International greetings, dear Followers, wherever you may be - and I see that we have been joined by some friends in Mexico, so greetings to you from over here. I also note that our friends in Iran are logging on, so I hope you are well, too.

Did you know that dung beetles are used with chile and rice to make a curry in northern Thailand? No, nor did I. But that, you see, is what happens here: you just never know what's going to happen next.

All has gone as it should have done tonight, complete with a session of black shoe-cleaning, and five worthy winners winning a packet of Smarties each, which pleased the respective recipients. Of course, one can never win oneself, of course, because there will always be shouts (well, miniscule moans, perhaps) of derision about how fairly it was judged .... (A loud cry of 'Silent Reading' tends to cut that one short, though.)

The biscuit scenario consisted of jammy dodgers, custard creams and bourbons, one of each I managed to consume without being caught by you-know-who. As for fruit, that was a selection of bananas, apples and oranges. I shall partake of one of those when I have finished composing this nightly ramble, for I chose not to avail myself of same this supper time just passed, for hunger pangs had not overcome me at that juncture. (I always liked the work of Thomas Hardy.)

The table tennis table was being well used tonight, and it was great to see such joy being derived from it.

Tomorrow, there may not be a post, because Mrs C and will be entertaining (if you see what I mean), and Mr Randolph will, by special request, be directing operations. So it may be that I shan't be back on air until after Long Leave. If that's the case, then I hope you will have a wonderful time - as we hope to ourselves.

Thank you for reading - and goodnight.

Good evening, everyone, and a very warm welcome to our new Follower in Iran! You are most welcome, and I hope you will continue to be with us.

Thank you for your comments about the minimalism of last night's post ... I'm sorry, but there really wasn't much to talk about! I could have regaled you with a full and detailed account of my meeting with a colleague, in which a Leoville-Barton '96 did actually feature, but to do so would be to impart a load of staff gossip - and I'm sure you wouldn't want to know all that ....... (!)

Today has been a very enjoyable day. For me it started with a leisurely breakfast with Mrs C, as there were so few boys in the lodge, and thence to the local United Reformed Church to play for their morning service. ('Summer Fields in the Community', you see, and guess who's in charge of that?!) The organ is on its last legs, but I did manage to work around it, and apparently no-one knew the difference. So, so much for my expert playing.

Lunch a trois was very nice, with a full roast prepared lovingly by Mrs C, accompanied by a very quaffable bouteille, and tonight, Chapel, with the Revd Markham (OS) was extremely cordial, and the various anthems and hymns seemed to go well, notwithstanding the Chaplain deciding to re-order the order of service, which resulted in some interesting choreography with the director of music and your correspondent! (aka total panic.)

For various (behavioural) reasons tonight I found myself in a bit of grump in the lodge. I had been to the first half of the post-service bash with the HM, you see, which was extremely pleasant, but I was displeased to learn from Mrs C, on my return, with whom I was boitant et coitant, as one says in Franglais, that some of the inmates had been somewhat recidivistic.

When I get grumpy, I become somewhat taciturn, monosyllabic, and dismissive. (Yeah, nice.) So I wasn't that receptive to a few conversation starters, which seemed to have the desired effect of my questioners getting into bed a little more promptly than otherwise.

I grumped around the dorms, monosyllabically responding to 'stuff', and then I was suddenly aware of a conversation coming from behind the door of the upstairs common room.

"Silent Reading', I grumped.

'Yes, sir'.

I should explain that there were Scalextric parts all over the floor at this point, and satire took over.

"No, don't worry: I'll tidy this up. It should only take me about quarter of an hour". (Basil Fawlty would have been proud of me.)

"Sir, would you mind if we left it like this until tomorrow? I've been trying to get it going with WD 40, but I don't think it's really working. I'll have another go tomorrow.'

I melted, of course. And thinking how beastly I'd been for the past ten minutes, guilt had the better of me - and I went and asked the Adventure Quest boys how their weekend had been.

I'll grow up - one day.

Goodnight.

Just a short post tonight, because the news from Newton is not that fascinating, really. The LMs who aren't on a credit or Adventure Quest have been happily watching 'Mission Impossible', and sweet rations were Smarties.

And now I'm really trying to think of something interesting to tell you about tonight's programme, but I fear that I really can't, so I think I will just leave it there, and, other than telling those who may be interested that Ruth seems to have receoved from her breakdown and has returned to active service in the E.D., and Adam is completely depressed (Casualty, not Newton or SF), and bid you goodnight.

