Newton is a happy place once more. We had a lodge meeting last night, in which I explained, in a pretty forthright and fulsome manner, that certain forms of behaviour were completely unacceptable, that all Newtonians were old enough to know the difference between right and wrong, and that I was not going to allow Miss Ruthie's final days in the lodge to be ruined by thoughtlessness. Christmas, I informed the residents, robustly, was going to be a happy and joyful time for all of us, whether they liked it or not. So there.

Well, it worked. Last night was a lovely evening once my fulminations were complete and we all had a peaceful, happy and pleasant time. Whatever derailment of the Newton Flyer there might have been had been rectified and we found ourselves back on course for the e of t. All is well; all is calm, all is (well, most of the time) bright.

Thank you to those who expressed concern about my health in the light of the fact that yesterday's blog entry didn't get posted until late in the day: I can assure all of you that I am now in rude health (no, I'll forego the pleasure I could have had there, for the sake of decency) and it's only because the end-of-term timetable is so different from the norm that it's sometimes quite difficult to find a slot where I can indulge. But I'm touched that you care, and I'm delighted that some of you do read my ramblings! I sometimes think that I'm churning out this stuff simply because I enjoy writing it! And if my computer, which has just told me that it wants to turn itself off and restart does anything of the kind, it will find itself as the recipient of punitive action far beyond anything that any Newtonian has had to bear!

Safe so far - although it's still making ominous gurgling noises. I think I'll stop there, just in case.

An e-mail from Miss Chloe, by the way, informs me that she has a pet wombat. Yes, I thought you'd like that snippet. More tomorrow.

People, I am not a very happy bunny. There are several reasons for that, and the one that makes me particularly sad is that last night we had a case of what can only be called bullying. That, about which more in a moment - and it's a very good job I never mention any names on this blog - and an unacceptable degree of silliness and lack of respect last night for my assistant, Mr Bryan, has made me very disappointed.

If one is being charitable, I suppose the bullying incident (and you will note that I have not, as I often do with such words, placed it in inverted commas) was a case of two ten-year-olds having a go at one another, but what makes it unacceptable is that it became unpleasant. I have spoken very firmly indeed to the two Newtonians involved, and made it as clear as I know how that this kind of behaviour is utterly contrary to the conduct code that Diana and I insist upon, and I can only hope that the degree of contrition shown by both was genuine. It had better be.

As for the over-exuberance, well, that's just Christmas, I suppose. But I'd welcome any parental back-up that you can offer, because I want the last few days of this term to be fun for all of us, not ones in which I become more and more cantankerous and have to exercise more leash-tightening than I would wish.

Grrrr. I shall tell Sarnta if they're not careful. So they'd better watch out - as the song suggests.

Thanks to the parents' evening, and after many very agreeable conversations with Fifth Year parents,I strolled back into Newton just after my dear wife had extinguished all of the lights. By that I mean that she had turned them out, rather than that they went out as a result of her blowing a fuse.

Such casual behaviour on my part meant that I had to wait until this morning (after a rather fitful night, spent, for the most part, worrying about Tom spending time in the Land of the Rising Sun. Ha! There's an phonetic irony: land of the rising son! As if. Still, you never know) until I saw the decorations and Christmas trees festooning the dorms! I think a little bit of licence was taken as far as the interpretation of when such adornment of the sleeping quarters might occur, but as the deputy headmaster did not visit Newton last night I think they (i.e.: we) got away with it. And it does make the place look very jolly.

I forgot to tell you that Diana was savaged in Lloyds Bank the other day. Oh don't worry, it was only verbally. When she told me about her unfortunate encounter I couldn't help but think that if I'd been a bank robber and seen what awaited me I would have nipped up the road to HSBC. Perhaps Lloyds have started a new security initiative. (Oh smacked hand. I'm a great fan of 'Mock the Week'. I know it's outrageous and I shouldn't be.)

All of the residents were very sleepy this morning when I woke them, but they soon got into gear and they were all out of lodge punctually. I've been feeling slightly under the weather for the past three days and this culminated in my developing a very seductive voice this morning. Not great for a lodge parent, of course, for all kinds of reasons, but I was touched by one, who, on hearing me acknowledge his 'good morning' with a voice that sounded like gravel rolled in treacle, enquired, 'Are you all right, sir?'

I'm fine. Especially as Mr Bryan's on duty tonight. I can go to bed with a hot toddy. Not the innuendos, if you don't mind.

I was always told by my various English teachers that I should never begin any piece of writing with the word 'well'. But rules, of course, are made to be broken.

Well! That was an interesting weekend! I hope that all of you had a great time with your young, and now we can look forward to the winding down (er, up,) of the end of term.

I am pleased to report that I have now completed all of my reports, but, thanks to the machinations of our wonderful new system, I can change any of them at any time! I shall not hesitate to inform any of my pupils of that particular feature of the system if any of them should consider, for more than a nano-second, that their lodge master/English/French teacher needs winding up!

That all sounds a bit tetchy, doesn't it? I suppose the nearest I can get to an excuse is that I had to say goodbye to our son, Tom, this morning, as he left for Japan or seven months. All a bit emotional, I fear, and I'm afraid that I'm not very good at farewells - especially when it involves one's own family members. I received a text message from Hannah, our daughter, asking me directly whether I cried. Of course not. i.e.: yes. I have to say, though, that my distress was somewhat alleviated by the fact that when he checked in, was informed that although he was in economy class from London to Zurich, hehad been upgraded to Business Class thereafter. All right for some. And I've just learnt from the Swissair website that he's landed in Tokyo. I'm sure his girlfriend, Risa, will be very pleased - as are we.

