My friends, this has been a great day - and a lovely evening. It's amazing to me to see early indicators of future success, and I can see such promise when one of our member turns his attention to the collecting of laundry and doing-up of same. You probably think that's daft, but trust me: if that boy doesn't realise his potential in due course - I don't know how yet - then I'll be amazed. So many of your young show me, on a daily basis, that they have wonderful potential, and it's a great joy to me and to Mrs C to think that we are able to play just a small part in helping to bring that out.

I had a delightful hour or so in the staff room annexe that is Joe's wine bar in Summertown, with my friends Mr Bryan and Mr Ives, during which I was able to express tangibly my appreciation to the former for his first-rate assistance as sport editor for the annual magazine and to initiate Mr Ives into the ways of window-dressing. (There's an hour window between 6.30 and 7.30 when lodgemasters can take an hour out.)

I held an impromptu lodge meeting this evening, wherein I reviewed the term so far, and I told the LMs that after a fairly excitable start (the thrill of being in Newton, of course), they'd all calmed down and were now plulling together as a really lovely team. They all seemed to take it all on board, sat silently listening and nodding appreciatively; many offered a thank you. I wouldn't have had that in MI - erm - wot'eva.

Thank YOU, so much, for your support and your enthusiastic appreciation of my nightly ramblings: I really appreciate it - and all of your lovely boys have been terrific.

Have a really wonderful weekend. Mrs C and I are off to Dorset - and I am determined to get the old girl going this time.

No, the motorbike, I mean.

Goodnight.

Yay! This is the 400th post of the Newton blog! Thank you to all of you who tune in every night, wherever you may be, and I hope you'll keep reading until July, when I shall retire, hawk the blog round a few publishers and then live on an island like Necker for the rest of my days. Ho ho.

You know, SF really is a wonderful place. On hearing one of the rezzies making a strange noise, I challenged him with the following:

'Put the following words in order: you - weird - are.'

Quick as a flash, my respondent countered with the following rapier-like reply,

'Are you weird? ....... Sir?'

Marvellous.

Black shoe-cleaning took place tonight, and as the catering department issued us with enough Cola bottles to sink a battleship, there were some substantial prizes. Miss Alex came to your correspondent bearing gifts, and as I absolutely love the aforementioned confectionery, I accepted with alacrity. Wine gums, too: they're good. I once bought a large packet of same in a garage on my home from somewhere, and then realised, a little late, that I was a bit too close to home to consume the lot and destroy the evidence. Fortunately, I saw a sign that said 'Car wash', so I bought a ticket for the ultra-clean option and managed to guzzle the packet - and get away with it. Not a word to Mrs C, if you wouldn't mind.

You see, that's the sort of thing I'd have had to do if I'd accepted the invitation that came with the late-night knock on the door when I was invited to consider working with the security services in the 1980s. Oh don't worry: I said no, and never signed the Official Secrets Act papers, so I can tell you without fear of radiation in my tea. Yes, I really was. Mrs C will vouch for that. Can you imagine? Johnny English, you'd have had nothing on me. I was interested to learn that Dame Manningham-Buller was a former English teacher, by the way .....

Tonight I spent a most delightful, pre-Newton hour with some former parents, one of whose children is now in his second year at Oxford, one in her first, and one other son at Eton. It was wonderful to stroll down Memory Lane.

Ah well, there we are. Time to go and watch Spooks, which I recorded last night - to see what might have been.

Goodnight.

Now, for those of you who think I make up the Tales from Newton and write them down in the morning, I want to assure you that every single one of the 390 odd episodes composed to date has been written after lights out. The routine Mrs C and I have is that she puts the downstairs lights out and I the upstairs ones. Once I think they're settled, I retire to my computer for about 20 minutes and Mrs C finds solace in the Daily Telegraph. (Not that there's much solace to be found in the world's media reports at the present time .... ) We then do another check, to see if all is quiet on what is genuinely, from where I'm bashing this out, the western front, and eventually, if all seems calm, we might, perhaps, watch the 10 o'clock News. So yes, these reports come to you at some stage between 8.45 and 9.15pm - unless we've been out and I feel like writing something when we haven't been here (weird, I know, but I do like writing: I wanted to be a journalist for several years of my boyhood), when the latest ever edition was made public to the world at just after midnight. (I didn't dare read it the following morning .... )

Another teddy rescue was mounted tonight, and a lost creature was happily reunited with its owner after we'd pulled out the bunk bed from against the wall. We don't think he's suffered any lasting psychological scarring, but he's probably just a little battered and bruised. And squashed.