More tomorrow, post supper with the HM.

I used to dream, sometimes, when I was younger, that in due course I would have my own lovely air-conditioned office, with a leather swivel chair behind an enormous desk, with Agnes, my loyal secretary bringing me cups of coffee on demand, in a state of the art building in the middle of one of the capital cities. There I would be, controlling my vast empire, with people heeding my every beck and call.

So what happened? I became a schoolmaster and a housemaster, acquiescing to the young, and having dialogue similar to that of tonight, viz:

"Who's being silly in the bathroom?"

"H***y, was that you being silly? It sounded very like your voice."

"No, sir, I wasn't being silly, seriously."

"You can't be silly seriously? No, I know that: but were you being silly?"

"I am now, sir. I'm being seriously silly."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, silly. Sir."

Or, on requesting silence in silent reading and informing the inmates upstairs that

"This doesn't sound like silent reading to me. Although to be fair, it's difficult to know what silent reading does actually sound like."

Or discovering that one of your LMs was still at the computer console in the upstairs common room, three minutes into silent reading:

"Oh come on, F***x, you should be on your bed, reading by now."

"Well, I was reading, and I was being silent, sir."

I had to draw the line at being asked by two Curlewites whether I would give them a piggyback ride from one side of the dorm to the other.

"Certainly not." I replied, with some vehemence.

You can imagine the outcome, of course.

Aquiescent? Moi?

Goodnight.

Dr Dean is a fascinating man. This evening was the night of my termly visit to the Deanery, and as I have had a very fine bottle of wine sitting in my erm, 'cellar' since last term, provided for the specific purpose of being consumed with aforementioned luminary when we next met, I took both bottle and especially selected cheeses down the road, where, amid much cerebral discussion and intellectual challenge, we managed to make inroads into all of it. (OK, we ate and drank the lot.)

Musically, I was treated to the finest of recordings of 'O magnum mysterium', by Morten Lauridsen, which is truly the most stunning work, and one that I think I am going to request of Mr Music-Price that might be sung at my/our final Chapel service next July. That will finish me off - and if you don't know it, do download it from iTunes, or whatever one does these days.

Thence to the music of John Blow, which was amazing, and from there to the poetry of the Hungarian poet, Georgy Faludy, and my endoctored friend knows his son, so that was doubly interesting. I'm ashamed to tell you that I knew nothing of said poet, but it sounds as if he was a fascinating man, and it was a privilege to be in the company of someone who actually knew him.

As for Newton tonight, well, Mr Porter has been in charge, and they're all silent now ayt 21.58, so I can safely assume that all is well. They all seemed very happy and content when they left the lodge this morning.

And as for the Thursday morning biscuit upgrade - not good, I fear. (Though one does now get coffee from the jugs marked 'coffee', so things are looking up.)

Until tomorrow.

Goodnight.

I know, I know: Mrs C and I were chez la soeur de Madame C last night, and a very good evening it was, too. So my apologies for the absence of a bloglog, but I hope I may be forgiven.

You must think I'm going a bit loopy, because after all my ramblings about Brazil, I didn't mention once the reason why I was going on about it. It was because, as some of you will already have worked out, we have a new Follower in Brazil. So that, I hope, explains that.

Today has been a day of mixed emotions, because it was dominated by the funeral of the late, great legend that was my former colleague, deputy head, head of department and great friend, Mr Nicholas Aldridge. The service was held in Worcester Cathedral, and was, quite frankly, stunning. The Red Choir, of which I was privileged to be a part (Mr Langdon, the former director of music was playing the organ) sounded amazing, and the whole event was one that no doubt caused a smile to pass across the lips of Mr A. He was taken, sadly, by Parkinson's Disease, but if you had known him as I did in his earlier years as a man of tremendous presence, scholarly excellence, decency and gentlemanly conduct, you would have know that this was someone very, very special. He came to SF in 1948 as a boy, won the 5th KS to Eton, thence to Cambridge and a fine degree, and then back to SF, where he remained for the rest of his days. He was, quite simply, a lovely man - and while it was very sad for us old stagers to see him as he was towards the end of his days, we remember him with very great affection.

So, having driven the minibus back to SF, how to lift one's spirits. By being with your LMs, of course. Tonight has been a wonderful evening, hilarious and crazy, but with a befitting sombreness. NEA (for those were his initials) would have loved it.

'Sir, which book should I read, one or two?'

'Two'.

'Thank you, sir.'

