, o fathers, and I can't pretend that there wasn't a little flutter of relief that he didn't cry out "Grandfather!!"

Before coming on duty in Newton tonight (although I really don't see it like that), I nipped down to Dr Dean's pad, ten minutes down the road, for a bit of cerebral input. I wasn't disappointed, of course, as he had so very kindly laid on a 'bread and cheese plus' supper, complete with delicious wild boar pate (sorry about the lack of accents), Cornish yarg, a superb pea and wasabi mix and a really lovely bottle of 2007 claret, which, after 30 minutes, was as good as it gets. Smooth, warming, and just enough of a tannic hint to make it stand out from the crowd.

As always, with my erudite friend, it was not long before we were exchanging quotations from my other poetic mate, Alexander Porp (that's not his real name, btw), after which we moved to choral music. Dr D was very keen to show me his new Bose player, and I have to say that I was amazed by the quality of the sound that was reproduced. We listened to two performances of Durufle's motet, 'Ubi Caritas', which is a stunning piece, and we both agreed that to have lived in Paris in the late 19th/early 20th century would have been wonderful, and to have visited the organ lofts of St Sulpice, inter alia, and met with Vierne, Widor, Boellmann and others would have been truly remarkable. Rather like seeing Milton and Marvell in the same place, as I mentioned last time. And then one could take that one stage further, I suppose, if one is of a Christian persuasion, and imagine what it must have been like for the disciples, to have been, if one accepts the concept of the Trinity, in the presence of the Creator him/herself.

Oh dear: getting heavy. That's the trouble with fraternising with the intelligentsia: it affects the brain. Still, nowhere near as surreal as transporting pants in a Skittles box, is it?

Goodnight.

There's a Facebook abbreviation, in common use, which incorporates the use of the letters O, M and G. I tell you that, dear Followers, because I have just been enjoying animated text-messaging with our elder daughter, Hannah, whom many of you have met, in which she was getting very excited about the fact that, on the train back to Bristol, she sat next to one of the stars of Casulaty!! Can you imagine the excitement in the Cheater household at such tidings? His name is Jack Bence, apparently, and although I have yet to google him to find out more info, he's been in the series several times already. His script, Hannah tells me, was sticking out of his pocket, which enabled her to discern his name, and it seems that he wasn't being overly-discrete about certain aspects of the series .... ! Well, there you are. How shall I top that?!



I can't top it, of course, so I will change to Top Gear. (Ha! that worked before I realised it!) To Mr May, to be more specific, and to tell you that he informed the world, in his Saturday DT column, that it was the 100th of the same. Splendid: that means that there is a way in which I have managed to outdo him. He has some way to go before he'll catch me, especially if he writes only once a week. Still, I suppose he could claim that he receives rather more remuneration than I do for writing this (the top journos get a pound a word, allegedly: rather more than the 40p a word I get for writing for the same journal), but then I bet his audience isn't as kind and appreciative as mine - as this post indicates .... ! And I suppose I don't write 1000 words a time, either. OK, I concede defeat. Again.



Tonight in Newton all has been well, not least because of the individual packets of Orios that were on offer. Dark chocolatey, biscuity outsides and white creamy insides: goodness, the scope for similes there is mind-boggling. I will resist the temptation, you'll be relieved to hear, this being a family blog. Orange segments, kindly cut up by Mrs C and Miss Alex, and the dorm tidiness prize for Kingfisher dorm this week, so well done them.



I was rather thrilled to discover from my school mag that my English master at school, Adrian Greeves, went on to become first the Dean of Clare College, Cambridge and then the Senior Proctor of that fine university. Brilliant, he was - and I bet he never imagined that one of his former pupils would go on to such great things as blog-writing. My other hero, also an English beak, was Mr Wilkinson, who remains in the memory as the one who couldn't stand Mr Elliott, the geology beak, but found himself taking our hockey game together. Mr W blew the final whistle and screamed at us: 'Sticks to me, and BALLS to Mr Elliott'!

It's a good job you're all broad-minded ....

Goodnight.

Another day is done, and it's getting late. 'Stormbreaker' was the film of the night, and, I think, a reasonably successful hit. We now have a library of hundreds on the Arcos (I now know what one of those is, and it's not a temple of capitalism) and a great boon to our viewing it is, too. The only trouble now is that such is its wiring-up that we can't play individual DVDs on the DVD machine, and short of my having apoplexy while trying to re-wire the system for an evening, I think it's going to have to stay as it is.

