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.