'Are you going into the showers with your socks on, H*****? It will be a soggy affair if you do'.

'I think you mean 'socky', sir'.' (Ho ho. It must be catching.)

'Sir can I try and make you laugh?' Thus followed a load of random jokes and faces, and I have to say that I lost - eventually. So well done, E*****. (And M**)

'That gives you a flavour of the evening, which culminated in a vociferous rendering of the Silent Reading Song, of which NEA would have approved greatly. He and I once wrote a spoof musical of 'Lord of The Flies', which was performed by the staff and rehearsed in secret. The boys had no idea, and when they were hauled into Macmillan Hall by the previous HM, Mr Talbot Rice, they thought they were in for a b********g. They were all given an envelope, which, they were told, was a letter for their parents, telling them of their poor behaviour. When they were instructed to read the letter, so that they could see for themselves 'how serious this all was', they discovered, to their great delight and amusement, that the 'letter' was, in fact, a programme - and we all had the most marvellous evening's entertainment.

Dear NEA: I shall miss him - and so will many, many others.

Goodnight.

Nick Aldridge, MA (Cantab)

RIP.

Ah, Brazil. That most wondrous of countries, and the one where I spent some time in my younger days. If you've ever looked back through these posts, you'll have seen that last summer I referred to one of the people whom I'd met out there in Rio, and that a very good friend of hers was here last Leavers' Day. I told her how I remembered those happy days of yore (pre Mrs C, lest you should fearing the worst) and was not a little taken aback when, as I asked to be remembered to her, I received the rejoinder, 'She's actually a very good friend of my mother's rather than me'. How time flies ......

Tonight in Newton we've enjoyed the 'trivial round, the common task', as the hymmwriter put it, with dressing-gowned table tennis in the boys' garden at the back of the lodge, and a pun session in the clubhouse for those intent on more cerebral activity. We did the lot, for about 25 minutes, and it all started with one of the LMs hitting his head on the reading lamp. (Not seriously.)

"Why did you do that? Light relief? Shocking." I said. It all went from there, really, with puns of all kinds on the topics of meat, cricket, television and many more. We simply switched from one current subject to another, plugging away, and when we moved to the subject of cricket, we thought we'd be stumped, but actually found ourselves creased up with laughter.

It's good to know that your LMs know where the boundaries are here.

Goodnight.

Good evening, all - and you may be vaguely interested to learn that we've just passed the 350 mark as far as thes evening posts are concerned.

I hope we've all enjoyed the weekend: Mrs C and I certainly did, and we were able to walk, read, listen to music, eat and drink very well indeed, and my playing for not one but two church services this morning actually served to enhance the weekend's appeal rather than diminish it.

I did start the bike, but, realising that it was just after lunch, I thought better of actually riding the thing. That can wait until Long Leave, when I can race around the place once again. (I'll grow up one day.)

Now! Did you hear about our scholarship record? The best that SF has achieved in the past is 14 in any one year, so this year's grand total of 15 is a cause for considerable celebration! I must say that Our Leader was seen to walking around the place with a definite spring in his step - and I don't blame him, either. I was moved to invite him and my assistant lodgemeister, Mr Bryan, whose star pupil managed to snap up the coveted Annah Shaw award at Eton for Classics, for a bottle of very nice fizz in the garden. Mr Porter and Miss Alex then sniffed us out, as did Mrs C, so I confess that a second bottle made its way to the Newton lawns. As you can imagine, we're very happy here. Now for C.E. ..... !

As for tonight, well, everyone seems in good spirits, although turning 'Pirates of the Caribbean' off for silent reading made the film's audience look at me as if they were going to get me to walk the plank. Incidentally, did you know that you can change your Facebook page to 'Pirate Language'? I haven't actually done so myself, but Cheater mi has, and it's quite entertaining.

Ah well, there we are, me hearties: that be that for tonight. I have to feed the parrot.

Goodnight.

Good evening, one and all, and especial greetings to our readers in Bosnia Herzegovina, about whom my 'stats' page has told me. And, en passant, thank you to the 26 loyal followers who appear to have tuned into this corner of cyberspace yesterday - and with exactly that number of LMs in the lodge ......

I spent this afternoon umpiring the Colts C match at Moulsford. I'm delighted to tell you that we were victorious, and I was doubly excited to remember, as I strode down to the far fields there that I would be able to enjoy the sight of many trains passing by, which, of course, was a pleasure for me, but a source of great excitement for our scorer, whose passion for, and encyclopaedic knowledge of, locomotives and everything that goes with them, is unsurpassed!