Mr Bean provided humorous entertainment this evening: it would have been Top Gear, but for some mysterious reason, BBC 2 doesn't currently work on the DCR set. Annoying for the boys, but they seemed to like the antics of Mr B, and as for me, I've recorded it and shall view tonight's programme when I've signed off from this bloglog.

I was asked whether it's true that if you eat protein and do sit-ups, you can get a six-pack. I asked what kind of protein my questioner had in mind, and couscous is, apparently, the elixir that is required for such body-building. So, having learnt something new (apparently Mr Fradgley said this, so it must be true (the sit-ups and the protein, not the couscous bit), I'm off to enjoy whatever Mrs C has on offer for supper.

Don't even think it.

Goodnight.

I dunno. Intrigue, poor professionalism, complacency, illness and a major fight. Not good. Still, enough about tonight's episode of Casulaty: back to things Newtonian.

James Bond has been the order of the evening, and even about a hundred years after he first appeared, Sean Connery still manages to draw the audience. Sweet rations went down well, and they were rapidly guzzled throughout the film, and the dog managed to creep in and take up a particularly comfortable position on the floor.

It's been quite a day today, with the prospective parents all here this morning (rather sad to think that neither Mrs C nor I will ever know their offspring); a successful set of results this afternoon and then a really delightful concert tonight, given by the Bassano family. It was truly splendid, and, as the HM said, many boys will have been inspired by the music that was so superbly performed by such a musical family.

We have all three of our own young with us this weekend, pre-uni, and so we all enjoyed a last supper tonight, which was entertaining, witty and fun. Summer comes to an end, though, tomorrow, when they all return to their various new homes. (Tom C signed his contract this afternoon for his London domain, and moves in tomorrow afternoon .... !)

Anyway, that's the lie of the land from this corner of the world tonight, and the film has just ended, so I will bid you

Goodnight.

ILOP. Yes, that's right, ILOP. I don't suppose that will mean much to any of you, but it does here - now, because that's the word that some bright spark thought up to abbreviate 'Individual Lights Out, Please'. That's what I used to say, until tonight, but now we've decided to abbreviate, so ILOP it is.

Of course, this being Summer Fields, a simple abbreviation like that wouldn't quite coupe le moutarde, as our French cousins might have it, because an even brighter spark decided that ILOPASAP was a much better and more comprehensive version; it standing (or should that be a gerund, i.e.: its standing) for 'Individual Lights Out, Please, As Soon As Possible'. This caused a bit of an issue, however, as we had to soften the I to make it sound more plausible.

By now, dear Followers, you will probably be imagining that your correspondent has lost the plot, or is going a little peculiar. Not at all. All I would add is that the aforementioned spark who suggested the extended version then thought that it would be a good idea to try and put it in the Dative case.

Quite.

Anyway, tonight we were graced by the presence of Miss D.C., who, in her position as Senior Matron, decided to do a tour of duty. As always, it was a pleasure to see her, and your LMs were very welcoming and respectful.

We were also treated to some fine piano playing tonight, in the presence of our guest, which was much appreciated. My baby grand played host to several pairs of hands; with sounds made by same that was of variable quality.

As for the pink biscuits, well, they were as good as they always are.

Time to go, methinks.

Goodnight.

Evening, all.

I fear that the closest I came to burning up on the bike yesterday was mowing the lawn, but that went very well indeed, and now the grass has go-faster stripes on it, and Mrs C and I had a great away day. I even managed to pre-record Holby, one of the two 'soaps' to which we're completely addicted; the other one being Casulaty - which I can never type correctly. It always comes out as Casulaty. I'll try again. Casulaty. See? Now I'm going to really try. (Sorry about the split infinitive.) Here goes : Casulaty. Nope - and I really did try.

