My dear Followers, It was indeed a brilliant evening, and we had such great fun after a hugely successful Expeditions Day, and the bonus to to the night was the discovery that a former pupil of mine is now the manager of the estate agents Breckon and Breckon in Summertown! We plan to get together very soon.

I must admit that I thought last night's post was a tad queeny: I blame Messrs Randolph, Bryan and Faber - for leading me astray.

Mr Porter has been at the helm tonight. Good man.

Goodniight.

You must despair of your sons' lodgemeister: you log on every night, loyal followers that you are, to see that there's nothing there. I am so sorry - and I hope you can forgive.

Tonight was a very special night. You know how, sometimes, things just click? Well tonight was one of those. I returned from a very convivial time at the staff room annexe, with my friends Randolph and Bryan, during which we endeavoured to outdo each other with our private tutoring stories (Mr R outdoing us both with consummate ease for royal reasons) to an LM who, to my great surprise and delight flung his arms around his lodgemeister and thanked me for 'a brilliant year'! It was I who thanked him for being so brilliant, and I confess that I had to retire for a few minutes while reaching for the Kleenex in the kitchen.

As for last night, well, I have to confess that there was no post simply because I was, frankly, and not to put too fine a point on the matter, knackered. I think I'd tried to be a little over ambitious over the weekend and beyond, and that's never wise. I must tell you, though, that one of the plusses that has come out of the various activities is that I connected with the British Council, and, following my follow-up, they have said that they might like me to act as one of their consultants, which is rather exciting!

Tomorrow is Expeditions Day, in which Mrs C and I will be off to Warwick Castle, and then in the evening we're hosting a party for all of our colleagues - in the Newton garden, we hope. If the weather holds, it will be a good do. Here's hoping.

Goodnight.

Well, as days go, I suppose it was a bit of a curate's egg. So first, my apologies to those of you who loyally tuned in to Radio 4 to hear me speaking, and did not hear me. Long story, but in brief, the minibus from Dulwich College took rather longer than it should have done, and so we were allocated only about three minutes, which didn't really afford many opportunities for question! Still, you will have heard something about the project and ...............

.............. it was immensely humbling to have the opportunity to speak in Parliament, and to spread the word. The founder of the College, Dr Ahmad Sarmast, was very, very kind, in front of the media from around the world, and I know that I can tell you - and that you will understand - that I did feel a frisson of pride at having done something, however small, for the future of humanity. The College looks after a large number of orphaned, but musical children, and the images that accompanied Dr Sarmast's presentation really did bring tears to one's - OK, my - eyes. I wish you could have been there, so that you might understand something of this amazing project. My own role, which was to design the music curriculum for the place, took about 18 months, and it's wonderful to know that the whole place is now very much up and very much running. The facilities are amazing, and it goes from strength to strength.

Lunchtime brought an unexpected pleasure, as I found myself in a place called Le Pain Quotidien in Shepherd's Bush. Very nice, and effective in its simplicity, with lots of wooden tables, and plenty of evidence of fabulous French bread. A delicious salmon pate and a reasonable ( 6/10) quiche, with a glass of sauvignon blanc that seemed a touch chardonnay-ish to me, made for a very agreeable combination, and the coffee was superb. (I took a leaf out Matthew Norman's book and brought out my notebook, which ensured first-rate service. (!) I lost count of the number of napkins that were brought to me as one after the other tumbled to the floor!)

Anyway, that's that. Now I must give my time to your LMs. It's been a tad hectic recently, and I'd hate to think they'd missed out. So tonight we had a fairly liberal evening, with much hilarity in Curlew, foir various reasons! They are such wonderful company, and now that my portfolio of extraneous activity is over, I will re-focus between now and the end of term.

Goodnight.

Welcome to post number 375, dear Followers, and it was good to see some of you here tonight after what I hope has been a great weekend. I must confess that I did feel a little envious of those who were able to enjoy the sunshine of today, while I was closeted in an examination room, listening to performances of varying degrees of accomplishment!