I'm trying to think of some more lines to write, so that I keep on the right track, or how many more points I could cover. Stationed as I am at my computer, writing from my conversational platform, not to go further with this series of railway puns would be a signal failure. None of the LMs seemed in the mood for crossing me tonight, and so everything was kept on the level. I really am trying, you know; I'd hate you to be on the receiving end of anything other than a first class service. It's not as if I'm in training any more. Goodness, I seem to have a full head of steam now!

By now, of course, you are all rolling on the floor with hysterical mirth, wondering where on earth this blog will go next. To towels: that's where.

'Towels'? I hear you ask: has the man taken leave of his senses? Well, no. I leave you, therefore with the following dualogue, which took place tonight; clean towels night.

'Sir, I give in two towels and I get three back!'

'Well, lucky you. Next time you can give in three and you might get six back!'

Pause.

'H'm. Yes. I think I start business with this.'

It all starts here, you know. They certainly keep me on my guard.

Time to stop. No, really.

Goodnight.

Havng one's haircut would seem a relatively straightforward affair, would you not think? Well, think again. I entered the hairdresser's, delighted to find the place almost empty, which meant that a long wait could be averted. A young lady, who was not entirely uneasy on the eye appeared from behind a curtain and covered me in various bits and pieces, with a touch that I felt to be just that tiny bit more than I was expecting. A report of this event, of course, lends itself tremendously to full innuendo, but this is, as I've said before, a family blog, so I will refrain from the overwhelming urge to do so.

Having cloaked me in black towels, the young lady disappeared, where to I know not. She then transformed herself into a somewhat larger and older version, and returned to cut off my silver locks. Clearly, she was unhappy with her colleague next door, whose ability to ameliorate her locqaciousness was second to almost none - although I suspect one or two of the more high-octane members of SF could wage a fair battle. Anyway, to cut a long story short (!) I felt my lady barber pulling on my greying strands just that little bit excessively, but I was extremely brave and refused to grimace.

Enough of all that. It being Tuesday, some friends of ours arrived, and within a few minutes the ladies were engaging in their customary banter and the gentlemen made for Summertown, where we were able to lunch in an appropriate manner at Portabello. (It was heartening to see the owner of that fine establishment (who, incidentally, owns Pizzaria Mama Mia as well) tucking in to his own fine fodder.) Eventually we rolled back into Newton, replete, as my mama would say, and having enjoyed a good sufficiency. If you haven't been there recently, I recommend it.

Meanwhile, of course, the Eton list test boys were enjoying delights of their own, and I have no doubt that you will have caught up with your offspring at some stage this evening, or by e-mail. I have left Mr Bryan to look after the proceedings tonight, but I shall make sure that I get a full run-down from all the LMs who attended, tomorrow morning.

So there we are. Not really much Newtonian news, was there, but contact made, nevertheless.

Goodnight.

The perfect Newtonian evening. The Boys' Garden is now well and truly open, with table tennis a-plenty being played by begowned LMs (dressing gowns, that is: don't get alarmed), Krispy Kreme donuts kindly and generously supplied in honour of a LM's birthday today, for which very many thanks will, I hope, be accepted via this particular medium; the Royal Wedding, part 2, being shown in the snug for the royalists (supervised by Miss Alex ....!) fruit of all kinds, and everything in the garden - and everywhere else - was rosy. Slight jitters because it's Eton-test Eve, but there was so much going on that the happiness factor was adjudged to be at top levels. (Dr Seldon at Wellington would be very pleased.) Indeed, our birthday boy put his own h.f. at ten!

I'm trying to think of other news to impart, but honestly, I can't; it's just been one of those great summer term days today, reminding me of my own halcyon prep school days in the 60s. Great days, they were, with the HM's fizzy pop stall by the outdoor pool, with the croquet lawn just behind and the padder courts just to the right. He had a 'mo-tent', and if we were in the 5th Year we were allowed to camp within same, or in the summer house. None of those horrid guy-ropes, or flappy sides. Yes, I know, we were spoilt. Mind you, history tests with the terrifying Mr Burton made up for all that! And talking of such things, I read in the latest copy of my school magazine that he's still going strong!

Happy days indeed. Just as today, 50 years on.

Goodnight.

