Well, my Friends, this is it. This and only this is the 500th bloglog - and I promised you something different, and so, read on - and see!

There I was, you see, standing behind the stumps on the Game 6 pitch, watching fielders on the boundary racing towards the ball. One member of the game retrieved it, and threw it, very, very hard, to the bowler's end. It was a pretty accurate throw, too, but there was just the one problem. Instead of hitting the top of the stumps, it crashed into your correspondent's ankle, making a horrid cracking sound as it did so, and causing pain the like of which I haven't experienced for many a year.

Stupidly, probably, I walked back after the game and tried to teach an English lesson. That lasted ten minutes, after which I excused myself and went up to Hobsons, where, I am told, I looked 'grey'. Sister was wonderful, of course, but I couldn't link up with Mrs C for a while, as she was teaching, and couldn't escape. So Mr Ives was called, who was brilliant. He sped me to the JR for an X-ray and remained there until such time as I was given clearance to return home; then chauffered me home again, where I was able to recuperate with a glass of chilled Pinot Grigio, along with Mrs Ives, who had been equally wonderful, The HM, who had heard of my misfortune and espied me a-boozing as he walked towards Beech House, and Mrs C, who strode purposefully towards Mayfield upon seeing that I had returned safely.

So now I'm supposed to be 'off school' for 48 hours, with my leg up and covered with ice, or some such. Yeah, right. Ok, yes, I'll be careful: I know that there are mummies reading this. No, I will. I promise.

And I'm indebted to Mr Ives for suggesting that I should inform the world of the 500th bloglog by saying that I celebrated by getting plastered. (In fact I didn't and I'm not, but it was a very clever line, I thought.) He also said that if I was going to end the blog, then I should make a clean break.

I still can't believe that this is the 500th entry, but it really, really is. Make no bones about it. Sorry; can't help these puns: it's my Achilles' heel. (OK, yes, that one was Dr Harskin's.) Mrs C said she was going to make one, too, but she couldn't think of it. I encouraged her by saying, 'Oh come on, it's on the tibia tongue'.

That's it, folks. Thanks for reading - and do buy the book. It'll give me a leg up.

Over and out. Goodnight, one and all.

First of all, there's encouraging news about Mrs C's mama. She's made good progress, and has been moved to what seems to us to be more of a physiotherapy unit at a hospital in Shepton Mallett, from where she spoke to her daughter tonight on the 'phone and seemed in very good spirits. That particular clan are made of stern stuff, as you may already realise (!) and I doubt whether the Matriarch is going to be beaten by some 'silly stroke'!

I knew there was something else I wanted to tell you in the last bloglog. I was playing the piano as the LMs came across, and one of them wandered in, saying, 'Please carry on, sir: that's really beautiful.' Of course, I was deeply flattered by such a gracious compliment, and I thought you might like to know the name of the piece. It's really an organ piece, by Thoedore Dubois, and it's called 'Cantilene Religieuse'. There are several versions of it on YouTube.

The Boys' Garden has at last been declared open, and the table tennis table was in constant use tonight! They seem to love it - although whether Mr and Mrs Bryan, who live in the house on the other side of the hedge appreciate the racket is a moot point. (Funny word, moot. Have you noticed that Google are informing us that it's Robert Moog's birthday today? He of the Moopg synthesiser, so ubiquitous in the 70s and early 80s.)

Don't you just love African nights? Kenyan ones, especially. I say that, because last night Mrs C and I, along with Mr and Mrs Bush, were royally entertained in the lovely Front Lodge gardeny by Mr and Mrs Woodcock, who provided us with the most wonderful meal and sparkling company. It was a night to remember for many years, and just like the nights that Mrs C and I enjoyed in Kenya some years ago.

And finally, Mrs C and a Fifth Year boy managed to get into the final of the BOSFAM tennis this evening, being only narrowly beaten by Mr Woodcock and another Fifth Tear boy.

A lovely day, and a very pleasant Newtonian evening.

Goodnight.

Sorry folks, you must have been logging on incessantly and finding that this particular cupboard was yet again bare, for which many apologies. The problem has arisen from the fact that Mrs C's aged mother suffered a stroke on Friday, and so we've been a little hors de combat. She's lost the use of her right arm, unfortunately, but things look a little more promising than we thought, because her speech, which she lost for a short while, has come back, and although she's still in hospital, she's regaining some of her former indomitability already .... ! Anyway, as you can imagine, things haven't been all that easy, but my apologies for rendering you, dear Followers, blogless.

I'm delighted to tell you that all of my 'Winchesters' as I call them have been successful in gaining entry to that fine establishment! I'm delighted, of course, and so are they, so 5C was a very happy form this afternoon, as we worked our way through double Latin .... ! We still have work to do, as there are still a number of the form who have to sit CE Level 3, so it's not all dossing and drinking cups of coffee. (Not that it ever was .... )

It's funny how days go, is it not? My morning was full of niggles and irritations (not caused in any way by your LMs), but tonight all seems to have resolved itself and we've had a most enjoyable Newtonian evening, complete with shoe-cleaning and a visit from the lodgemother of the 1990s, Mrs Heinrich, who is now HM's wife at Cumnor House in Sussex. And yes, of course she was roped in to judge the competition, and made a fine job of it, too.

That's it for tonight, so with my congratulations to all my Winchesters, I will bid you all

Goodnight.

We've come a long way since September. Your LMs are growing up fast, and I say that after encountering members of Kingfisher, upon whom I stumbled tonight, while perambulating.

LM 1: Yes she is.

LM 2: Let me see if she really is.

LM 1: No she isn't.

LM 3: Well I think she is.

LM 1 (upon seeing his lodgemeister arrive): Sir, do you think she's fit?

Your humble correspondent: Er, let me see. Erm, well, um, yes, she is.

LM1 : See? I told you she was.

For those of you who may be interested, she is. And let me assure you, lest you should be alarmed, that her picture appears in a perfectly respectable magazine, and that she appears fully clad. Give it a few years, though, and things may be otherwise.

My Colts Cs were victorious once again today, with all members of the team doing their bit, splendidly led by their skipper. It was a pleasure to umpire, and  nice to see several of you, dear Followers, supporting from the sidelines.

I must tell you, though, that I was greatly amused by what was going on behind me, namely a lesson in toxopholy, with dialogue to accompany that had me almost LOL. e.g.:

Teacher i/c: So. You have to score just a few more, and then you win the match and then .......

Who was that? Who fired that arrow? Come on, who was it? Own up! (Visions of William Tell featured in my conscious thinking) Who - fired - that - arrow? Right. If no-one owns up then I shall have to tell (ho ho) the Head (Ha ha.)

Sorry, but it just seemed very amusing to me. I looked for an apple on the head of someone important-looking after the match, but to no avail.

We just had a fire practice. That extinguished any untoward excitement ......

Goodnight.

Well ( as I was always taught not to start any piece of writing), there are just one or two nerves on show tonight, pre-Eton test day. I spoke to the Newtetonians collectively and gave them the benefit of my wisdom (didn't take long) and how they could best perform tomorrow. They all listened attentively and were duly appreciative. The rest, as Elmore Leonard almost said, 'is up to them'. (He actually said, 'the rest is up to you, as the last of his 'Ten Tips for Writing', which you can find on YouTube. He makes an interesting point about the verb 'said', by the way, completely contradicting what most of us learnt about using more imaginative verbs.)

It was black shoe cleaning tonight, and there were four worthy winners, one of whom raced to the phone after having won, and then raced back to his lodgeparents, conveying his papa's delight at such comforting news .... !

That's just about it, really, for tonight. Busy day for many tomorrow, so I'll bid you goodnight for now and be back on Wednesday night,

By the way, this is post number 496!

Goodnight.

Today, dear Friends and global Followers, Mrs C and I have made a giant step into the 20th century. (The 21st is some way off yet.) We, no doubt like most of you, are now BlackBerry owners, capable of all manner of trendy stuff (like making references to 'trendy stuff'), and have been e-mailing, texting and BBM-ing our respective offspring throughout the day. All very exciting, and modern. As I type, I keep looking at my new friend, awaiting its little red light to flash again ... ! It's new toy syndrome, of course, and I'll be fed up with the thing in a week's time, but for now, well, I'm enjoying my new found skills.

You'd think, would you not, that there might be sufficient wildlife in Newton, but all the LMs wanted to enhance their understanding of such things by watching what the BBC euphemstically calls 'Planet Live'. (Live? I don't think so.) Still, despite what others think, as reported in the Press, I think Richard Hammond's rather good at the job, although one can't help that he's more suited to Jaguars than jaguars.

Thus the following dialogue, for your enjoyment:

LM 1: Ah, that's lovely. That's incredible.

Paws. Sorry, pause.

LM 1 again: Oh! That's amazing! Wow!

Bigger paws. Pause.

LM 1 yet again: Oh! That's incredible photography!

Longer pause while felines laze around doing not much.

LM 1 again: Ahhh. How cute. I love tigers.

LM 2: They're lions.

Collapse of stout party.

I'm off to play with my new toy. Send me a message if you like.

Goodnight.

It's always rewarding when the fruits of one's labours manifest themselves. Witness, if you will, the following dialogue, rendered faithfully by members of, er, well, perhaps it would be prudent not to mention the name of the dorm.

"Sir, how many times have you been drunk?"

"Whatever kind of question is that?" (I forbore from recounting the night after A levels, when my housemaster caught us entering our own dorm via the Prefects' Room window, catching a whiff of what may have knocked him out if he and we had remained in each other's company for many more moments and said, simply and directly, 'Ah, gentlemen, nice to see you in, erm, how shall I put this, 'high - spirits''.)

"Well, I asked my parents the same question, and they said about 500 times."

One of the members of 3H, who had obviously been hanging on my every word in his English lessons recently, said 'Ha! Hyperbole!'

A wit from the other end of the dorm enjoined with 'You mean litotes!' (I have to confess that I did smile at that.)

Well, dear Friends, isn't it reassuring to know that you're getting such value for money? And as for whether it was either, I wouldn't wish to comment. All I know is that a couple of glasses of Sauvignon with Les Ives earlier this evening were very welcome, and that no, I am certainly not.

'Sir, do you mind if I call you Big Dog?'

'Well, er, yes, I'm afraid I do, rather'.

