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.