Still, I didn't fail anyone, and I'm always well looked after by the authorities, who ply me with coffee, tea and a selection of biscuits that would happily grace the table in the HMDR on a Thursday morning. One of the, erm, more mature candidates was heavily pregnant, and I can't pretend that the thought of whether I might have to act as midperson didn't pass my mind. She was outstandingly good, though, and all was well.

Tonight's portfolio of things to do incorporated table tennis and Top Gear's new series, as well as plenty of happy banter between staff and LMs - although if I'm honest, the aforementioned banter wasn't quite so convivial about half an hour after lights out! (I do sympathise, however, because I remember how difficult it was to get to sleep when the weather was as it is at the moment.

I've written my speech for tomorrow afternoon in the H of C's Jubilee Room, and I can but hope that I won't, as the boys will have it, 'scuff up' during the World at One interview.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow night.

Goodnight.

'Lord of the Rings' provided cinematic pleasure tonight, along with sweet rations and a whole barrow-load of fruit. No real classical stories to report, although we did have the Latin Reading competition this morning, which was a very classy affair, with the Head of Classics from Winchester adjudicating. I had to pinch myself to believe that the Latin being read (Catullus) was being declaimed by 13-year-olds, I must say!

The First Year's Coffee Concert was a most agreeable affair, too, with my little Junior Choir singing a song from the musical of 'Tom Sawyer' and many other little men performing splendidly on a variety of instruments. All very promising for the future, in my opinion, although sadly Mrs C and I won't be here to discover just how far the talent of the future will develop.

Talking of things musical, I shall be examining a group of students tomorrow afternoon. It reminds me of the professor at Trinity College of Music (which I did not attend) who examined a friend of mine on the organ at 2pm one afternoon in the 1970s.

'Ah. You must be X. Well, you may as well know: I never pass anyone after mid-day.' Of course, my friend passed happily and received his well-deserved Fellowship diploma.

Or the Oxford professor, who thought that a sensible way to mark papers would be to throw them down the stairs, with those that fell to the bottom coming last and those at the top coming top, with all the others in the middle. No, I don't use that method.

I'm wittering now. It's probably just nerves.

Goodnight.

You wouldn't think, would you, that one might have a conversation with an 11-year-old that ran as follows:

'Good evening, F****es.'

Sorry?

It's the plural of F***x.

Yes, I know, but it's an adjective.

And?

So it can't be plural.

Sorry? What do you mean? Number, gender and case.

I know. But ......

But what? Are you now going to tell me that an adjective can't be plural?

Yes.

Erm ........ and how might this be?

Well, sir, an adjective on its own can't be plural. It's a word that's adjusted by the plurality of the noun, which makes it plural.

Ah. Well, I'm not sure Mr Bryan will see it quite the same way.

I have to admit, dear Followers, that my fellow conversationalist does have a bit of a point, although if he's right then I might have to re-think my teaching of the plural form .... !

Anyway, I left him pondering about it all and strode into Kingfisher, where I was greeted by a loud quasi-scream, which, as you will imagine, of course, was a result, apparently, of another member of the dorm trying to count up to twenty in Latin.

So it's all been a bit classical tonight, and I was very glad of the opportunity to be invited to make up a pun on fire bells. (Yes, I know, it's surreal.) I replied that to do so might be little alarming, asked whether that particular pun rang any bells, opined (to polite laughter) that I was on fire tonight, and went downstairs to the clubhouse, where an amassed throng was watching Murray mincing Lujblicic. (Not sure you can have an 'unamassed' throng.)

An agreeable chat about a number of authors, ranging from Anthony Trollope to Dylan Thomas, with e.e.cummings and J.D. Salinger thrown in formed another part of the jig-saw of tonight's banter, and I'd returned earlier from a wonderful concert of songs across the centuries, given by Dr Dean, Mr Edwards and Mr Price. Held in New Room, it was terrific.