'H'm. Well how about B.D., then?' I thought quickly. I suppose that is synonymous with the degree of Bachelor of Divinity, so that wouldn't be so bad. (A qualification of which I am not possessed, by the way, although the academic hood from Oxford is quite enticing.)

Before I had a chance to express my slight concern about such a sobriquet, my coversationalist was ahead of me, telling me that as Mr Bush was called 'Daddy Bush' by all and sundry (long story), that would be  D.B., so therefore I could happily become B.D. As Anthony Buckeridge, author of the Jennings books, equipped the fiersome Mr Wilkins to opine, 'The logic of the average ten-year-old was invariably impossible to fathom'.

Anyway, whether your post-prandial intake is hyperbolic or litotical (?), I hope you, just like what's in your glass, are appropriately chilled.

Goodnight.

Good evening one and all, wherever you may be.

My Newtonian day began badly, because the heap of junk that masquerades as a television in the boys' common room decided, again, that it would fail to provide any kind of pictorial image. Basil Fawlty became incarnate, and an e-mail drenched in irony was sent whizzing through cyberspace to the powers-that-be. (Not to the HM, though, because he once told us off for being too ironic in our messaging.)

Anyway, I forgot all about that once the day got going, and all my 'Winchesters' as I call them (i.e. the members of my form who are doing Winchester entrance) seem to have done well today.

'Sir', said one of the LMs, 'Is it true that you're 60?'

'Yes', I replied, honestly.

'Wow. That means you're younger than my dad'.

Another LM enjoined the dialogue.

'I always tell my mum that she's 21. It seems to go down quite well. I don't think I'll tell her she looks 22, though, because that might not be quite so good'.

'Yes', said I, 'I don't think that would be wise'. No names, of course, but he does a nice line in mohawks.

TV viewing incorporated ITV's Road Wars, and I was treated to a litany of 'Crashes I've been in' from most of the rezzies. I told them that had it not been for the fact that Mrs C had crashed her car on the Hammersmith Flyover in 1980, she and I wouldn't be looking after Newton - but that's a story for another time. Oh OK, then. D crashed her Renault 5. She phoned me. I, who was then the proud owner of an Alfasud, raced from Ascot to the scene of the crash and sorted it all out. She thought I was cool. (So did I.) I then complimented her on her choice of dress in a parents' evening the following week. She thought I was even more cool, fell in love with me; feeling was mutual; we got engaged. (Short version. Hers may contain slight differences.) (But not many.)

I think that's quite enought for tonight.

Goodnight.

Evening all, and I hope you had a great weekend as Mrs C and I did. I did fire up the bike, but I wasn't actually feeling 100%, so I thought it best just to listen to the engine (one of my simple pleasures) rather than take to the lanes of West Dorset and terrify the old dears. I did manage to get my thoughts about an upgrade into the conversation in the car on the way back to Newton this afternoon, and to my delight Mrs C didn't dismiss the idea out of hand ......  (I can't pretend she was overly enthusiastic, though.)

It was good to speak with many of you earlier, and reassuring to know that this blog is read so avidly! I've actually found someone who might be prepared to do a limited production run, if I get round to printing out my ramblings of the past three years, so watch this space .. ! As I've said before, it won't be quite in the league of Dr John Rae's 'Letters from School', in which he allows us to see his diary while he was HM of Westminster School, because as he was befriending Prime Ministers and the like, and pontificating about the social scene of the United Kingdom, my friends and I, at the time, were behaving as fresh-faced schoolmasters who have just been let out of university do (did, Hannah C):imbibing excessively, driving ridiculously extravagant sports cars and hurling ourselves out of first floor windows, taking the Headmaster's wife's rose bush with us. (See much earlier post. You can find it by putting 'Operation Floribunda' into Google.)

All is quiet next door, and I think the LMs are asleep.

I think I've said enough for tonight.

Goodnight.

Yay! We made it onto the cricket pitches today! In Game 6, we had a great game, with everyone trying really hard and impressing me with their ability, as batsmen, bowlers and fielders. It's all looking very promising for the Colts Cs, which is good news for me as their manager for the last time! (Did you know, by the way, that it is the Colts C team of yesteryear that holds the record for dispatching an opposition for the least runs? Cothill, all out for 8.)

I was entertained, as ever, by the LMs tonight; one of whom took one look at my dark blue pullover and pronounced me to be in an angry mood, telling me that I needed to wear something more gentle. Another LM flung his arms around me and burst into tears, telling me that he was sooo sorry that the cricket ball he'd thrown at the stumps had missed an hit me (hardly very hard) on my leg. Another LM helped himself, entirely legally, to a couple of bourbons and a number of carefully-prepared orange segments, and when I asked him if he was having a second supper, he asked me without a flicker whether there was any broccoli to go with it. I told him that it was in the laundry, and again flickerless, he made his way there. (To be fair, he got as far as the three steps, then turned round and gave me a beaming smile with a huge twinkle in his eye.)

That's it for tonight - especially as Mrs C has just pointed out that I haven'r turned the upstairs lights out!

Goodnight.

Sun? Was that what we saw today? If it was, it was rather nice. Warm, cheering and enough to raise the spirits. Short-lived, of course, and we're due for another soaking tomorrow, I hear. Hey ho.

'twas all happening here tonight: Fragrance Night kicked off the proceedings, culminating in the place smelling like yet another house of ill repute (as far as I know .... ) and LMs giving off aromae that outdid the finest fruit salads. One of them informed me, with enthusiasm, that he had smothered himself in at least 'ten bodywashes', which I assumed was not a wholly bad thing.

As for the LM who took it upon himself to be so bold as to arrange my ageing silver locks into the shape of a mohawk and inform me that I looked, er, 'cool', I thought it was time to call silent reading, punk look or not. (Not, actually, as unlike most of the residents of this establishment I was able to locate a comb.)

This was followed by shoe-cleaning of brown shoes, with five worthy winners. Mrs C, as clothing supremo, decreed that one pair of suede shoes could be included this week, which led to a most grateful owner thanking tonight's judge - your correspondent - profusely. I responded that perhaps he had swayed my opinion. (Oh come on, laugh.)

It' s Mrs C's birthday tomorrow, and she'll be ..........  It's also the Red Choir outing to Magdalen College to sing Evensong, and that really will be my final outside organ-ing. I've been incredibly fortunate to have played in no less than five of the Oxford college chapels, including, several times, Christ Church Cathedral. Do come along if you can. For those of you who are aficionados of the cathedral repertoire, the music will be Stanford in B flat and Balfour-Gardiner's Evening Hymn. I've selected the first movement of Mendelssohn's Sonata no. 1 as the exit voluntary.

So there we are then. All happy and content here.

Back on Wednesday night.

Goodnight.

Greetings from a waterlogged Summertown, and it's pouring with rain - again. It might as well be winter, to judge from the view from my 'study' here! Greetings, too, to our new Follower in Taiwan: it's nice to have you with us.

'twas an interesting morning, because I received a text at 9am from the Chaplain, telling me that, unfortunately, he had fallen from a ladder and hurt his back, so therefore the worship-leading this at this morning's service would fall to me. It was good practice for next term, though, as I was required to preach the sermon as well. Oh, and play the organ for the anthem, which I don't think will be part of the deal in the Abbey. (Although the Director of Music has already, it seems, put me down on his provisional organ rota!)

There was a rather lovely social for the 5th Year boys today, arranged by Mr and Mrs Ives of Mayfield. A coachful of girls from Tudor Hall arrived at 12.30, and were given a fine lunch with the boys (and with the staff, of whom Mrs C and I were among the number), then off to the sports hall for some indoor fun (supervised), and then to a disco in Macmillan. Tremendous, we thought, and so did the boys. The Newtonian LMs were opining tonight that just over a year is far too long to wait .... ! (They're grwoing up fast!)

This is bloglog number 488, by the way, so only 12 more to go before the magic 500 is reached. I'll have to try and dream up some suitable way to celebrate .... !

It's still pouring.

Goodnight.

First and foremost, thank you for all your kind good wishes, following the news of my new appointment. I'm very excited about it, of course, and I'm greatly looking forward to a completely new challenge. Milton Abbey is a great school, and the (now not so) new HM, Mr Doodes, is doing a brilliant job and making it a school of choice for many. I'm doubly pleased to be joining the school at such an exciting time in its history.

I heard from one of the LMs tonight that one of you had informed him that I no longer write the Newton Blog .... ! What?! How could you? All I said was that because Mrs C and I weren't around on Tuesday or Thursday nights, I didn't see much point in writing about something I knew nothing about! I will, though, probably stop when I reach my intended target of 500 posts, which is not far away now, but at the moment, and until I do, then you will continue to receive these bulletins. And you might even receive them after that; I haven't decided yet.

Incidentally, my new boss responded with great alacrity to the idea of a 'Chaplain's Blog', so you'll be able to see how things are going if you log on to the Milton Abbey website. (www.miltonabbey.co.uk)

It was suggested to me tonight that in order for the LMs to know what kind of a mood I was in, I should sport a different coloured pullover each evening. Blue for good, green for not quite so good, and red for danger. I thought the idea had some merit, actually. I'm wearing a blue one at the moment. It reminds me of my prep school deputy headmaster, Blighter Burton, who, in my mind, did much the same. (I don't suppose he really did, but such are the workings of the prep school boy's mind.) A tweed jacket meant that he was in friendly mood (well, at least vaguely approachable), a blazer indicated a slightly more edgy disposition, and that horrid, horrid, miserable grey suit became known as his 'murder suit'. Woe betide any boy who scored less than the passmark (which was always ridiculously high) in a history test when he was dressed in such terrifying apparel! I shiver even now when I picture said suit in my mind's eye .....  He it was who, in order to demonstrate the failure of King Canute to halt the waves, pulled the gym shoe that laid in wait in the drawer of the form master's desk from its evil repose, and started hitting the floor with it, shouting 'Stop! You wicked waves!'  Elvidge ma, the silly boy, laughed, and enabled Blighter B to enhance his improvised demonstration as waves of sound echoed around the form room.

Goodnight.

Well, dear Friends and Followers, welcome back. And that's just what I said to the LMs when they arrived at SF after their jolly excursion to Cornwall! They seem to have had a really good time, and most said that they enjoyed their camping experience, as well as the train ride from Oxford. I think I might have enjoyed the latter rather more than the former, but that's just me. As I've said before, camping and I are not the most suitable of bedfellows. And I share Mr Clarkson's loathing of caravans and caravanning, although I'm not convinced that dropping grand pianos on them from a great height is a particularly good use of a fine musical instrument.