Enough of this literary badinage. To things Newtonian. This morning, after I'd done my rounds (it's catching), I sat myself down with my morning cup of finest Gold Blend Instant, and waited to do my final inspection before allowing the rezzies to leave. 'Collar issues' are always a trouble, as are undone hair and untucked shirts. One member of the lodge strode imperiously into the DCR.

'Good morning, sire,' quoth he.

'Good morrow,' requoth I.

'I am his imperial majesty, and you, sire, are my throne.' So saying, he plonked himself down on my lap, pointing to another member of the lodge, declaiming 'and you, young sir, I need a footstool. Bring me that bean-bag'. Meekly, the other obeyed.

That little episode was abruptly terminated and we all bade each other a fond 'Good morning' and went our separate ways, they to the dining hall, and I to my kitchen to consume my daily dose of Crunchy Nut. How appropriate.

Tonight we had a fire practice, which, I have to admit, did not go as well as it might. For a start, the wretched bell wouldn't sound the alarm, and so the alarm box simply emitted a rather weedy repeated bleep, which rather gave the game away to Curlew; then we had boys who couldn't find their slippers, which meant that they had to be extra vigilant lest the neighbour's cat had wandered into the back garden. Added to that, we'd had a little bit of silliness earlier on, so the whole event culminated in a rather grumpy lodgemeister berating the troops.

Of course, such irritations are soon forgotten, so, on extinguishing the lights (no, they weren't on fire) for the second time, I bade (such a useful word) the LMs goodnight and said that we could all 'move on'. I received a chorus of apologies - and charming goodnights.

So here's another one:

Goodnight.

Shoe-cleaning night tonight, which meant a night of considerable industry in the laundry prior to the weekly shininess competition, judged tonight by the legendary Miss Alex, the best gapper matron ever. (Although I was alarmed to learn that our dear friends, the new Mayfield lodge parents, Mr and Mrs Ives, believe that theirs (Miss Iso) is a contender for the title ...!) Anyway, she located four winners and all were pleased with their victory. I should tell you that everyone who participated was allowed two Crunchie Clusters from the tin that Mrs C was holding, and perhaps I should also admit that while ma bonne dame femme (it sounds so much better in French) was speaking on the telephone, she asked your correspondent to hold the tin for five minutes ....... No more should be said about that, perhaps, except that I was accused of 'looking very guilty' by Miss Alex as she walked into the DCR. Moi? Butter (or Crunchie Clusters) wouldn't melt. Well, it might.)

I see from today's edition of the Daily Telegraph that Nigel Havers believes that 60 is the new 40. This is extremely good news if true, especially to those of us who are about to enter our sixth decade on the planet. I've suggested that we could celebrate best by acquiring that lovely MG that's just waiting for a new owner, but such ideas seem to fall on stony ground and are met with unstifled yawns. But I haven't given up yet ...... ! And anyway, seeing as the notion of the 'new 40' comes from my wife's number one pin-up, I reckon I'm in with a chance.

Talking of age, I was asked by one LM tonight whether I was 63. Cheeky monkey: especially when on learning my actual age informed me that I didn't look a day over 70. Well, I can tell you the name of one person who won't get a spin round the car park when the day comes. Actually, I can't, of course, because I never mention names on this blog.

'Twister' went particularly well tonight, although we were all a little confused when one instruction was 'Blue foot, left' ! Curious.

Hey ho. Time to sign off. We're off to Dorset tomorrow, to see if our house is still standing, and perhaps I shall take my motorbike out for a burn, too.

More on Wednesday night. Until then,

Goodnight.

Just a short bulletin tonight, dear Friends, as it's late and I've been boxing (don't worry) and coxing with Mrs C as we've dined with the visiting preacher and the HM and colleagues.

All is well, notwithstanding just one or two small 'boarding adjustments' which are inevitable at this stage. None lasted long, though, and after a reassuring word or two the Newtonian equilibrium was restored once again.

It was good to speak with some of you earlier this evening, and thank you so much for your kind words about this blog: I really appreciated them, and I'm glad you like it. As you can probably tell, I enjoy writing the nightly updates and it's lovely to have an appreciative audience.

