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.