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.