Anyway, it's good to have the LMs back, and I'm sure you'll be regaled with many a tale before very long. I don't doubt that there'll be a degree of hyperbole, but never mind: as a wise HM once said to parents, 'If you promise not to believe everything you hear about school, I promise not to believe everything I hear about home'.

Mrs C, Miss Lade and I oversaw the laundry going to the correct baskets, and there was plenty of it! In the event, though, all the LMs were very efficient, and they managed to follow the copious instructions on the board almost to the letter.

I promised that you would be the first parents to know news of my retirement plans. Well, things have not quite turned out exactly as I'd imagined, as I've been appointed as the Chaplain of Milton Abbey School in Dorset. Yes, you did read that correctly. I'm delighted, of course, and greatly looking forward to a new - and somewhat unexpected!  - challenge. As you know, our daughter, Alice is there at the moment, and she's done amazingly well. The new HM, Mr Doodes, is coming to the end of his second year, and the way in which he has gripped the place is truly awe-inspiring. I wouldn't go and work for him if I didn't genuinely believe that, because, frankly, at my age I can afford to be choosy. Still, we can talk about that in due course.

For now, I hope you will be content in the knowledge that your LMs are tucked up happily, and, without doubt, sleeping like logs.

Goodnight.

INTERNET IS NOW UP AND RUNNING AGAIN.

SCHOOL E-MAIL IS DOWN AT THE MOMENT, SO NO MESSAGES ARE BEING DELIVERED OR RECEIVED. ALL SHOULD BE RESOLVED BY LUNCHTIME TODAY. PLEASE PASS THIS MESSAGE ON IF YOU CAN.

My Friends and global Followers, you join me just before the point of apoplexy, following a most interesting evening in which 'we' endeavoured to prepare for the forthcoming Cornish experience. I'll spare you the details, so suffice it to say that one hour after we started the process, we had almost completed it, and pants, socks, pyjamas, swimmers, towels and kitchen sinks in the form of sleeping bags had been placed with the amount of care that you would imagine Year 6 boys to lavish upon their belongings into their bags. Tomorrow there will be more of the same, and the culmination of the Great Preparation will happen on Sunday morning, when Mrs C and I will bid our charges the fondest of farewells and see them walk in a crocodile (yeah, right) to Oxford Station, Messrs Edwards and Bradwell assuming standard and vanguard positions. (Do any of you remember the Standard Vanguard? I used to think they were rather good cars, in fact, but the name was a bit strange, in fact.)

I have to tell you that we' ve been rather fortunate with the weather today, as downpours were forecast, and they don't seem to have happened. I expect they'll arrive tonight.

In view of our packing procedure tonight, it hasn't been much of an evening in happy, cosy, familial lodge terms, but everyone seems happy, and all is well.

For now, though,

Goodnight.

Welcome back, my Friends and Followers! I hope you have all had good and restful hols, as we have. It was good to see so many of you this afternoon, and I shall treasure as one of the highlights of my time at Newton the moment when I was told, quite rightly, to leave the laundry, I having opined that it was 'a place in which I did not feel comfortable!

There was, as advertised on the board, a lodge meeting tonight. Well, when I say 'lodge meeting', I mean there was a bonding session between Cheska and the Newtonians, in which she held forth, and then started making a nuisance of herself with Isla. In the end I had to tell both of them to leave the room, which they did with their tails between their legs. I have to tell you, my friends, that the younger one is rather more spirited than her older sister, and not afraid to make one aware of the fact!

Mrs C and I read the HM's recent e-letter with interest, although I don't doubt that some of you might be wondering what my 'exciting plans for life post-retirement' may be. I can't tell you at the moment, but be assured that if there is news to be broadcast, as there will be within the next two or three weeks, you will read it here first. As for future blogging, well, I did ask my future boss whether he thought that a ********'s blog might be a good idea, and he opined that it would be an excellent one.

So then, here we go again, one more time. I hope this will be a great term for everyone, and let's hope the rain doesn't keep pouring down for too long. At least the grounds and the pitches are getting a long-awaited soaking.

Goodnight.

My Friends, after what has been a long but thoroughly enjoyable day, I think this will be just a short post to (a) thank you for reading my ramblings every night and (b) to wish you all, wherever you may be, a very Happy Easter.

Most of today has involved playing golf, with one of my very capable tutees, and I have to say that we didn't do at all badly. I don't know our position yet, but we shall discover that in the morning, and if I remember, I will post it here, lest you should be interested.

Mr Lagden had prepared a wonderful lunch in his garden, and I was delighted when I realised that my erstwhile colleague, Mr Bruce McCrae, formerly of this parish, had been invited back for our valedictory Bosfam. If you want to see him pontificating about anything and everything under the sun on YouTube, put Tenneral (his nom d'internet) into the YT search engine, and see what you think. He has literally thousands of followers! His advice on how to make the best gin and tonic in the world is particularly pertinent, but his theological thoughts are worth listening to, too. Controversial, but worth it.

Anyway, there we are: have a great Easter, and a wonderful holiday.

Until next term,

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends, and welcome to post number 480 - which means that there are just 20 to go before I hit my target!

It's amazing how one is taken by surprise when something happens. By this I mean that until tonight I haven't really felt any kind of emotion about leaving at the end of next term; indeed, when a member of my third year English set observed that it was 'the end of my last ever Lent term short leave', my rejoinder was 'And .... ?' 'But sir, aren't you upset?' 'Nope', said I. 'But won't you miss me, sir?' asked another. 'Nope', I lied. All of which serves to preface my telling you that tonight Mrs C and I were presented with a most lovely work of art, completed by one of our LMs, which was entiteld 'Love Hearts', and was illustrated with many of same. It was a wonderful moment, and when one of the others said, with a smile, 'Quite emotional, isn't it, sir', I have to confess that it was.

But I do have to tell you, dear readers, that I won't be hanging up my mortar board in September quite as definitely as I thought I might. That's all I'm saying for now, but further details in due course. H'm. That should cause a few flutters in the dovecotes ..... !

Tonight Congreve are at the league feast, they having won the league comp, which left the rest of the LMs here, having returned to lodge a little earlier than normal, and playing Uno with Hannah C or working out puzzles and completing quizzes with your correspondent. Ah. I hear the contented strains of revellers. The league feast, organised superbly once again by Mr Lagden, must have finished.

Tomorrow is BOSFAM golf, and for those who don't know, BOSFAM stands for Boys of Summer Fields and Masters (and Mistresses), and, basically, we spend the day playing golf. I am in a group with Messrs Lagden, Ives and Bryan, and one of my own tutees, whose brother is a Newtonian, will be my partner. He is particularly good, I know, so let's hope we can 'do the biz'! The highest up the order I have ever managed to come in eighteen years is 6th, but who knows?!

I will keep you posted. Until then,

Goodnight.

Cola bottles. Yes, that's right: one of my preferred confectionery options (other than chocolate, of course) and which Mrs C and Hannah have decided, between them, that if I knew where the mound of them has been secreted away, then there would be none available for the LMs. Miss Lade seems to be in on it, too, and despite my giving her the option of a drink of her choice in Costa or Starbucks, she refuses to give the location of said sweets away. Harsh. Still, I'll find them. You wait and see if I don't.

Tonight we were treated to the most amazing concert by the Chaplain's daughter, Anna, 16, who played an extraordinary number of right notes on the harp and the piano. The performances were all stunning, and everyone enjoyed them.

To lodge thereafter, and to black shoe-cleaning, which resulted in three more happy victors, who enjoyed their edible rewards. No cola bottles, though, so they remain amassed in a cupboard somehere. I'll find them.

This 'big dog' thing got a little out of hand tonight, with various LMs wondering whether they might address me as 'big cat', as they thought that was more appropriate for a cheetah (sic), but when one of our number remarked 'I love da big dog' I thought it was time to draw a line under such canine references. Still, it was quite fun while it lasted. I had to take a lead. (Ho ho.)

So ya, bruvs, dat is where I is gonna leave it, and now I is gonna watch some (please insert your chosen perjorative term within these parentheses) on da t.v.

Laters.

Well, there we are then. Our last Sunday of a Lent term has come and gone, and it was good to know that it was day for celebration, as SF won the Sevens tournament held here, which caused Our Leader to become extra buoyant!

Tonight has been amn enjoyable night, other than a slight altercation with the occupants of the UCR, who were in the middle of a fracas when I walked in, so I made all the usual, teacherish remarks about how the computer would be removed if such behaviour didn't cease forthwith (why can't schoolmasters just use simple words?) and the facilities available debarred henceforth, which caused everyone to keep quiet while they wondered whether your correspondent had taken leave of his senses.

Hannah C assisted Miss (Harriet) Lade with duty tonight, and she has just opined (!) to me that she 'loves the boys in this lodge'. Oh well, as I said to the boy who told me that his public speech was going to be about Haribo .....

Sweet.

Goodnight.

Me: OK, lights out now, please.

Kingfisherian: Big dog.

Me: Sorry?

K: Big dog.

Me: Er, sorry, what is this, erm, 'big dog'?

K: You, sir.

Me: Sorry?

K: Big dog in da house.

Me: Er, 'big dog in da house what?'

K: You, sir.

Me: Me?

K: Yeah. You da big dog in da house.

Me: Ah. I see. I have to confess that I've been called many things during the past eighteen years, but 'big dog in da house' isn't one of them.

K: Flattered, sir?

Me: Erm, well, erm, I'm not entirely convinced, but, erm, well, yes, probably.

So there we are then. It's goodnight from them, and it's goodnight from 'da big dog in da house'.

Goodnight.

Good evening, one and all - and greetings to our Follower in Moldova. I'm ashamed to admit that I don't really know where that is, but it does seem to me that this blog is becoming akin to the old Eurovision Song Contest, so I can only hope that my nightly ramblings score more than the dreaded 'nul points'!