The GK quiz, our Saturday evening entertainment this week, and presided over by the legend that is Dr Dean, was a huge success, and I was able once again to play at being HM by being the senior duty person - which was fine, although just a tad embarrassing when I noticed that the actual HM was seated as a member of the audience. Unctuously, I enquired, by sign language, at the end as to whether he might wish to officiate, but, in true parliamentary style, he kindly and generously 'gave way', enabling me to express thanks to Dr D and then to dismiss the school. No, it's not a coup, even though, symbolically, I noticed that the HM was sitting in the middle east row of Macmillan.

My reconnection with old school friends (see last night's post) has reminded me of the occasion when my 'new' music master, Dr John Byrt, arrived at the school and amazed us as he played us out of chapel (or rather, he would have done, if we hadn't remained transfixed in our seats) to Vierne's Toccata in B minor. It was without doubt the most incredible organ voluntary we'd ever heard, and so I thought that I would have a go at it. It's a remarkable piece, and all the more so when you recollect that Louis Vierne was completely blind. It's going well at the moment, and I'm intending to give a rendering of it before the end of term, but if you want to hear what it should really sound like, then put 'Vierne Toccata B minor' into the YouTube search engine. There are loads of performances of it, but the best, in my view, is the one by John Scott-Whiteley, who plays it on the organ of York Minster. Oliver Latry's performance, given on the Great Organ at Notre Dame, is very good, and probably more akin to what it sounded like when Vierne played it.

I think that'll do for a Saturday night: it's been a pretty normal evening, really, and all is well.

Goodnight.

Incredible. There I was, thinking that going back nearly 40 years was pretty remarkable, when, as a result of an article I wrote for my school magazine that's apparently been published today, I received an e-mail from an old school friend of mine, thanking me for sharing the memories and inviting Diana and me (yes, that is the right pronoun, before anyone writes in) to join him and his wife for dinner somewhere! Goodness! That really has rolled back the years! He's in advertising, he tells me, and his brother is the consultant medic to the royal family and lives in Cirencester. I wonder if any of you know of this family. Do let me know if you do.

I've been the HM this afternoon, as Our Leader and our Deputy Leader have been away. Rather fun, I have to admit, and I was able to fantasise about how things might have been, had I submitted my application, which I didn't. In fact, I didn't even consider it, which will come as a great relief to many, I'm sure. Five years was quite enough for me, thank you very much, and I wouldn't want to go back to it again, either. Not these days. The thought of it makes me run hot and cold. Still, I couldn't resist an imperious stroll around the grounds, observing the various games that were in action, nor could I resist breezing into Mr Aldred's and Mrs C's form rooms in my new-found capacity as SF Supremo for a few hours. It's over now, though, and I've happily handed over the reins to my Master.

To Newton now, and when I saw a LM walking to his dorm carrying what appeared to be a whole box full of Skittles (sweets), I asked whether I could share them. His response of 'Well, not really, sir; they're my pants' was a little different from that which I was expecting. Quite why he would wish to transport his undergarments in a Skittles carton is beyond me, I'm afraid, and not a little bizarre.

Coffee in the HMDR yesterday morning was a pleasure, as always, and the biscuit upgrade this week consisted of very decent shortbread bics. I was a little taken aback, though, when I took my first sip of what purported to be coffee, as it had a very tea-ish taste to it. I informed the Director of Music of my concern, to which he replied that perhaps what was in my mug (yes, we have mugs, but they are classy SF ones) was, indeed, tea. I took another sip. Indeed it was. I must remember next week to take my coffee from one of the jugs marked 'tea', in that case.

And talking of food, as I do, regularly, the chocolate squares that were on offer in the staff room at teatime today were out of this world. I'm afraid I couldn't resist a second, but please keep that to yourselves, especially as Mr Fradgley opined, after just one square, that he would need to be on the exercise bike for at least two hours.

I'd better start pedalling.

Goodnight, all.

Belarus, Slovenia and Vietnam. That's where I've been broadcasting to today, apparently, so if you are among those who have logged on during the course of the day, welcome. I never fail to be amazed by the ever-increasing number of countries in which my audience is located - which makes writing these nightly jottings all the more, erm, well, what's the word, concerning? Scary? Not sure.

Slightly alarming it is, though, to note that in view of the fact that I've missed a couple of evenings through my social diary being somewhat more full than usual, my audience, notwithstanding those in distant climes, has plummeted from 34 to 18 in the past two days. Not good, and I hope not indicative of the shape of things to come.

