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.