This do on Monday is causing me some anxiety. I now learn that it might be broadcast on The World at One, the BBC News Channel and BBC Oxford. Or maybe none of the above. I have, with regret, declined the invitation to dine afterwards, as I suspect that I may be ready to come back down to Earth and normaility in the form of your wonderful offspring. I shall need their reassuring chatter!

For now, though,

Goodnight.

Forgive me for not seeing many of you last night: I was around, but not for the whole time, because I'd been invited to meet up with a former tutee who's about to leave Radley, so I dashed down to the University Club for a bite and a catch-up. I'd already lunched in Quod, discussing post-retirement options, so it was quite a day, not least because I'd driven up from Dorset in the morning.

Report writing is proving to be what it always is: quite fun when one gets into it, but a daunting prospect until one does! Sunday brings an afternoon of examining over at Gloucester Uni, and then on Monday I'm due to be one of the guest speakers at an Afghanistan National Institure of Music do at the House of Commons. (An impressive guest list, incorporating The Speaker and a collection of about 200 dignitaries, complete with press and media. Ah well, the dinner afterwards should be a good do.)

Enough of me, me, me: it's just that I imagine (probably wrongly) that you might be vaguely interested in what your sons' lodgemeister gets up to.

As for Newton tonight, we've been fortunate to have had Mr Bryan at the helm, ensuring good order and fine table tennis. He is, after all, the table-tennis supremo here at SF, and, it seems, as unbeatable at said sport as he is, according to his various forms, at arguing. He is one of those people who can make one wither with his one-liners.

It's lovely to have a full complement of LMs once again, especially those who have been unwell recently, particularly he who has been very poorly indeed.

So, as we lurch inexorably towards the e of t, all is well, and boys and staff are content.

I may not be able to post tomorrow night, but I'll make sure I make up for it on Friday, so for now, thank you, as always, for reading.

Goodnight.

My further apologies to all of you - including our new Follower in Israel - who logged on last night, only to find, once again, that the cyberspatial cupboard, as it were, was bare. I had travelled to London town, you see, to collect the personal effects of my son and heir, who is moving out of his students digs in Pentonville Road, and currently engaged in searching for somewhere near Russell Square that he and three of his mates can move into. Despite all of their (particularly his, it seems) best efforts, they haven't found anywhere yet, so if anyone reading this blog just happens to have a spare house lying around that they don't mind getting a bit erm, 'used', do let me know and we can negotiate! (I'm not entirely sure that a daily commute from Israel would be ideal, but lest you, sir/madam, should be about to fire off an e-mail to me then let me save you the trouble, but thank you sincerely, nevertheless.)

We managed to load up the car in a short time (there was, after all, only one room to vacate) aqnd then we both adjourned to the home of the best creme brulee in London, namely Bistro de la Gare, just opposite where T.C. has been residing for the past year, and had a most enjoyable three quarters of an hour over a glass of planque de la maison and a croque-monsieur.

I bade farewell until Sunday, and made my way home. On the way back, I happened upon Johnnie Walker on Radio 2, playing a recording of a concert by a band called 'Simple Minds'. Absolutely brilliant, causing me to up the volume and belt it out along the M40. If you want to share the pleasure, go on to the Rdaio 2 website, and find what was being played at 9.50pm. If you're 'into' that sort of music (and I am) you'll love it. On the totally extravagant Volvo speakers in my car it was unbeatable.

Radio 2, iPlayer. Johnnie Walker in Concert Simple Minds. Start at 1 hour 40 mins, and listen through to the end.

As for tonight in Newton, happy, contented and relaxed. Thank you, Mr Porter.

See you tomorrow.

Goodnight.

You know how sometimes you have an awful day? Well, today has been one of those for me today. I will spare you an itemised account, not least because it would be long, boring and, probably, incomprehensible to anyone off-campus, but just believe me when I say that it has.