Mrs C and I went to watch the play last night, and it was truly amazing. Mrs Stoop asked me if I would mind writing it up for the magazine, which is rather flattering, and also rather good, because I can write without fear of let or hindrance, as I'll be 130 miles away when the publication comes out! Oh don't worry, I shall say loads of nice things, all of which will be richly deserved. I don't know if you know Ben Elton's great opus. 'We Will Rock You', but if you do, you'll know it's accompanied by the fab music of Queen, whose works Mrs C adores. I couldn't help but think that the intro to one of them was nicked from the intro to that great 60s classic 'Substitute', by The Who, who were my own favoured band in days of old. There was a scene, too, in which the characters sported dark glasses and very long hair and were sitting around doing sweet ........ , which made me think back to those happy days in the dayroom at Kingswood School in the 1960s. Of course, it wasn't entirely like that. Oh no. At least we had joss sticks burning and releasing great wafts of incense. Plus ca change.

It's all been a bit bohemian here tonight, which is topical, because les garcons have been arriving in dribs and drabs because of the play, so there hasn't really been a programme. Well, other than the ones on the telly for the non-players, I mean.

I've had it. Or, for our French friends, je l'ai eu, as my old mate Miles Kington would have said. (His best ever was 'coup de grace'. Lawnmower. Brilliant.)

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends and Followers, wherever you may be.

Well, first of all, I'm glad to report that 'cesca's trial day went very well indeed, and that Isla seems entirely happy with the arrangement. In fact, she almost shed a tear when her little companion (who is, to quote my eldest daughter, 'sooooooooooooooooooo cute') when she left. So yes, I think all will be well. And you will see her before the end of term.

Yesterday, though, I was in London all day, attending a Board meeting of the music college of whose gubernatorial team I am a member, and that went rather well, too. The enconomic situation seems to be picking up slowly but positively, to judge from our examination entries, and whilst we were all a tad perturbed six months ago, we're not now. I think that's indicative of the situation generally - but I'm no expert, and I know that many of you are, dear Followers, so I will desist from taking this matter, and my opinions, any further. Suffice it to say that we're doing OK.

I'm always entertained by train travel, though. It just makes me LOL. The number of people who can't resist the opportunity to ring their partners and say fatuous things like 'Yeah, I'm on the train', or, 'I'm just pulling into the station now' makes me wonder how on earth we ever managed in the old days. I wanted to ring Mrs C and say, in a very loud voice, 'Hi. I'm just ringing you now'. And then there was the chap who was ostensibly having a conversation with himself about nuclear physics. It took me some time to realise that he was, in fact, talking to someone else, whom he could hear in his earpiece. Anyway, I just recited the pluperfect active of amo out loud as we entered Paddington Station (the rhythm goes perfectly, including the 2nd person plural across the points), which drew a few rather curious glances. If you can't beat them ......

I continue to be amazed by the attraction of 'The Fisherman's Apprenctice', which we watched en masse tonight. It's incredibly popular, especially with hot choc, ginger nuts, shortbread and fruit, which were all on offer tonight.

Did you know that Newton is the home of Silent Reading? It was initiated by Mr and Mrs Balding when they were lodgeparents, in 1977. It soon caught on, and now all lodges do it.

So there you are. Your fun fact for the night.

Goodnight.

Well, the day of the jackal is approaching. In other words, the new member of our family is coming to join us for a trial day tomorrow - and, ridiculous as it sounds, I'm almost as nervous as I would be if it were one of our own going for a day at a prep school! I'm sure you will recall the feeling! Sadly, though, I have to go to London for a meeting at 11, so I won't be able to see her for more than a few minutes when she arrives at 8.15, but I will try to make the most of our brief meeting. Her name, by the way, chosen by daughter Alice, is Cheska, which we thought rather nice. I wasn't that keen on the 'h', as the name seemed classier without it, but I was outnumbered my female opinion. I tried for a small 'c' as well, and an apostrophe, viz: 'cesca, but that was considered to be ridiculous. What about cc'esca? Rather like ffortescue. No? Oh well, just a thought. I'll let you know how she gets on.

Monday night meant shoe-cleaning night in Newton, and once again there were three lucky winners, who became Haribo-encompassed as a result of their endeavours. The judge tonight was daughter Hannah, who is taking a(nother) break from writing her dissertation, although she is terribly excited, as she has been appointed to a school for September! Just the degree to go, then. I can't, at this stage, tell you which school it is, but Mrs C and I are v. proud, as you can imagine, especially as she's going to keep the education flag flying, so to speak.

I had a most intriguing conversation this morning about the French pronoun 'on'. My converationalist could not for the life of him understand why it could be translated as 'we', because as far as he was concerned, 'on' is 'one' and 'we' is more than 'one'. He does have a point.

Until Wednesday night, then,

Goodnight.

Good evening, one and all, not least to our Follower in Vietnam.

Just a quick post tonight, as I have quite a number of e-mails to respond to, and to say that I'm sorry I wasn't around to greet all of you when you returned, as I was required to be at a 5th Years' Parents' Evening, and secondly to say that if your particular LM is under the weather for whatever reason, please pass on lots of love from Mrs C and me. (Yes, Mr Aldred, 'me' is the right pronoun there. Sorry, parents: in-'joke'. We're both members of the English department, you see.)

I hope you all had as good a time as Mrs C and me (tick again): with the sun shining so brilliantly today, it was difficult to do otherwise..

Anyway, more tomorrow, and all is well here.

Goodnight.

I'm so sorry, I clean forgot to welcome our new Official Follower, who is known only anonymously! Your membership, madam/sir, has pushed the OF number to 35, which is most encouraging!

Tonight has been good night (that alludes to a song, as I'm sure you'll agree) with a happy band, and a not entirely unsuccesful one on the pitches, either. I was acting manager for the 5th XV, and we won 45 - 0, which was very enjoyable. I told my opposite number, before the match began, that I was retiring in July, and that the match would probably be the last one at which I oficiated, and he generously said that he would be nice and kind. Which, dear Followers, he was, as you can see by the score line. (I daren't admit now that, having looked at the Calendar, I see that there are two more to go, in fact.)

Talking of sports results, am I alone in getting annoyed by the sports reporters who yell their early morning reports across the airwaves first thing in the morning? It really gets my goat, as my late dad used to say. I listen with interest to the measured pace of the excellent Simon Jack, who does the business news at 6.15, and then the calm and collected Rob or Gary come on the line to update us in general, and then they hand over to one of their football correspondents who bellows at me. This morning's report about Chelsea v. Birmingham was a case in point. Log on to the Today programme and listen on iPlayer to the report broadcast at around 6.27am, and see what I mean. I mean, honestly. It's enough to make one want to get out of bed. Which I do. But I can do without the yelling.

That programme about Cornish fishermen that I told you about last week is proving to be incredibly popular. Almost all the LMs wanted to watch it, and hot choc and biscuits made one feel a little warmer than those poor souls who go out into the high seas and come back back with a couple of crabs and a few mackerel in their boat.

Eh bien, there we are, so, as Thursday's not a bloglog night and we're on short leave until Sunday night, I will bid you au revoir.

Goodnight.

Yay! I've reached another milestone! This is post number 470, so just 30 more to go before I reach my goal! So, wherever you may be located around the world - and I was fascinated to see from my stats that while I'm writing this, we have a Follower from the Ukraine tuning in, so greetings to you, sir/madam, and greetings, too, to our Follower in Canada, especially as I don't think your country has featured on my stats page before.

It seems to have been an encouraging day all round, really, not least because when I nipped over to the Tesco Express after supper, just before doing my nightly constitutional around the block, which is part of my daily exercise routine (it's just over a mile), in order to avail myself of an excellent half-price offer on Isla Negra Sauvignon (usually any half-price offer means they can't sell it because it's rubbish), I presented the bottle to the cashier (because if I try the do-it-yourself machine it always goes wrong and then everyone gets cross, which is embarrassing), and the good gentleman enquired of me whether I was over 18. I replied in the affirmative, feeling rather flattered, and he then asked me if I had a Tesco Club Card. I told him that I wasn't old enough. He told me that 'that was quite enough of that', so, like a chastened Newtonian after lights out, my smugness was extinguished and I left Tesco's somewhat deflated.

Which wouldn't have been so bad, except that the bleeper went off as I made my exit, causing the security gentleman to raise his eyebrows as I made a face that only a Newtonian can make when an injustice appears to have been done, but I looked helplessly at the cashier who had just taken £4.99 from me (I told you it was a good offer), who kindly - and swiftly - switched the bleeping thing off, which enabled me to block-walk and think about what I was going to blog-log about.

Whilst watching the News this morning, prior to the LMs' departure, we were watching the News. I did think, though, while watching, of the recent (well, quite recent) advertising campaign that invited elderly people who were afraid of computers to get involved with others who could help and advise. One could send off for a self-help pack, or, guess what, one could log on to www. ..... !!

Shoe-cleaning of black shoes took place tonight, and there were three worthy winners, and the refreshment was pink wafers and digestives, and apple juice. I tried to convince one self-confessed non-cheese eater that if he combined cheese with a digestive biscuit he would enjoy it. He said he wouldn't. I invited him and his mates to come into our kitchen and try it, but he still declined, which left the tasting to others, who seemed to like the combination I recall from camping holidays of my early youth - and my solo trip around Denmark in the MG when I ran out of funds. (It was 1975, and I was only allowed to take £50 in the first place! Remember those days .... ? Oh, no: of course, you wouldn't. I tend to forget ...... !)

Goodnight.

Good evening, one and all, and I hope you've had a good Sunday.

In conversation with one of you yesterday, I was interested to learn something that I, as your faithful blogger, hadn't noticed: namely that my recent posts have started to get a little nostalgic. I said that I supposed that was inevitable, and that as the tape begins to appear in view, there were bound to be one or two moments when one thinks back over the past four decades, for whatever reason. Coincidentally, I received an e-mail from a pupil of the 70s only yesterday, who told me that he's now living in Denmark and coming up to his 50th birthday ... !

Anyway, I musn't allow nostalgic wallowing to become the norm, so I will try to remain on track and tell you about your own LMs!

Tonight was a lively evening, accompanied as it was by decent snacks and juice, as well as Countryfile, which is surprisingly popular, and then Top Gear, which never fails to please most. Including yours truly, as you know.

Having discretely (or discreetly, depending on which OED spelling you favour) walked around the lodge, making it abundantly clear that I was at the helm, and that all LMs had made eye contact with me, and then sneaked off to the HMDr, where the HM himself was holding one of his post-Chapel suppers for the preacher, the excellent Warden of St Edward's, who, I thought, praught splendidly. It was well worth it, for the nosh was outstandingly good, and there was plenty of convivial convo to be had, too. I returned as instructed by my Ubergrupenfuhrerein, which meant that she could get over there for the pud - which looked pretty good, too.