Mr Porter is on duty in Newton tonight, and from what I can hear from behind the greem baize door, good order and complete control seem to be the order of the evening. So once again I find myself writing about things at which I haven't been present, so it behoves me to woffle on about extraneous issues, such as telling you that the waffles we had for pudding at lunch yesterday were quite pleasant, but that my consumption of same led to Mrs C reminding me that I'd told her that I 'never had puddings'. Thus, when confronted by my dear spouse as I brought spoon to mouth, the former never quite made it to the latter, which was unfortunate for the waffle, the maple syrup thereupon, and me. My rejoinder of 'Thank you, Sybil', was, perhaps, not the most apposite.

Mr Bryan was telling me about the latest instalment of 'Newton's Got Talent', which he oversaw on Tuesday night, while I was tucking in at Galvin. Apparently all went well, and they're down to the semi-finals, so we look forward to the next round. Or at least, Mr Bryan does, as I think Mrs C and I will try and find a local eatery for an hour or so. One where they do excellent waffles, methinks.

As for the mohican (which is probably what was meant by the 'mohawkian') I have yet to pluck up the courage to walk across to the local poodle parlour and make myself look like a punk rocker. But you never know.

That's it for tonight: I need to finish off Sebastian Faulks' 'A Week in December'. If you're read it, did you notice that Mr Faulks subscribes to the Elmore Leonard policy of never using any other verb than 'said' in direct speech? I didn't notice that until about half way through the book. If you've never come across his 'Ten Tips for Writing', you can find them on You Tube: just put 'Elmore Leonard's Ten Tips for Writing' into the search engine. Contentious in parts, and you have to endure close-ups of his chain-smoking, but they make you think. I;d give you the link, but this site won't let me copy and paste.

Goodnight, wherever you may be.

Oh dear. 45 people logged on to this site yesterday, and once again there was nothing to be seen. I'm sorry, loyal people, but I was out on the raz, you see. I think some of you know that in the last two years I've reconnected with a former pupil of mine from the 1970s: he's now the head of global something-or-other with one of the big banks, which is nice, and he had kindly invited me to join him for supper at a very fine bistro in Baker Street. So that was all very pleasant. Before that, though, I'd agreed to meet up with my son and heir in another bistro in Pentonville Road, which I did, and was able to meet the girlfriend upgrade, too. I must say that he seems to have inherited his father's good taste when it comes to such things as are easy on the ear and easy on the eye, and a combination of Japanese, Lebanese, Greek and American is as tasty as the croque monsieur that Bistro de la Gare in Pentonville Road offers. (Incidentally, they love speaking in French there, but ironically they've named their croque-monsieur 'Mister Croc', which I, ironically, re-translated into 'Monsieur le Croc'. They, failing to appreciate said irony, responded with 'Ah, le croque-monsieur!' All rather daft, really.

Anyway, dinner in the rather more upmarket Galvin proved to be a real treat, and I'm sure you will know it. If not, then it's at 66, Baker Street. Lord Archer was another guest, a few tables away, but didn't seem to notice me.

So that's why there was no blogpost last night, as I returned at just after midnight, having taken a very slow fast train from Paddington, and this time I was convinced that no-one would log on at one in the morning. I may be wrong.

Today, though, is our younger daughter's 18th birthday. Mrs C and Hannah have gone to take her out for a birthday meal in Wareham, the town of my childhood, at a place on the quayside called The Granary, which I can recommend, should you be passing through that fine town. You may be wondering why I am not there, too, and at the risk of sound precious, when I tell you that it was well-nigh impossible to re-arrange management duty, main duty, dentention duty, supper duty, games with Game 3 and lodge duty, you may see why I'm holding the fort here. Still, I did have a pleasant supper of what was described as 'Naverin of lamb' and 'spicy pork', with a number of 5th Years, and I was able, after that , to speak with Alice on the telephone.

Tonight, being TV night, I was asked if a few could watch Top Gear in our snug. Well, yes they could, if it had been on, so no, they couldn't. That did not prevent a snuggian invasion, however, and 'Junior Masterchef - Australia' was the chosen programme. When I asked why, I was told by one of the rezzies that he 'wanted to hear the accent'. The fact that he could have gone into the corridor, where Miss Alex was counting the leagues and cords, seemed to have passed him by.

Thank you for your kind and sympathetic comments about our loss of dear Jasmine. We have greatly appreciated your thoughts, and we - especially I, who was particularly fond of her - are so grateful for your kindness.

Time to go. I'm sorry if you've been disappointed recently about the non-blogs, but normal service can now be resumed, and I hope you will continue to enjoy the nightly posts, of which this, incidentally, is number 321.

Goodnight.