So I needed Newton - and the Newtonians - to rescue the situation, and, as always, they have done so. They have been engaging, witty and fun, from the moment when they arrived to the time when we were watching 'Springwatch', and learning all about whether bees, erm, whether bees ....... no, not that, erm, 'excrete'.

There has, of course, been great excitement here (which I missed, because I was watching my own team getting hamm ..... - performing at Caldicott) because of the appearance of a high-profile cricketer. As you know, names are verboten on this blog, but I will simply tell you that on learning of the presence of the aforementioned sportsman, a member of the Scholarship form was heard to say

'James Horn? Who on earth is he?'

So that's football and cricket covered, with numerous autographs having been signed on both occasions, so there's just rugby left. I'm sure there'll be someone here soon.

Apparently, the cricketer has a voice-activated locking system on his Mercedes. This caused much adulation, of course, and I was told all about it, but, not one to be outdone, I informed my own throng that I had one of those, too. Of course they didn't believe it, but they were (for about two nano-seconds) amazed when I opened the door of Newton, told the Volvo to 'open!' and it did so! 'Close', I said. It responded.

'Can I have a go?' asked one resident from far off climes. (I was tempted to say 'O, man, must you?' but refrained. (That's just code, of course, and I wasn't really.)

'Of course,' I replied.

'Flash your lights!' he demanded.

The lights flashed.

'Turn on the windscreen wipers!' came a second imperative.

The lights flashed again, and we both agreed that the car was nothing if not a tad facetious, so we decided to leave it alone.

Yes, yes, the keys were in my pocket. I know you've worked that out. So did they.

Still, it was fun, and that's what being here is all about.

Goodnight.

It's been a good day today, although as it's Tuesday, and therefore our half day, it's been a pity not to have seen our/your LMs this evening.

Not to worry, though, because Mr Bryan has been at the helm, and all has gone well. As for Mrs C and me, we have had the great pleasure of welcoming Mr and Mrs Michael Feben-Smith back to SF. Michael was a junior teacher way back in the 1980s, and was a fellow student with Mrs C at Southampton Uni, and we can both remember visiting him when he was a bachelor member of staff here!

It was a Tuesday. Mrs C and I were on the staff at Papplewick at the time, and we came to see Michael, before going on to Witney, where my parents were living at the time. We were due there for supper.

Michael, being the generous host that he is, filled us with the most wonderful afternoon tea, and, to be frank, when the time came for us to leave, we were st****d.

We expressed our thanks and made our way to Witney. My mother, being the generous hostess that she is (even at 93 now), had prepared a lavish supper for us both. As you can imagine, our appetites were not quite what she had been expecting - even mine, and that's saying something!

She smelt a rat. I could see that maternal look that only a mother can give her son. (As George W Bush put it, when he got the date of the Queen's accession to the throne wrong). It spoke a million words. And, as yet another baked potato was thrust upon me I began to realise how the boy in 'Matilda' must have felt when instructed to consume vast amounts of chocolate cake! I feared the worst.

'You've had tea, haven't you?!' came the accusatory query that required no better answer than a guilty countenance.

You can imagine the rest. Anyway, tonight it was our turn, and we were able to entertain Michael and Sally in the garden with a full-scale Chinese from Xi'an, accompanied by appropriate accompniment.

I introduced Michael to the Newtonians: I think he wished he'd never left.

Goodnight.

Life doesn't get much better than the enjoyment of tonight's portfolio of happiness. A dead bird in the Boys' Garden, cat p** on the gravel on the way in, which, as you might imagine, clung like a soggy magnet to several slippers; a case of misappropriation of sweets (which, I have to tell you, resulted in one LM owning up immediately and voluntarily - in front of the whole lodge during an emergency lodge meeting; and then, to put the icing on the cake, a fire alarm, which required the LMs to go back outside into the BG, being led along a somewhat curious path by Mrs C, who was acting in a quasi-pied piperine manner. Having ensured that everyone who should have been present was present, the LMs were treated to detailed instructions about how the cat p** might be avoided during the return journey to the dorms. As I said, happiness is Newton shaped.