Only trouble was that when I returned I learnt that members of Osprey dorm had decided to be a little uber-excited, and that their lights out (with the exception of three who had not engaged in such frivolity) had happened a little on the early side.

Until tomorrow, then,

Goodnight.

Good evening, all, and bienvenue to all those of you who are reading this in France tonight, as I see that 17 of you are! My apologies, dear Ukrainian friends, for not knowing how to welcome you, but you, too, are most welcome.

I usually try to keep a note of things I want to tell you about, and tonight's list features several of the items from tonight's television news. But more of that in a moment.

Tonight I spent an engaging ten minutes displaying my own versatility with international accents, and enjoying that of some of your offspring, too. I competed against an upper bunker as far as my Russian accent was concerned (although he had overlooked the fact that there's no definite article in Russian, so I think I was victorious with that one, as we pretended to be Russian spies from the Cold War, but I nearly had to concede defeat as far as my attempts at a Scottish accent were concerned, because even though my Duncan Bannatyne impressions (that should push the stats number up) are pretty good, viz: 'I don't like you; I don't like your idea and your company is rubbish so I'm out', my competitor's efforts were equally as good, with an accent that was rehearsed, apparently, north of the Border.

As far as the news items are concerned, I began to think that I was living in a parallel universe when Jon Snow (more increased stats) was regaling me with what was going on internationally. If you didn't know me better, you'd think I was about to be admitted into the nearest, er, um, better be careful, because I don't think I can use the term I was about to use, any longer, without fear of being incarcerated somewhere else - if I were to inform you that Engelbert Humperdink was this year's chosen Eurovision candidate, and the Prime Minister had been riding a horse. Oh get real. Does anyone really care if the PM has been galloping around the countryside on the back of a questionable quadruped? 'It's all to do with symbolism', we learn from the excellent Channel 4 correspondent, who did admit that he and his colleagues had been having a (particularly apposite) field day: which is useful, because if so I can incorporate the saga into my English lessons.

As for Englebert, well, there's a nice touch of nostalgia for us all. I don't know the gentleman himself, but I do (did) know Morton Harket (up go the stats again) of Aha fame, whose daughter did herself feature on Eurovision. She's a Facebook friend of both Hannah and Tom - which is nice.

I'll let you know the stats number tomorrow night.

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Friends - especially those of you reading this in the beautiful country that is Brazil, where I spent a happy time as a private tutor in Rio. Yes, I know, I had the best times, what with Rio one time and Bel Air the next, not to mention New Jersey and then New York (twice). I'm sure I've told you this anecdote before, but my time in NJ could have proved pretty alarming, because I was invited by the ex-wife of the CEO of an international company to act as tutor to their two sons. At the time, she was, as Facebook will have it, 'in a relationship' with the Master of a celebrated ocean liner, but when I arrived at the house, the aforementioned gentleman wasn't there and wasn't due to arrive for a few days. I was shown to my quarters, and to my dismay, as one who is 6'1" tall, I spied a bed that cannot have been more than 5'4" in length. I was informed that this was only one of the options available to me, and that there was, if I should so wish it, another. (This was all pre-D, I should add, rather rapidly.) Being the son of a clergyman, with an appropriate moral code having been drummed into me, I declined the kind offer, and spent a rather uncomfortable time in a very, very short bed. (Actually, it was more the headlines in the tabloids that featured more prominently on my mind: "Young schoolmaster ....... ex-wife of xxxxxx ........ in relationship with Master of ........ etc., etc.)

Bel Air was different, however, because there Mrs C and I found ourselves sleeping in the bed that was located in the bedroom of the house that was being used for 'Dallas', which some of you may remember. I looked it up on YouTube the other day, and yes, there it was! Not many among us can claim - honestly - to have slept in Pam Ewing's bed .... !

Closer to home, however, it being a Wednesday means that tonight was TV night, and all the LMs were captivated (unexpectedly) by a programme about fishing in Cornwall. The transmission was accompanied by the gentle chomping of Quality Street and ginger nuts, and liquid refreshment whose identity I can't recall. It wasn't hot choc, anyway. Apple juice, probably.

I was asked today at the irregularly-spelt Crosfields School, after a largely victorious time there, what kind of sweet rations the Newtonians receive. I was able to turn my mind to such things during the return journey on the coach, and I came up with Skittles, fruit pastilles, fruit gums, Maltesers and Starburst. (aka Spangles, for those of us who remember them.)

Enough for tonight - and I'm sorry if you've heard those initial anecdotes before,

Goodnight.

Today is the sort of day that reminds me of a choir trip in the 1980s (B.SF.) when Mr Music-Price and I, along with four other members of staff from the school at which we were working, took the singers to Holland for a week. It was a fine and hugely enjoyable time, facilitating your correspondent with the opportunity to play the organ in the Cathedral Church of St Jan in Gouda, which boasts the longest nave in Europe. After the choir had gone through the repertoire, Mr Price and I played a couple of organ voluntaries. Now I don't know if you've ever performed publicly in Holland, but I don't think audiences are slow to express their opinions about whether they like something or not. So, after I'd finished my performance of a Prelude and Fugue by Vincent Lubeck, I removed my hands from the keyboard (manual, in organ parlance) and my feet from the pedalboard (yes, organists really do play with their feet as well as their hands), I waited for the tumultuous applause. Nothing. Not a sausage. Not a single, solitary sound. Yeah, well. Thanks. I think Holland is flat and their breakfasts are not very nice, either. Still, the Reichsmuseum is amazing, I do concede that. Of course, they all applauded Mr Music-Price's stunning performance of Bach. As if I cared. I had the prospect of giving a speech in Dutch that afternoon to look forward to, and I had carefully rehearsed what I was going to say, having taken a few Dutch lessons beforehand. I have to confess that the reaction from the residents of the old people's home in which the choir was singing was not wholly dissimilar to that which I had enjoyed in the cathedral, but then I was informed that most of the inmates were hard of hearing, so I wasn't too dispirited. One day you should ask Mr Music-Price about our experience in a Dutch supermarket.

Anyway, to return to my opening salvo: on the journey back to the hotel, our driver took a wrong turning on the autobahn, or whatever it is in Dutch, and we ended up travelling half way to Germany. After about three hours of a journey which should have taken thirty minutes, our Scottish colleague, who knew a bit of German (and Dutch, as it happens) observed, as we disembarked from the coach, 'Well! Some journey that was!'

Except that he translated the word for 'journey' into German.

Quite. Enough said. Back on Wednesday.

Goodnight.

So there we are, then. Another Sunday has come and gone, with Mr Ives giving an excellent maiden sermon and then plenty of things happening throughout the day, including Mrs C's treasure hunt, which proved to be particularly popular. The piano concert was excellent, as those of you who were there will know, and pianists of all ability levels displaying their virtuosity. I was treated to another performance of the Chopin Nocturne tonight, to which I responded with my own rendition of his waltz in A minor which seemed to go down well. I'm resurrecting a number of Chopin pieces at the moment, so to hear someone of such tender years playing so superbly has been a major motivation for me. Scary, though, and not a little disquieting, to recall that I could play through the whole of Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata when I was in my final year at school. Oh well, that's something to work at next year .... !

Now. I've had a complaint. Not from any one of you, my dear global Followers, but from one of my esteemed colleagues: one who looks after boys of a similar age group to those who reside in Newton. It seems that he is unimpressed by the recent sporadic nature of my recent posts, as he is, it seems, an ardent follower of my literary efforts. So this, I hope, will arrive cyberspatially over in the turret, in the form of an apology for my inexcusable tardiness. Of course, I wouldn't dream of mentioning any names ....... As for the literary qualities of this particular paragraph, well, I think there's an excellent English teaching post available.

Countryfile (which I have just tried to type correctly three times) (so perhaps I'll forget about the English job) formed the bulk of the televisual entertainment tonight, which was appproriately combined with consumption of the produce of the orchard and the grove, and Top Gear would have done so, too, but as 'we' woke up rather earlier than 'we' should have done this morning, so 'we' all went to bed a tad earlier than 'we' might otherwise have done.

H'm. 'Produce of the orchard and the grove.' Let me see now .......

Dear Headmaster,

I have seen that you have a good job advertised and I am one of those what could do it. I can do parts of speach and stuff, so I wood be just what you need.

Er, no. Perhaps not.

Goodnight.

I remembered - well, actually, the narrator remembered the joke. It goes thus:

Why did the scarecrow win a top scholarship?

And now you'll have to wait until you reach the end of this post to find out.

Tonight was the night of the junior debates, and three Newtonians managed to acquit themselves most laudably, speaking on the matter of whether we worry too much about what we eat. It was suggested that it was more appealing to enjoy a short life but a merry one, rather than a long and boring one, which seemed to drum up quite a bit of support. I always tell the boys that the only reason I go to a debate is to see how much worse it can be than the last one I attended, and that I'm rarely disappointed, which they all think is far too harsh a comment (and no doubt so do you, but you need to be there), but I have to confess that tonight I was totally wrong, for the speeches were excellent, and there was little, if any, attention-seeking among the speakers from the floor.

The only negative outcome from the festivities in Macmillan was that Team Newton raced back to lodge, screaming and chanting, as boys are wont to do after such happenings. Their excitement was extinguished by a bellowing lodgemeister, who sent them packing back to the Bolton door. This exercise was executed no less than thrice, and it was your correspondent who had l'oeuf sur le visage, as he suddenly realised that Mrs Bryan's parents, who were visiting their daughter and family, were observing proceedings with more than faint amusement.

Hot choc and digestives, as well as fruit by the mingi, as they say in Swahili, was offered as tonight's refreshment, and once everyone had calmed down from the thrill of the debate, we had a lovely evening, with games of all kinds being played in the DCR. They had all been lovingly set out by Miss Lade, and were all ready for use when the LMs arrived.

So there we are. Another day is done.

OK, you're getting excited now.

I'll tell you the punchline.

Remember the question? (Scroll back up if not.)

Answer:

Because he was outstanding in his field.

I told you it was good.

Goodnight.