Two firsts for me tonight: one, I was allowed to conduct the choir in the first hymn before resuming my normal position as assistant organist, and two, I was given special permission to play the exit voluntary! For those who wanted to know what it's called, it's 'Allegro Marziale' by Frank Bridge. You can YouTube it if you like, by putting - guess what - 'Allegro Marziale organ Frank Bridge' into the search engine. Oh, and by the way, did you enjoy 'Sausage time'?! (It's a great song, though, don't you think? Almost as good as the best ever, which is Elton John's 'Funeral for a Friend', which segues into 'Love lies bleeding', ...... h'm, or 'Hold on my Heart', by Phil Collins, which is a beautiful song.

I'm rambling now, so that's enough. Untiltomorrow,

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Followers, wherever you may be, scattered around the globe as you are! My 'stats' page tells me that you are as far away as Brazil, India, Japan and many other places, too, so welcome, one and all.

Sorry I didn't write anything last night; it was our other night off, you see, and Mr Porter was on duty, doing an excellent job, as always. I used to write about such non-fascinating things as that which I could hear through the wall, etc., but no-one was very interested in that, so I think that I will abandon reports on Tuesdays and Thursdays, unless something of great import should crop up.

You know how I was telling you about my convos with woolly beasts, and how such dialogues were somewhat one-sided? Well, that's all changed now, as tonight I enjoyed speaking to a mechanical (and slightly woolly) cat that spoke back to me. No, I haven't been drinking: it really did. The owner was more than a little taken aback when, having left the aforementioned animal on his bed while he showered, he returned to hear said cat saying 'You have a blue .... ' !!

It was sheet and pyjama change day today, which meant that all sheets and pyjamas were handed in this morning, and 'what I call bedmaking' happened tonight - with differing degrees of success. Yes, I thought you'd be fascinated by that.

There's more. Apple juice, bourbons, jammy dodgers (the biscuits, not the Newtonians who tried to skive showering) and fruit all made for a harmonious evening. Except for the slightest of altercations which occurred when one party decided that another had been using the UCR computer for rather a longer time than was acceptable.

On the whole, though, another lovely evening.

Happy days.

Goodnight.

Goodness! For all kinds of reasons I feel as if I've been through the emotional wringer tonight: massive highs and one or two sadnesses which I've had the privilege of sharing with some. Such, though, is the mosaic that is a lodgemaster's life - and I wouldn't have it any other way. How I shall miss it. I shoould tell you, however, that football-wise, we've had the most amazing afternoon, winning almost every match, and the HM has been very buoyant all evening .... ! Tremendous successes, with many goals being scored by Newtonians!

It's been a lovely evening tonight, with all LMs being wonderful company. TV for some, and games a-plenty for the non-viewers; with Bourbon biscuits and loads of fruit, as well as apple juice for all. One lovely LM, seeing that I was bourbonless, turned around, went back to the laundry (whence the same were being dispensed) and brought me one. Good move, that, and much appreciated, as you-know-who couldn't see my illegal guzzling, so I got away with that one.

Strangely (and unusually) I haven't actually been chatting with woolly mammoths and the like tonight, but I wasn't allowed out of one dorm before I'd said goodnight to Boris the Bat, or whatever he is.

I do apologise if you logged on last night and found the Newtonian cupboard to be bare: in fact,, Mrs C and I didn't in fact go out, but I had a delightful evening discussing Shakespeare's writings, with our amazing head of English and great friend, Dr Paul Dean. Brilliant, he is, with a doctorate in Renaissance Lit, and it's always a joy to escape for an hour or so and, over a flagon of top-class vino at the Summertown Wine Cafe, discuss erudite topics at uni level. He's just reviewed a learned tome, and the review is about to be published, so I felt deeply flattered to be asked for my opinion! I'm just a mere research fellow - and that's in ethnomusicology, which I can just about spell, let alone pontificate learnedly about. (Well, I could for a bit.)

Goodnight - from a happy and contented (and, at this moment, silent) Newton.

It's amazing how many woolly animals one gets to speak to in an evening, don't you find? No? Oh well, I do. Tonight I've spoken to a lion, a sort of walrussy beast and a teddy dog called, believe it or not, Doggy. And, just like your own LMs, all of the aforementioned seem well settled. (I didn't mean 'well settled', like rap songs, but well-settled. i.e.: they have settled very well. And talking of contemporary songs, do listen to 'Blind Faith' by Chase and Status: it's an amazing song. YouTube it, and, for reasons that will become apparent, before you start listening, think the words 'Sausage time'. I bet you'll at least smile .... !)