Earlier however, a kind of literary war broke out, which may sound exciting, but when I tell you that 'because we can't use nerf guns we thought we'd use books as guns' your excitement threshold may have been surpassed. A declaration of peace was declared (yelled, actually) by the lodgemeister, and calm broke out once again on the top floor.

All this, and Rich Tea biscuits: what more can one ask for?

Enough. I now have a pile of work to get through before tomorrow morning, so I will bid you

Goodnight.

My apologies for the lack of communication last night: as there were but eight boys with us last night I imagined (probably wrongly) that you would have heard all the goss from your young themselves. If you didn't, then I'm sorry, and congratulations to all those who won their matches, and although the Colts Cs didn't quite manage it, they put up a splendid fight and, thanks to contribution of many Newtonians, almost did. If you'd like to see the results, then I'm sure they're on the SF website by now.

Tonight has been one of those surreal evening, in which the conversation takes some very strange twists and turns. For a start, most of the conversation took place in silent reading, and was initiated a Kingfisherian who, on asking me when my rein as supremo of the Colts C team began, was surprised when he received the answer '1756'. (OK, yes, I started it.)

Another KF: 'Sir, are you really that old?'

Me: 'Yes'.

A different KF: 'Gosh! That makes you ..... erm ....er ...... ' (Good luck in the maths exam tomorrow.)

Original KF: 'H'm. I wonder what someone who hadn't had a bath for 3000 years would smell like.'

Yet another KF: 'Yes. I wonder how you describe that.'

We groped around for a fitting simile, but failed miserably, with your nightly correspondent making a mental note to check that his after-shave and deodorant levels were topped up.

Tonight, we had the great privilege of welcoming the Revd Bannister-Parker to our chapel, who gave a sparkling sermon about Pentecost, complete with helium balloons and flaming flag (although the flag wasn't really flaming), and it was a further privilege to welcome her father, the legendary Sir Roger Bannister to (a) chapel and (b) the junior day room afterwards. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to speak to the great man (as someone who used to love running I would have welcomed the opportunity), but I will forgive the colleague who was chosen to look after him, because he is a great friend. Still.

I wonder if anyone else noticed the synergy (a contemoporary word, often heard and seen in business-speak, it seems) between Pentecost and Sir Roger, who ran like the wind. No? Just me then. Perhaps it's just as well that I was passed over: I would probably have said something pathetic like that anyway.

More tomorrow - after Day 1 of exams .....

Goodnight.

There was a subtle irony about last night's post, in that it was the 365th bloglog since the Newton Blog's inception. I'm sure John M would have appreciated that, just as much as I do - but quite to where that conversation would have meandered is anyone's guess! I suppose we were all feeling particularly low because of dear John's demise coming so hot on the heels of Nick Aldridge's passing, but I know that both of my former friends and colleagues would have approved of this evening's entertainment ........

..... which came in the form of a very generous party for the staff and governors, for the express purpose of Our Leader being able to express, in his wonderful, easy-on-the-ear fashion, about his appreciation of his colleagues for what has, undoubtedly, been a tremendous year for scholarships and other successes. Everyone was on top form, and the food and wine surpassed most things that one would rave about in many restaurants these days. (How meldrewian I sound.) Anyway, all was very well indeed, and it was good to be able to catch up with so many members of the governing body.

As far as Newton is concerned, Mr Porter VERY kindly offered to do the lion's share of the duty tonight, and when I took over the reins again just now he informed me that the LMs had been great and a fun evening had been enjoyed by all.

I think that will do for tonight, so I bid you all

Goodnight.