I know, I know: it's Thursday and I'm not supposed to be on duty. Long story, but in a nutshell, things got complicated the week before last when the deep snows befell us, so Mr Porter's off tonight, and Mrs C and I are on. Don't ask.

The life of a lodegmeister is nothing if not varied. Tonight, as I walked past Curlew, I happened upon one LM on an upper bunk dangling a woolly snake to the floor below, and another LM grabbing same, telling me that they were 'playing deep sea fishing'. I terminated this game very quickly, especially when the owner of the upper bunk showed me, by attaching another snake to a husky teddy (a teddy that was in the form of a husky, not a teddy whose growl was a tad hoarse), how the survival method worked. Bear Grylls it wasn't.

I then moved upstairs, where I was asked whether I knew the Siamese National Anthem. The fun was rather spoilt when I replied that I did, so my questioners moved on to further humour, asking me various questions, the answer to one I did not know, and I did find rather amusing. i.e.: it raised a smile. I have now forgotten it, which is what happens when you get to my age. I think I told you that the Stannah Stairlift people are planning to make a high-speed version, so that people like me can get to the top of the stairs before we forget what we went upstairs for in the first place.

We had a second television night tonight, which was a little wayward, because strictly speaking it contravenes regulation number 356437/AFGT/SF/6/12/A, which clearly states that television may be watched only on Wednesdays, Saturdays (in the form of a film) and Sundays. However, as the LMs missed their TV night two weeks ago because of a lengthy lodge meeting, we thought we'd make it up to them. If there's no post on this blog tomorrow night, you may assume that my reckless behaviour was deemed entirely unacceptable, and that Mrs C and I have made a premature exit.

Our Leader was away today, which led me to believe that biscuit upgrade day would not happen. I was proved wrong, however, and real Thursday coffee (but everyday bics) were served in the HMDR, Deputy Head presiding. My excitement was enstinguished, however, when Mr Hannah and I realised that we were on Break duty. Still, I did manage to sneak a quick cup of coffee from the pot right at the end.

Goodnight.

Greetings, dear Followers, and special greetings to those of you who are reading this in Vietnam and Slovenia! (And to the Followers on the Isle of Wight, of course, who like to feel part of the place ... )

I was asked tonight whether it's fun being a lodgemeister: I said that it most definitely is and I shall miss it, and the LMs, enormously. It becomes embedded as a way of life when you've done it for all but 18 years; 13 years in Mayfield, then a short break before being brought back from the cold to do these four incredibly happy years in Newton. Mind you, we did enjoy our short sabbatical, when we lived in what's now the Bryans' house at the back of Newton, so I don't think it will be too difficult to adjust to a non-Newtonian existence, especially when we have such a lovely pad to which to retire.

Tonight being a Wednesday meant TV night, and as there wasn't much evidence of alacrity when 'Rip Off Britain' came on to the screen, there certainly was when the representatives of Inter-Milan and Marseille started kicking the ball around. That, accompanied by hot choc and a selection of bics made for an evening of contentment all round.

I had an e-mail from son Tom tonight, who, as you know, is happily ensconced in his studies at SOAS, London Uni, studying Japanese and Korean. He told me that he found that he was making rather many errors, so he went out and bought a gallon of Tippex. Big mistake.

Goodnight.

Once I've done my morning rounds, turned on the lights, bidden the troops a, er, cheery 'Good morning' and given the details of the day to those sufficiently compos mentis to assimilate them, I make for the DCR, and await the arrival of those about to depart, if you see what I mean. Usually there is the customary collection of hair issue, collar issues, slipper issues (they forget to to put their shoes on, lest any of you should be thinking back to your own prep school days and fretting) and the rest, so it's always a pleasure when I hear any Newtonian expressing enthusiasm for his academic subjects. Viz:

Him (sleepily): Oh I DO hope we have (name of academic subject withheld) today.

Me: Oh, that's nice: why?

Him: Because I'll be able to go to sleep.

Me: Ah. I see.

You'll be relieved - as was I - to know that it was not one of my own portfolio that was being referred to in such a way. And no, I'm not going to reveal which one it was.

Now, I don't know what you said to your offspring about post-lights-out loquaciousness, but whatever it was, it seems to have done the trick! Last night there wasn't a sound, nor is there any sound tonight - so, thank you, one and all. That's how it's meant to work: as a partnership. Brilliant.

It was brown shoe-cleaning tonight, and we had a further four winners. One LM decided that as he'd won already and was therefore unable to win a second time that he wouldn't be bothered with such frippery, but he soon saw the error of his ways, and returned to the laundry, announcing to Miss (Harriet) Lade 'Miss Lade, I've been rejected!' She took pity on the poor lamb, as per the contract.

I thought that one LM was looking rather stressed tonight, and so I suggested that he took a stress test. You may well be feeling similarly for whatever reason, so may I offer you this one?

It's to be found at

http://www.sodahead.com/living/the-stress-test---very-accurate/blog-186365/

I hope it works for you as it did for him.

Goodnight.

Good evening, dear Friends and Followers, and welcome back to this cyberspatial hidey-hole. It certainly sounds as if you've all had wonderful times - and I was delighted to learn that having to share a hotel and ski-runs with SF staff didn't spoil the fun for those who found that there really is no escape ..... !

Mrs C and I were not to be found on the slopes this time, although not too much of the dissing, if you don't mind, because as I think I've mentioned before, we can hold our own if we need to! I even have a wonderful photo of your correspondent mono-skiing, I might add - although it pains me to confess that if you turn the picture through a right-angle you can actually see that it is, in fact, an image of yours truly having fallen heavily, and the fact that there is only one ski to be seen in the picture is indicative of the actualite.

So no, no snow, as it were. We made for our Dorset domain and enjoyed the company of all of our young for a few days, after which they dispersed and left the geriatrics to do what old people do. I did actually get the bike started, but such were the conditions that I thought it best to keep it where it was rather than try and skate on two wheels, otherwise I might have suffered a similar fate to that of Lawrence of Arabia after he'd climbed on to his motorbike on the night he said his final goodbye to Thomas Hardy: wrapped rather terminally around a tree.

The Fantastic Mr Fox appealed to all tonight, as did pink wafers (although there was a minor complaint that they were, er, 'pink, sir', an observation whose apposition I found to be most commendable,) Quavers and apple juice.

Anyway, they all seem to be on great form - and, methinks, quite tired, for I cannot hear a peep.

This post, by the way, is number 460: 40 to go before I reach my target!

Goodnight.

Gosh. What a miserable and cantankerous old so and so I must have seemed when I wrote that last post. Well, I'm pleased to report that things have improved meggaly since then, and we've just had a lovely evening. I told the troops that tonight was to be 'soap and shampoo night', and, to a man, they all heeded my exhortation. I did, in fact, tell them that I expected the whole lodge to smell like the rose garden of the Palace of Versailles, although it was, perhaps, just a tad humiliating to be informed by a quasi-resident of the country in which said palace is located that 'the place smells mank in winter, sir'. You'll be pleased to learn that there was nothing 'mank' about the fragrance of this place, however, and my classics teacher, God rest Mr Dakin's soul, would have been impressed. He was a fascinating man, in fact, because he'd been part of the Bletchley Park code-breaking team (as had Mrs C's uncle, Sir Bernard Lovell), although he never spoke of it. Our other beak, Mr Gardner, was the private tutor to the son of Haile Selasse and that particular royal family's personal friend, so that was interesting, too.

It's been a busy old day, with much happening, although the cancellation of the matches was a disappointment to many. Considering that, the LMs have been very good tonight, with a particularly enjoyable curry at supper time, followed by a most agreeable verre de vin with my friends Messrs Edwards (former tutee), Music-Price and Computer-Price, at Mr Edwards' place.

Ha! Two for the Price of one! (Actually, it was quite a price, because it was une bouteille de Meursault. And jolly nice it was, too - accompanied by exquisitely-fried duck's gizzards, which probably sounds much better in its translated form.)

By the way, I received notification from Monash University, who were generous enough to grant me a research fellowship three years ago, that I am officially a 'professorial fellow'! I've hesitated before rushing down to the printer's to change the letterhead .... ! How pompous is that?! Ah well, if you see me sporting a fine professorial gown with gold braid and a whole load of furry trappings, you'll know it's just the Newton Blogger showing off. (Again.)

Goodnight.

You know how you sometimes have 'rubbish' days? Well, today's been one of those - culminating with your correspondent getting seriously annoyed with the members of one particular dorm who simply cannot, it seems, understand that they need to keep quiet after lights out, and before lights on. Unusual for me to get quite so wound up, but I think the message may - just - have got through that I am very - and I mean very - displeased. To their credit, a number of them came up to me during shoe-cleaning and told me that they were very sorry; further testimony to the fact that they realised they'd gone a couple of steps - or two, in some cases three, and in a couple of cases four - too far. Yes, I was cross. Very. I accepted their various apologies, but told them that I hoped that they were sincere.

As for shoe-cleaning, that was fine, and all went well. Mrs C and Miss Lade managed to maintain the equilibrium, and there were four worthy winners.

Not sure I feel like writing too much more tonight, because - well, just because. They'd better not talk.

Goodnight.

Greetings, one and all - especially to those of you reading this in Latvia and China, as my stats tell me that you are! I don't think we've had anyone from China before, so especial greetings to you, sir/madam.

The snow has offered opportunities for many today, and the ubiqitous Mrs Hilder, as duty person this morning, arranged a massive inter-league snow-base building competition, which seemed to work very well and was much enjoyed by all who participated.

Lunch was a full-blown, 'proper' Sunday roast, and was superb, imho. I saw all Newtonians tucking in comprehensively, and enjoying all that was on offer.

Mrs C was one of the duty people this afternoon, with Mr Computer-Price, and it was good to receive reports of sensible behaviour and boys having plenty of fun.

Chapel consisted of an illustrated talk (illustrated with music and commentary, I mean, not by slides) about how the service of Evensong came about, and incorporated (that's a nightmare word to type - try it and see) the Chaplain wearing his Cambridge MA hood as it would have been worn by the monks originally. Before the service I told him that the history of fur on academic hoods was that the more lowly qualified one was in those early days, the further away from the fire in the Great Hall one had to sit, so if you were a mere Bachelor of Wot'eva, you'd have a hood with a whole load of fur because you were miles away from the heat, and the Doctors of Stuff would need none at all, and be all up close and personal. I told one of my 5th Year classes this fascinating information once, and one of the boys rejoined with, 'Oh. So you mean, the thicker you are, the more furry your hood is.' I suggested that that wasn't quite how I'd put it (thinking of my own), but I could see what he was getting at. (I do have another two that don't have any fur at all, so I didn't feel too bad.)

