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.