Dear Followers,

I'm not really in much of a mood to write in my normal upbeat manner tonight, as we have received grim news from Yorkshire about our former colleague and Head of English, John Mayall, whom many of you will no doubt remember. He has (colonic, we think) cancer, and he has been battling against it for a long time now. Today we learnt that he has moved out of his house and, in his own words, 'will not be returning'. One can only hope that he does not suffer while he is in the hospice into which he has been admitted, and that his passing will be as peaceful as is possible, under such awful circumstances.

He was - is - a supremely talented man, and a first class schoolmaster, and few will know that he was part of the Alan Bennett fraternity, and someone who could easily have become just as successful, had his life taken a different turn. Alan Bennett remained one of his greatest friends, living just a few doors away from John.

Although John remains an intensely private man and one who does not allow the shutters to be rolled up, he and I once produced a play together, and I was able to discover alittle about the man behind the mask. (He would have disapproved, as will many of you, no doubt, of the mixed metaphors.) I hope that whatever will be said, sadly, I suspect, sooner rather than later, will reveal the many wonderful attributes, alongside so many hilarious anecdotes,. that John was able to enjoy in happier times.

Tom C was one of his former tutees, and it is no exaggeration to say that John was an inspiration to him. He wrote movingly to him tonight: I only hope that John will receive it.

Goodnight.

To employ that most trite of journalistic cliches (sorry, this blog doesn't allow accents), 'Picture the scene'.

Silent reading has been called, teeth have been cleaned and all other nocturnal visitations made and completed. The troops are on their beds and are reading happily and contentedly, while your correspondent is ambling in and out of the dorms, not saying a word, but feeling equally contented about having such a super lodge. The silence is a calm one, relaxed as everyone winds down at the end of a most agreeable day. If the silence were music it would be the second movement of Shostakovich's 2nd piano concerto, or that most beautiful of all Phil Collins' songs, 'Hold on my heart'; if poetry it would be Walter de la Mare's haunting poem 'Nod', yet it is all of these and none, for the moment is for ever what it is: soft, gentle, serene.

'Sir! What does 'pregnant' mean in this context?' shouts an enquirer, smashing the silence with a metaphorical sledgehammer. The word is put in its context and I am able to reply, without so much as a turning of a single silver hair, 'waiting for something to happen'.

'Thank you, sir'. The silence returns, but you can hear the other inmates thought processes whirring away.

As for the previous part of the evening, well, most were in the B.G. for the whole time, dressing-gowned and slippered while weilding table tennis bat. (That sentence has a vague allusion to the 1960s - when the juxtaposition of such words would have resulted in an altogether different meaning!)

Still, all is silent here once again, and it's time for me to sign off until tomorrow.

Goodnight.

'But it's Tuesday, sir; isn't Mr Bryan supposed to be looking after us?' Thus began my evening, and the answer, of course, is yes, but he's playing cricket for the Black Hole Cricket Club tonight (the staff team, less you should be wondering, and 'Black Hole' orginates from the fact that the previous staff room was dimunitive and, orginally, windowless. The new one, of course, is ..... erm, well, perhaps I should stop there. It is bigger, that I grant you, and it does have a pretty good coffee machine) and so Mrs C and I have been on duty.

And a pleasure it has been, too. Card-signing was the order of the night, and all the other normal Newtonian attractions were on offer, too. I was thinking tonight what a lovely group of boys they are, and how much we shall miss them when they move into one of the senior lodges. They really are delightful.

As you will know from last night's post, I reconnected with a tutee of mine from the 80s, and we were able to stroll down Memory Lane over a particularly fine lunch at a place in St James' Street called 'Brasserie St Jacques'. I expect some of you will know it, and probably dine there daily, but for the likes of mere mortals like me it was a real treat. The steak I had was superb, as was the smoked salmon starter, and le chocolat fondant (accompanied, of course, by a fine dessert wine) was, as they say, to die for. I suppose that's what is meant by 'death by chocolate'. The wine list seemed to fall into my hands, for some reason, and I think I managed to acquit myself reasonably well with my selection. If you haven't tried the place, I do recommend it.