Top Gear was good tonight, with the presenters in China with Stig's Chinese cousin, testing Chinese cars, which, on the whole acquitted themselves pretty well, and apple juice, fruit and Kit-Kats all helped to make for a pleasant evening.

That's it for tonight, so -

Goodnight.

It's snowing here in North Oxford, and has been for the past four hours, so it's pretty deep now. We (well, more 'they', really) watched Mrs Doubtfire, which they all loved, and which has just finished, and as I went into Osprey to turn the lights out, the following dialogue occurred:

LM: Sir! Sir! Come over here and look out of the window! It's SO romantic!

Me: What is?

LM: Sir! Just come and see!

As the Osprey windows look on to the home of the Bryan family, I could only imagine that Mr and Mrs B were enjoying a candle-lit dinner for two, or something like that, but no, 'twas not that which had occasioned my summons. I looked out onto the most wonderful picture of a snow-laden back garden, and part of Summertown, and it was indeed, to borrow the word, 'romantic'. My interlocutor and I sat on the window-sill and we admired the view for a minute or two; a true memory was etched for eternity.

I then went into Kingfisher to turn their lights out, and, after almost all the occupants had turned their lights out, there was one, the other side of the partition, that remained on.

Me: Who IS that boy who hasn't turned his light out?

LM: It's X, sir, but, ha ha, he's not there .... !! Ha ha!!

I went over and turned the light out myself.

Me: It's not that funny. (Sir bashes into the locker at the end of the bed) Ow!

LM: No, but that is !!

Goodnight.

Good evening, all.

I had a wonderful evening with Tom C and the lovely Christine, his girlfriend, last night, in London. I know Pentonville Road doesn't sound that enticing, but last year, when Tom was housed in student digs in that super-salubrious region, we discovered Bistro de la Gare, which is right opposite where he was living, and it's been a v special place to us ever since. It's French, as you might imagine from its name, and while it's basic, the food's great, the wine is very good and the creme brulee (sorry, can't do accents on the blog) is every bit as good as that served in much more prestigious eateries. So fond of the place are we, that we've coined a new verb: to bedelg, which we think is most appropriate.

It was games night tonight, and many LMs partook, as did Miss Harriet and Mrs C, who both have more than a slight competitive streak .... !

Only in Newton would you hear the following dialogue, as you would have done tonight, had you been here:

Me (peremptorily, on hearing excessive noise from Curlew): What are you doing with that shark?

LM1: It's not a shark, it's a whale.

Me: What are doing with that whale, then. It looks as if you're attacking E with it.

LM1: He wanted me to do it.

Me: Is that true? Did you ask to be hit with a whale?

LM2: Yes, sir.

Me: Whatever kind of lodge would this be if we all went around expecting to be hit with whales?

LM1: Sorry sir.

Me: Well, we'll say no more about it then. But it did come as a bit of a shark.

All the matches are cancelled tomorrow, I'm afraid, so there will be some disappointed LMs, I know. Snow's forecast, too. Still, I expect we'll be all white.

Goodnight.

So there we are. Another last notched up as I played the organ for the final time, after what Mr Edwards and I worked out have been at least 15 years, in New College Chapel. As I remarked, wistfully, to my page-turner as I strode out of the college cloisters, it's been an amazing privilege, and one that I have appreciated hugely. 'Well', said he, 'at least you've left on a good note'. 'Indeed', said I, 'it was a D'. (Actually, it was a D major chord, but I didn't want to get too technical'.) I don't know whether you were there, but it was a wonderful service, with the Red Choir soaring to ever-greater heights of distinction.

Back, then, to the relative solace of Newton and the LMs, and the place has had a pleasing fragrance about it tonight, as everyone showered efficiently and many washed their hair. I used to have what I called 'fragrance nights' a couple of years ago, but that seemed to have more than a whiff of what my classics teacher referred to as 'a house of ill repute' about it, and as I thought the inspectors might smell a rat (or worse) if they heard about such goings on, I abandoned the idea.

Top Gear was good tonight, and the petrolheads all enjoyed that, accompanied by pink wafers, fruit and apple juice, and then there was an amazing programme about tigers, which was very popular, in the same way that I was most definitely not, when I called for silent reading at 8.30. Still, they all got over it very quickly and made for bed where a few minutes of reading silently, or quiet contemplation enabled all to settle down and go to sleep.

And I can't hear a sound.

Goodnight.

Good evening, and greetings to our new Followers in Poland and Azerbaijan .... !

I've been to London Town today, wheeler-dealing with regard to life post-SF, and not without success, either. But more of than in due course; suffice it to say for now that I don't think I shall be at too much of a loose end.

On the train coming back, though, I really did nearly laugh out loud. I was sitting facing an earnest looking chap, who looked as if he was in middle management or something similar. His phone rang (as did just about everyone else's, and the carriage was full of vitally important phrases such as 'Yeah, I'm on the train', and other such thought-provoking statements) and he looked concerned.

Chap: Hi Tim. (Pause) Yeah. Oh, right. Yeah, good idea. Thanks. Yeah.

I thought that something was amiss at the office, to judge from his concerned countenance. Sonia might have left suddenly, perhaps, or Steve had given in his notice.

Chap: Yeah. Great. Chickenburger, I think. Yeah, chickenburger.

I now realised that things were not so bad after all.

Chap: Er, yeah. Double-breasted with cheese. Thanks.

By this time I was more than faintly amused. Earnest (for that is what I mentally called him) rang off. Within seconds, his phone rang again.

Earnest: Oh. Yeah. Er, medium.

I averted my gaze and studied the passing visual delights of Slough. Think Betjeman.

Anyway, Holby City was great tonight: metaphorical to a fault and full of dramatic irony. I do like the way Mr Hansen does things, and I wish I had his cool. I bet he's better at repairing helicopters than I am, too.

As for your LMs, well, I can't hear a thing, so I think I can happily assume that Mr Bryan's touch on the tiller has been effective. It usually is.

Btw, Miss (Harriet) Lade is the best at getting the boys out of bed in the morning: no-one has left the lodge after 7.27am so far this term! (I hope Miss Alex isn't reading this!) (Bet you are, Alex!)

Goodnight.

'twas shoe-cleaning night tonight, judged by Miss Alice C and boyfriend Ed, and another four expert shiners managed edible rewards, which went down well. 'Twister' proved as popular as ever, with many a torso managing the most remarkable contortions .... ! Powdery cookies, pink biscuits and apple juice all did their respective bits towards making the lodge a happy place.

One of the boys' helicopters failed to proceed, unfortunately, despite a few running repairs carried out unsuccessfully by your correspondent, so there was no flying tonight. I think I may have to invest in a socket set, rather than a Philips'screwdriver. In fact, come to think of it, I did actually own a socket set when I was a student, bought for the purpose of ensuring that my first car, a 1958 Ford Anglia, was kept up to the mark. It lasted two years and then conked out, amid a haze of blue smoke. It had also lost at least one of its three gears by that time, so I was glad to be shot of it and to acquire my father's Morris Oxford estate car, which he generously sold to me for the sum of £25. I'm ashamed to admit that I sold it for £40, a few months later.

Post-lights out behaviour last night was excellent, after our lodge meeting, and from what I can, or rather, can't, hear at the moment, all is well tonight, too. Although we've just had a fire practice, so they're probably warming up after a few minutes in the garden ...... ! (Only a few, dear mothers, don't worry ... !)

That''s it for tonight; Mr Bryan's on duty tomorrow night, so I hope things will go well. I'm sure they will.

Goodnight.

What a quick leave-out that was! Still, Mrs C and I had a great time - as I hope you did - with choir direction for one of our local churches on Friday night, walks by the sea and through the countryside of Thomas Hardy, organ-playing for the service this morning, a superb Sunday lunch, a good read ('Solar', by Ian McEwan: I recommend it if you haven't read it) and a rather fine episode of Casulaty (See? I still can't type it!) on Saturday night. I found a very nice New Zealand sauvignon that proved to be eminently quaffable, and an excellent claret to accompany our beef at lunchtime. I looked at our house yesterday, and I thought that it bore an uncanny resemblance to Hardy's place at Bockhampton, which is good for a Hardy enthusiast - and if I get round to it, I'll post pics of both of them, and you can see what you think.

Tonight all has been well, with silence after lights out. We did, I admit, have a little bit of a 'difference' just before Short Leave, with your correspondent not exactly losing, more just misplacing his rag, but we had an amicable lodge meeting this evening, and we all seem to be friends again now. If you get a chance to back up my exhortations to the troops about how excessive chatting after lights out is a tad selfish, that would be great. I always tell them that there's no place in Newton for those who want to 'swim around in Lake Me'. (An American business expression, I'm told ..... !)

Cheddars, cookies (which were pronounced to be 'rather powdery' by one of our resident critics, and having tried one I'm tempted to concur), apple juice and an ancient videotape (remember them?) of The Simpsons all came together to make for a pleasant and agreeable evening.

Mrs C and Hannah C have now seen Isla's 'sister', and we have informed the Newtonians about her (not that) imminent arrival. I think she'll be here at the beginning of next term. We can't decide on a name, but there's a favourite, and more about that in due course.

Goodnight.

So sorry about the absence of posts recently: it was Tom C's 21st yesterday, and the celebrations have lingered on .... ! We had a great time, and a feast of a meal last night, including, if you can believe it, 'mouse wine', served complimentarily by the proprietor of the restaurant. I'm sure you've all sampled said tipple, but lest you should not have done, it's a bottle of some spirit or other with a dead mouse at the bottom of the bottle. You can try it at Xi'an's in Summertown. Tell Gary I sent you.

I think that's enough for now.

Goodnight.

I sometimes wonder what on earth someone of my age is doing looking after a lodge of 27 ten and eleven year olds. Many years ago I was told by a member of staff at another school that 'housemastering is a young man's job', and for a while I thought they were probably right. But when a LM comes up to you, flings his arms around you and asks 'Sir, why do you have to leave?' and then bursts into tears, you feel like crying yourself, and you remember why you do this amazing thing. I reassured my charge that whatever happened, I'd always be there for him, and he regained his composure, but such moments really do make one realise just what a privilege it is to look after your little men.