Our newcomers are indeed settled, and seem to know me well already, as one of them passed me as I was invoking all to replace their shoes after shoe-cleaning, and I must have sounded angry (as if) because, as he passed me, he enquired, 'I presume you're just 'mildly irritated', sir', with a big cheeky grin on his face. No names, of course, but he has a pair of large pretend glasses with mirrors on.

Shoe-cleaning, of course, is a Big Event. Prizes are available, you see, for the four pairs of shiniest shoes, and there were four very happy boys when they discovered that it was they who were victorious. Tom C was the judge, and a very good job he made of it, too.

Silent Reading started at 8.30pm, as always, and that came and went without any major issues, other than a lost dressing gown, which manifested itself within a few minutes in the Upstairs Common Room. (UCR.)

So there we are. Mrs C and I are off duty tomorrow night, and Mr Bryan, our Head of Classics (the youngest Head of a Classics department in the country, by the way) will be at the helm. If I'm here then of course I'll write a few lines, but if Mrs C and I are out on the lash - er, sorry, dining out, then I hope you'll forgive me if there's a break until Wednesday evening.

Thanks for reading - and until the next time, which will be soon,

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, and welcome to the 390th post of the Newton Blog!

We've had a lovely evening tonight, and most of us chose to watch Top Gear, which to me was one of the best episodes ever, because Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May were proving that the sports cars of the 1970s were much better cars than the hot hatches that replaced them. As I'm in the process of trying (!) to convince Mrs C that my life has reached the stage when I should be revisiting the automobiles on which I lavished such care and attention in my younger days, the whole programme was extremely topical. I was not slow to draw the commentary to the attention of the Newton Opergrupenfuhrerine, but I rather think that it may be some time before you see the Austin Healey 3000 parked outside this fine residence. And yes, I am very extremely jealous of my friend Mr Ives' MGB Roadster that he's threatening to bring here. If I could still get into an MG Midget without looking like a sardine in a tin, that would do nicely. If the suspension were reinforced appropriately.

Still, all was not as bad as all that, because we were able to scoff Kit-Kats, quaff hot chocolate, and eat our fill of fruit, which made the misery of knowing that my sports car owning days have passed more tolerable. (For the time being ...... ! I think I shall have to devise a Baldrickian 'cunning plan'!

So yes, all is well tonight, and you must forgive me for seeming to be a cantankerous old so and so last night. It's just that I wanted to hear that lovely performance, and extraneous noises off were not conducive to easy listening.

And that brings me back to James May, whom I see as my arch-rival. He's a qualified pianist, so am I. He has a grand piano; so do I. He's just over 6' tall; so am I. He's got a Ferrari.

I haven't.

Yet.

Goodnight - from a a happy Newton Lodge.

I nearly went apoplectic. No, don't worry, it wasn't with any of your own offspring, but mine. Last Night of the Proms, Lang Lang playing Liszt's Piano Concerto, amazing performance, note perfect. Do I think it is enhanced by my son and heir preparing and then consuming a vast plate of spag bol? No, I do not. Top music scholar that he is (sorry to brag) I really could have done without the rotating spoon and the incessant slurping. Mrs C tried very hard to keep the equilibrium, but eventually I exploded with everyone in sight (Mrs C, son and Isla, who seemed impervious to the beauty of the performing arts) and was then able to enjoy the last movement in peace. Well, a sort of uneasy peace. You know the sort.

Enough of my own family issues. Your LMs have been tremendous tonight: they watched 'Night at the Museum II', and they were brilliant. Perhaps I should have invited them to watch what we were watching .......

Amusement was caused by my falling down the three steps between our snug and our drawing room, and everyone who was there (of whom there were three, including our daughter, Hannah) thought it was extremely entertaining. Ho ho ho, and yes, I'm fine, thanks. The whole incident was reported on the phone by one LM who was in hysterics as he regaled his parents with his crazy lodgmeister's antics .... !

All is well, and everyone's fine. Even me.

Until tomorrow,

Goodnight.

PS: Fortunately for me, my son and heir has developed a tremendous sense of humour, and managed to keep us in a state of quasi-hysterical laughter throughout the last part of the LNOTP. Some of it is, actually, ridiculous, I must admit.