I had hoped to connect with my son and heir and his stunning liaisonne, but despite my best efforts he managed to show me that he is 'un frite du vieux bloc' by responding to my text inviting him to join me for a coffee at Paddington Station in telling me that, at 4.15pm, he was 'at lunch'. Not to worry, though, as they will be here tomorrow, prior to making their way to Dorset for a few days. You have all that to look forward to: 'Dad, can we use the house for a couple of days ..... oh, erm, and, er, can I borrow the car?' Yes to both, of course, with strict guidelines about use of same. And the house had better be spotless when Mrs C and I get there, or there'll be trouble!

A fun day, and a lovely evening.

Goodnight.

Tonight's headline news is that we've had a missing teddy alert. Fortunately, lest any of you should be worried, all is well, and he's been relocated, having, it seems, been used as a guided missile to capture red gunge that was attached to the ceiling. (Don't ask.) The troops were summoned, missing sweet rations was suggested as a possible punitive measure if Teddy did not resurface, and, lo and behold, there he was, beaming at the bounty hunters from behind one of the beds. Problem solved, and Teddy was happily reunited with his owner.

Table tennis in the Boys' Garden has been a principal feature tonight, as has brown shoe-cleaning, even for him who informed me that he didn't really think he would win, as he has only one brown shoe at the moment. (He didn't.)

Jammy dodgers and 'pink biscuits' have been on offer, as have fruit and orange squash, all of which seem to have gone down well.

Lest this post should be being read by the parents of the one who is unwell and away at the moment, please know that we are all thinking of him, and a card from all of us is on its way. Please give him our love and best wishes when you see him, and we all hope he will get well soon.

Great excitement was evident at lunchtime today, as a famous footballer appeared, in the guise of a prospective parent! Because of the 'no names' policy on this blog, I can't reveal his name, but suffice it to say that the gaggle of fans waiting outside the dining room, bits of paper and writing instruments in hand, were very, very excited. To their delight, he signed every one of them, and couldn't have been more charming about it. (They'll tell you who it was.) When they came out to games, they were all clutching their signed scraps of exercise book, but, strangely, when I offered to sign on the back of said scraps, there weren't very many takers. (Two, though - which I thought was pretty good going.)

That's enough excitement for one day: tomorrow I'm off to London town to reconnect with another of my tutees from the 80s. There are positive aspects to getting old(er) ........

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, from a rather inclement-looking location, amid the dreaming spires. Well, actually, we're not really 'amid' the said spires, but you know what I mean.

First, an apology. A correspondent has informed me of the inaccuracy of my sports reporting, and I said that I would incorporate the correct version herewithin tonight, thus:

'For the record, the Colts As won today's match by 7 wickets, with 11 balls to spare'.

So now you know. Anyway, whatever the case, my congratulations were none the less sincere.

Today has been a day in which I have been privileged to witness startling excellence from some of my colleagues, first in the form of a quite splendid sermon from Mr Nicholl, which gave rise to a burst of well-deserved spontaneous applause thereafter, and this afternoon I umpired (for part of the afternoon (although the brevity of my appearance was not exactly viewed as the zenith of my sporting career at this establishment by O.L.)) and was able to enjoy some quite superb cricket from a frighteningly large number of my colleagues, including O.L. himself. (I am trying.) I'm delighted to tell you that under the umpirage of the director of music (who earned himself a mention in despatches for longevity of service), the staff won the match against the fathers. I am not going to try and relay the score, as my erratic reporting will no doubt cause further letters to the editor of this blog.

A headmaster I once worked for in the 1980s who opined that it didn't matter what skill, talent or ability it was that he saw or heard, he would enjoy it if it was done well. He was right, of course, and today I have seen some genuinely excellent performances, from those of the boys in the splendid strings concert, to their preceptors on the sports field.