'twas a good evening in Newton tonight, with the cleaning of black shoes, and four worthy winners being rewarded edibly, which went down very well, although there were a couple of protestant voices that opined that they'd never won! They will: don't worry.

I was regaled by numerous jokes and riddles tonight, some of which were very amusing and some of which were very clever.I reciprocated with the story of the three bishops on a conference, each of which knelt down at the end of the day and asked the Almighty about whether some unlikely sporting event would occur. The first two received the response that yes, it would happen, but not in their lifetime, but the third, who enquired of something particularly lucidrous and outrageous, was told that yes, it would happen, but not in His (Her) lifetime. It's funnier if you hear it live, I must admit. The former Lord Lieutenant of Dorset told me that one. (If you're reading this, Philip, it was very good - and you told it rather better than I did ..... !)

Elder daughter Hannah passed her penultimate exam, you'll be glad to hear (no doubt!), so now she's just got finals and one more piece of coursework to do and she'll be Miss Hannah Cheater, BA (Hons.) And we shall be v proud parents! Just think, it all lies before you .... ! And Tom is 21 on Wednesday, too: where the Dickens did those years go? It seems only yesterday that he was at SF.

Make the most of these days, my friends - and enjoy every moment. They grow up very, very quickly.

PS: There's talk of Isla getting a little 'sister'.

Goodnight.

A brief post tonight, just to say that it's nice to have all your LMs back again, and that notwithstanding just a tear or two (which were quickly mopped up), all is well. Hannah and I were watching Notting Hill, which we both enjoy very much, and two little men came down to see us. (We paused the film (it being a 15, and therefore not available to the young) and after a couple of lighthearted moments and, yes, I confess, a reassuring hug, the distress evaporated, and they went back to bed happily. It's now 10.02, and we've heard no more, so I suspect that things that might have been a little awry after what will have been wonderful weekends are now back on an even keel.

Worry not, and sleep well.

Goodnight.

Three posts to go until I hit the magic 450 mark! I was asked yesterday whether I would continue blogging from deepest Dorset: I said that I might think about it, but quite whether anyone would be interested in the activities of a sexagenarian and his spouse I very much doubt.

Anyway, to return to 'the now': tonight has been one of those very special nights. Everyone was in a good mood, everyone was fun to be with, and games night, as it was tonight, went extremely well, with Miss Lade getting fully into the Newtonian swing of things and playing along very happily. For those who didn't want to play any of the games on offer (although most did), the two computers offered solace, and were used very sensibly and fairly.

I must tell you about yesterday's biscuit upgrade: we went into the HMDr, and there were the usual array of glistening silver coffee and tea pots (well, they're not really silver, of course, but they look the part), and, to quote the erudite Dr Dean, 'the most positively evil-looking, creamy-topped things you've ever clapped eyes on'! They were absolutely superb, and I confess to consuming more than just one. But not a word to Mrs C, if you wouldn't mind. (Dr Dean had two, too.) A bit of a come-down, therefore, to see that tonight's lodge biscuits were the rather more humble Digestives, which, as you may recall, are particularly fine when consumed with its equally humble bedfellow, Cheddar cheese. Unfortunately we are at present a cheeseless lodge, so I was unable to enjoy the aforementioned combination.

Tomorrow many LMs will be at home for the double credit weekend, so I hope you all have a wonderful time, and we shall ensure that those who stay with us have a good time, too. Mrs C and I are starring in the annual edition of 'Call my Bluff', which Mr Music-Price organises each year, so I'll let you know how that goes.

I'm off to watch my new favourite programme: 'Ice Pilots'. I've always wanted a pilot's licence. Now there's something I could blog about ......

Goodnight.

Good evening once again, and welcome to post number 446! The old 450 mark is fast approaching, and then there'll be just 50 more to go until my target is reached, and some kind literary agent decides that this whole work is just what publishers want and then you'll all have your copies for posterity. Yeah, right. The only way anything like that is going to happen is if you have the time or inclination to print them all out .... ! And then there'd be the issue (!) of reversing the order, so I suspect that the work will remain cyberspatial for evermore.

The television in the DCR caused problems this morning, which meant that we were unable to watch the BBC News, which, in itself wasn't too much of a thing, but the knock-on effect could have been that we had no telly tonight, which would not have been good. Now I'm sure all you dads out there have infinite patience and benorsic skill when it comes to things technological, but, not wishing to put too fine a point on it, I, dear readers, am not. Indeed, nothing drives me more insane and/or petulant, and the air around me becomes positively blue. (I'm told.) (No, I know you can't believe it.) Anyway, just before Mrs C was about to phone for an ambulance to take me to the nearest stroke unit, I had a brainwave - which was rather better than the alternative. If I switched everything off and unplugged the lot, then replugged and switched on again, things might rectify themselves. It usually works in Dorset, although you have to put more logs on the burner first, of course. To my amazement, they did. All was well by the time the LMs arrived, and so we were able to watch Messrs Clarkson, Hammond and May designing and then driving their own motorhomes. All such viewing was accompanied by the gulping of hot choc and the chomping of fruit.

Matches today all went well on the whole, with some fine results. My own team (the 6th XV, for whom I was acting as temporary manager) won 40 - 0, so we came away very happy, as I know did many other teams. Many Newtonians performed splendidly, and I'm sure you will hear all about that on other channels, so I won't dwell on them here.

Tomorrow is biscuit upgrade day in the HMDr, as you will know by now, so let's hope the trend that started last week with excellent cookies will continue. The coffee's good, too. Real and delicious. Out of a pot. As it should be.

Goodnight.

Staff meeting this morning, with a very buoyant HM, still walking on air abouhe trouncing we gave Papplewick on Saturday. Other than that, the day has been a fairly typical Monday, really, culminating with the highlight of the week, namely double Latin with my 5th Year set, for the last two lessons. By the time we'd considered present participles, purpose clauses and what I always think is a double negative, negative prohibitions (I mean, can you have a prohibition that isn't negative? If so, what would a positive prohibition be? Something trendy, I expect, as we're all expected to be positive these days. Oh, and we should always substitute the word 'but' with 'and'. 'But' is too negative), we were ready for supper. There's only so much I can tell you about sausage plait and mashed potato. (or cheesy pasta.) The salad bar was good, though, and the puddings were excellent. Rather like the soup at lunchtime, which, accompanied by the daily croutons, was outstanding, imho.

'twas shoe-cleaning night tonight, and four fortunate winners were edibly rewarded. (As it were.) No snacks as such, it being a Monday, but the fruit bowl offered much fructological sustenance. (No idea whether that word exists, but it has a Latin root, so it should if it doesn't.)

Silent reading came and went, although there were moments when that seemed to be something of a misnomer, but on the whole, it went well.

So there we are. A normal Monday, with the usual programme, and a pleasant, if unexciting evening in lodge. Mr Bryan will be at the helm tomorrow, so no post, but I'll be back on Wednesday. Until then,

Goodnight.

Alarming, the way the term is already speeding up! The first Sunday of term has come and gone, with a Communion service this morning and many and various activities (incorporating a 'social' for the Fifth Years with Tudor Hall, which seems to have proved very popular ... ) have been much appreciated. I disappeared from our school chapel's organ stool two minutes before 10.30am, leaving Mr Price to play the final hymn, while I sprinted round to the United Church in Summertown, where I was this morning's worship leader. I got there one minute late, but no-one seemed to mind, so all was well.

Tonight's Newtonian programme has included the consumption of a most delicious, home-made birthday cake, which was superb, and some wonderful cookies, which were equally scrummy. (Although there was just the miniest of hoo-has about that, because in order to ensure that Sunday night laundry is dealt with as efficiently as possible, miscreants (and I would certainly have been one of them at the same age) who failed to deposit their garments in the right bins were, as a notice in my school's music department read, 'debarred from the facilities that were otherwise available'. I always thought that was a little daft, because if you were DE-barred, then that surely meant that you were freed from the original barring. Still, I never had the nerve to say that to Mr Barker, as it were, so to speak, through there, possibly because there were other types of 'barring' to enjoy in the environs of the city of Bath .....

Hot choc and 'Herbie' on BBC 3 completed the package, and that all seemed to go down well, as did the fruit mountain.

Enough for a Sunday night, methinks, so until tomorrow night,

Goodnight.

It's 21.50, according to my trusty computer; daughter Hannah is writing a dissertation about grapheme to phoneme access, or some such, for her Linguistics degree dissertation; 'Toy Story 3' has been and gone, and achieved an excellent rating on the popularity front, accompanied by tonight's sweet ration of Skittles; the lights are out, and Mrs C is emptying the dishwasher, after what has been her final day as president of the new entrants' testing. Sad, really, to think that she and I will never know the LMs that were here today, or their parents: doubly sad, because all the parents that I met before lunch seemed delightful. Ah well, there we are, and I'm not going to go all soppy on you because many different opportunities for life post-SF are now coming into focus - but more about that when the final image is ready. I promise.

A great sporting day v Papplewick today: fantastic results across the board, and a v happy HM, which is always good news. As pre-match changing room duty master, I did tell the P'wick boys to 'play well, but not that well, of course', and clearly they decided that they should respect the wishes of one of their establishment's former preceptors! (Although I think they took it a bit too seriously, to judge from some of the results ..... ) Sobering to think that I started there in 1973, as a newly-qualified and very naive beak!

It was good to see a few of you, dear readers, earlier: I was on duty with my former tutee, Mr Edwards, so not able to spend as much time chatting as I might have liked, but that's the way it goes. Or, as Miles Kington, king of Franglais, would have said, 'C'est le chemin il va'. His best ever, I thought, was his translation of 'coup de grace' as lawnmower! (I stayed in his London flat once, when I was an A level music student, because my director of music had been a contemporary of his at Oxford. I was introduced to him, and he enquired, kindly, as to where I lived. 'Warwickshire', I replied, adolescently. 'That's a lovely place', he said. I made as if to respond, but nothing came out. 'Well? Isn't it?' he asked. I made a sort of quasi-mumblous-grunt and we 'moved on'. I think I redeemed myself a little - just - over dinner, in a fabulous Chinese restaurant, the name of which I have now forgotten.)

I'm waffling now. It happens when you get older, you know.

Goodnight.