Oh my! That alarm clock was exceedingly early this morning, and heralded the end of our decadent cups of morning tea in bed! Still, up we all got, and I could tell that the term had started as I went into each dorm, and received a monosyllabic grunt or three in response to my cheery 'Good morning!'

When they come downstairs, they come via the originally-named Downstairs Common Room, where they are re-greeted by me and by the BBC News, which many seem to like. I did have to change the channel, though, because there was a somewhat inapppropriate article on at the time - but of course, this being the classy joint this is, there was only so much ITV morning banter about the world of entertainment one could cope with, so we returned to the erudition of BBC1 as soon as possible.

Tonight has been generally happy, although I think one or two have been taken a little by surprise at the pace of the new term, and there were, if truth be told (and it must be, on a blog like this one), there were a few fairly tired LMs. (Little Men.) I suspect that a good night's sleep will work wonders, though, and all will be well again tomorrow morning. Of course, Bourbon biscuits, apple juice and a whole load of fruit have helped to keep morale up, as did Miss Alex's game of Twister in the DCR, which had to be seen to be believed. The image you may have in your mind of about eight Newtonians in various contortionistic poises (I know the word doesn't exist, but I rather like it) on a plastic mat is one that may play havoc with your mental decoding!

I just had to get rather cross, as there were one or two who, forgetting that your correspondent types next door to the dorms, seemed to think that a quick post-lights out amble around the top floor was rather pleasant. So I took an inter-paragraph stroll myself, and extinguished the flame of alacrity that was manifesting itself on the top corridor. They're silent now. Strange, that.

Goodnight.

You might have guessed. After I signed off last night, there was a knock on our interlinking door, and three concerned Ospreyites coming in, in a state of great anxiety, to tell me that 'Sir! X is locked in the vins and can't get out!' So off I toddled to the vins in question to release the captive, which I managed without let or hindrance. I just leaned on the door and invited X to turn the lock clockwise, which he did, and he emerged, looking as if he'd conquered Everest. Of course, the rescue team were equally proud of themselves and went back to bed feeling that a job had been well done. (So to speak.)

Tonight, Mr Porter has been on duty, but we felt that as this was just the second night of term, we ought to be in evidence. So we hovered, and all was very well. I enquired of a number of residents what mark out of ten they would give their day, and I was greatly heartened to learn that most would give nine, or nine and a half. There was an eight, but that was revised upwards on reflection.

For some reason, the showers decided to drop cold water to begin with tonight, which didn't go down (well, it did, of course) very well - except upon one hardy soul who informed me, with a shrug, that he actually 'rather likes cold showers'. I do, in fact, myself, from time to time, and that goes back to my own prep school days of the 1960s. (Yes, I really am that old.) (But I can text, and I do have a Facebook account, so I'm still young at heart.)

Anyway, they're all happy, it seems, and our lovely newcomers are quickly getting used to it all. So until tomorrow night,

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends (the 'f' is capitalised because you're all very special people) and welcome to the first post of this year's edition of the Newton Blog! It's a great pleasure to welcome you all aboard, and to tell you that this is where you will learn all about the evening's activities in this happy SF residence. I have three simple rules: no names, no photos and no links. Of course, sometimes, by a simple process of deduction, you'll be able to tell who (sorry, whom) I'm talking - writing - about, but basically, names are verboten.

Tonight has been great. We started with a lodge meeting, in which Mrs C, Miss Alex and I were able to orientate our newcomers, and to introduce them to Isla, our wonderful black lab, who, as you can imagine, was the star of the show and who managed to nuzzle her way into the centre of the proceedings.

Everyone seems very happy to be reunited, and those who are new to Newton all seem to have settled without issue, which is tremendous. I'm sure we'll have one or two who may come and see us during the night, but that's fine, and we've told them to come and find us if they feel they want a little reassurance. It'll all be a bit strange for a couple of days, but I'm sure they will soon settle and all will be well. Just at the moment, from where I'm typing, they're all going quickly and quietly to sleep. And just in case you need reassurance yourselves, between the last paragraph and this one I went to check.

Until tomorrow night, then, I will bid you

Goodnight.