Until tomorrow, then,

Goodnight.

Camping. Not quite what Mrs C and I imagine camping to be, when we pitch our ridge tent on the banks of the Dordogne, with a wobbly gas stove and a billy can. Still, I don't doubt that Bradders' camping party is proving to be great fun, and I expect most of the venison (which, I learnt from a headmaster's wife once, should be pronounced 'venson') will have gone by now, as will most of the vino, inter alia.

As for those of us back at the coalface, all is well, with 'Zulu' proving to be quite a hit, and Smarties being viewed as an added bonus. It's surprising how dated the film looks now, having been the smash hit that it was when it was released, but that's just further evidence (as if any were needed) of my advancing years.

Many congratulations arew due to the Colts As, who won their match by one run, I hear, which is great news. As for my less high-profile Cs, we enjoyed a practice match, umpired by Mr Bush and me (yes (yawn), that is the right pronoun) and there was much to enjoy as the overs passed. Some stylish batting, a fair smattering of fine and accurate bowling, and moments of excellent fielding. Others may mock, but there's some quality stuff going on on pitch 6.

Daughter Hannah (she of driving test success) continued to display her several talents by creating a fine risotto tonight. Not sure why I'm telling you that, but it seemed relevant when I started writing the sentence. Perhaps I was thinking of the campers chomping on their venson and quaffing a glass or three of Ch. Ducasse '82.

What do you mean I'm just jealous? (That's a horrid one to punctuate, you know, because really there ought to be a comma, or a semi-colon, or even a colon, after 'mean'. And probably 'I'm just jealous' ought to be punctuated accordingly, too. Oh well, never mind: you know what I mean.)

What do you mean: 'I'm just jealous'? No, too pedantic. Although, now I come to look at it ......

Too intense. (Ha! In tents!)

Goodnight.

Once again, dear Followers around the globe, you feel betrayed. I know, and I'm sorry. No wonder there have been just 11 page views today. There's nothing worse than being blogless, I'm sure, so I will try to make amends.

Let me explain. I honestly haven't been skiving: on Wednesday night I was taking our younger daughter back to school, which coincided with our own end of Long Leave. She drove me from our house to the school, and I have to say that she did rather well. And other than forgetting to pull on the handbrake at the end, which nearly resulted in the two of us making a forced entry into the housemistress's study (via the brick wall), all was fine. I then travelled alone from Milton Abbas to Oxford, listening to a very challenging episode of 'The Moral Maze'. It certainly got my brain into gear.

Last night, of course, being a Thursday, meant that Mr Porter was in command, and I believe that everything was as it should have been. Meanwhile, your correspondent was networking at summer party in London, befriending those within two international educational consultancies who have invited me to consider joining them, post-retirement. All very exciting, and a jolly time was had by all.

Here tonight, I have actually been on duty, along with Mrs C, and we've had a lovely, trouble-free evening. One dorm managed to persuade me to share some of my schoolboy experiences (at which they were generous enough to laugh when I reached the denouement of the various stories (hyperbole-free, of course), and I then strode purposefully out to the Boys' Garden to enjoin with those playing table tennis. I managed to hold my own for a while, to which I received the appropriately backhanded compliment of

"Sir! You're actually pretty good - bearing in mind how little time you have to play!"

"Thank you, H***y! How very kind!" (Of course, I know that every time I incorporate the name H***y, there are six of you who wonder whether it is your H***y. So tonight, unless your surname begins with T, you won't know which one I mean.

Silent Reading came and went, and now they're all in their SPs (somnolent postures - remember?) and trying to get to sleep. Not always easy in the summer term, but they're trying hard.

Do keep tuning in: there'll be more tomorrow. And I'm sorry again about the last two nights.

Goodnight. Oh! PS! Our elder daughter, Hannah, passed her driving test!! Another chauffeuse in the family! I mean - isn't that great news?