It makes you think, doesn't it, when accidents happen. The Lady of the House (Mrs C, lest you should be wondering) tripped today, in the changing rooom, on a wet floor. She fell backwards, and damaged her foot rather unpleasantly. I must confess that such was here discomfort at one stage that I thought a J.R. dash might be necessary, but thanks to the expert guidance of the medical staff here, ice packs were found and applied, the aforementioned part of the anatomy was raised on two cushions, and Ibuprofen was administered by the spouse. Sounds like an episode from Casulaty, does it not?! It would be very tempting to write 'I found myself in my element' at this stage, frustrated medic that I never became, but (a) I wasn't, and (b) I don't think, if SWMBO ever read this post, that it would work in my favour.

Still, whatever precautions were taken seem to have worked, for la bonne dame femme is now back on two feet, and things appear to be well.

A large number of Newtonians watched the Royal Wedding in our snug tonight (no, you know what I mean; that's as bad as Mr Pearce saying (as he did) 'I dunno, you prepare the Eton scholars for 'biro-making in Ukraine' or 'Firefighting in Uganda', and what comes up? 'Nuclear Submarines'. Oh come on, it's not even midnight yet.)) as they don't seem to have been treated to the regal nuptuals while in France. They seemed to enjoy it all, which was good.

Supper in the HM's drawing room, by invitation, was a very pleasant affair, and a jolly time was had, and that reminds me to extend an apology to Our Leader, who was discomfited by my reference to the headmagisterial specs. They haven't been in evidence this term, and that, it seems, is a result of the power of the Newton Blog. So, sir, please accept my apologies, and be assured that, actually, I thought they added no uncertain amount of gravitas. (I used to go out with an optician's daughter once: called it off, because after two glasses she made a spectacle of herself.)

LOL - as Our Leader would put it.

Goodnight - until tomorrow night. (If I'm still here.)

Just 12 LMs with us tonight, which seems very few. You'd think, therefore, that my blood pressure would be at very normal levels, would you not, but no. No, of course not, because that something something Argos, or whatever it's called, isn't working. And there I was, happily imagining that an argos was one of those dreadful temples to materialism, when suddenly I had to get real and learn that it's something that shows films. Or rather, that doesn't. So they're watching 'War Games', and liking it. Ugh!!

And don't talk to me about that well-known chain of stationers and general c***-merchant that supplies me with my newspaper every morning. I strolled over there happily, ready to pick up the DT and stride out of the place as quickly as I could, averting my eyes from the burger machine, the rows of bottled water and those other 'must-haves' for contemporary living, like coca-cola, but could I do anything as simple as that? Could I heck. A person of indeterminate age in front of me wanted lottery tickets. And was the Lottery machine working? Of course not.

'I can type the numbers in for you, if you like', offered the kindly assistant. My heart sank, as she started to type - slowly. She must have realised that I was getting irritated, as she caught my eye and gave me what I can only describe as a somewhat winsome smile. Tempted as I was to return such ostensible affection with an impersonation of Uriah Heap in a mood, I smiled graciously back. I approached the counter and ....... gave the lady my newspaper ticket (it saves a fortune, you know), smiled again, and left.

Well what were you expecting? Mills and Boon? In M*****'s? I think not.

Time for Casulaty, methinks.

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends. They're back - and so am I, so welcome to post number 345.

It seems, from all accounts, that they've (a) had a really good time, (b) eaten well and (c) are now completely fluent in French. Well, sort of. A bit. I do know, though, that the experience is a good one, and that the staff over in Normandy look after their clients well, so it's good to know that they have had a worthwhile time.

Back here on the ranch, however, things have proceeded apace, and things have gone well. I can't really believe that short leave is coming up next weekend, but I'm assured that it is, and no doubt everyone will be ready for it when it arrives.

You'd think, would you not, that the boys, having had a long journey with a very early start, would be absolutely shattered. Not a bit of it. They were all very buoyant when they walked through the Newton door, with one member deeming it appropriate to greet his lodgemaster with a spontaneous big hug! (No, I didn't mind.)

A sparkling conversation then ensued concerning my instruction 'Everything, incluuding guernseys, to the wash and shoe cleaning' was confusing because shoe cleaning couldn't go to the wash, followed by enquiries as to whether I was born during the war. I wasn't, as it happens, as you know. I was born in 1951. ('Oh, my dad was born in 1960, sir!' was the rejoinder to that reply.)

Anyway, it's great to have them back, and it's good to see - and hear - them so content with their lot(s).

Until tomorrow night, then,

Goodnight - and welcome back.