Ruthie, if you're reading this, which I'm sure you are, thanks for everything. I have just heard from your successor, Miss Chloe, that she will be taking over from you in January. She sounds almost as nice as you, and I hope that she will have a very happy time with us.

Chloe, if you're reading this, which I'm sure you are, we're really looking forward to welcoming you here, and I hope that you will have a very happy time with us.

Do you think I got away with that? I'm sure one or both of them will let me know!

It's great to have your little men back with us. It's strange how we miss them. No, honestly - we do!

We all thoroughly enjoyed the First Year play tonight - and it was terrific. Mrs Stoop's debut as director was one to remember for all the right reasons and she can afford to be very proud.

It was all pretty liberal here tonight (yet with firm hand just touching the tiller, just in case things should go awry. Which they didn't.) The ubiqutous 'it' was leagues, cords and guernseys tonight, and once we'd collected them all in, we were able to enjoy an evening which offered the options of games in the dorms, 'Bang Goes the Theory' on TV in Curlew, or Heart FM in the common room. All accompanied by orange segments, custard creams and the last remaining geological evidence that there had once been a chocolate mountain. It was suggested by one resident that the common room should be re-styled as the 'Newton Club', as there was a fair amount of dancing to the music going on, so I'm waiting for a suitable name to be dreamt up!

As for the decorations saga, I am pleased to report (although the Newtonians are not pleased to learn) that the pronouncement from on high, which has now become an SF numbered policy (something like SF/6574/Dec/09/RB/CS/1a, and it forbids the embellishment of any dorm until after the forthcoming short leave, and then only with the express per of the Deputy Head. (Who will probably have to access a permission form from the policy file before it can be authorised.)

And talking of dancing, as I was earlier, picture the following scene:

Me, on seeing a Heronian dancing in a rather eccentric manner: "Would you mind getting into your bed, rather than performing Japanese ballet?"

Another Heronian: "Sir, what does Japanese ballet look like?"

Me (without hesitation; it's that time of term): "Like this."

I then, for reasons that any psychiatrist would explain rather quickly, decided to give a demonstration of the said dancing genre, including what I thought was a rather good pirouette, culminating in a leap across the floor.

"Like that." I said.

Once the Heronians had picked themselves up from under their duvets and wiped their eyes (in amazement, I think, I told them that that was probably the first and last time a Newton lodgemaster would give a demonstration of Japanese ballet.

Oh well, Tom's off to Japan for seven months on Monday morning, so he can tell me all about what it's really like when he gets back.

'Vengeance is mine', etc. I knew I should have left the chocolate mountain alone in the first place, rather than brag about the fact that I'd found it. While shaving this morning, which is usually a time for quiet contemplation and focus on the demands of the day, as I've mentioned before on this blog, there was a very unpleasant twang from my back, which proved to be so agonising that I practically fell to the ground. I felt like the dentist in that well-known Mr Bean sketch where Mr B accidentally jabs the anaesthetic syringe into the leg of the dental practicioner. The humourous element of the said sketch, though, was sadly lacking in my particular version.

So, depsite counsel from Mrs C and a visit to Hobsons, I'm hobbling around the place like someone twice my age. Well, a few years older, perhaps. OK, a year older. The boys, I must say, are being remarkably sympathetic.

Mr Bryan tells me that all went well, although he was (not) surprised by one or two Newtonians who decided that newer members of staff might not be fully aware of episcopalian regulations concerning the adornment of the lodge by decoration, and 'tried it on'. I suppose you can't blame them, really; didn't we all try something similar during our schooldays? What the residents had not recalled, however, that Mr Bryan is a Cambridge Classics graduate, with a fine degree, and therefore at least five, if not more, steps ahead of even the most laser-beam-minded Newtonian. Oh yes. He could see right through it. (Dangerous that, you know, as the Chaplain reminded us on Sunday.)

Of course, there always has to be one, doesn't there. Clever-clogs incarnate, who decides that he's not going to accept any of this 'you-can't-put decorations-up-until-Mr-Bishop-says-so' lark. So what does he do? He takes it to the top. To Mr BT- and asks him.

And what does Mr BT say? He says it's up the lodge master. Oh great. I will not bore you with the minutiae (again), I will simply tell you that a Casesarean decree about Christmas decorations, from somewhere above was passed this morning.

In my (very brief) study of 'pataphysics, so beloved of Paul McCartney, I read about 'the tangential point between zero and infinity'. I mention that because, to lower the tone somewhat, from the mega-intellectual to the subterranean, having written my very up-beat post, I went from 'Ho ho ho' to 'No no no!' in minus seconds after lights out, following some very 'unfortunate' behaviour after lights out.

There we were, Mrs C and I, happily taking stock of the day, reading the paper with David Attenborough's voice purring away in the background, the dog supine on the sofa when I became aware of an ominous clomping from above. It's a familiar sound, and it always heralds trouble. I raced upstairs.

"Explain!" I commanded, upon seeing four recidivistic Newtonians fooling around in the vins.

I was then treated to a less than fascinating exegesis on exactly why it was that certain people were being de-bagged, and why there should be much to-ing and fro-ing. I decided that, if this state of affairs were to be nipped in the embryonic bud, I needed back-up.

"H'm. Let's see what the Director of Boarding has to say about this, shall we? I'll ring Mr Sparrow on my mobile."

The guilty looked anxious.

"Ring ring, ring ring. Hello?"

"Ah, Mr Sparrow." I then put his voice onto loudspeaker and provided him with chapter and verse. The guilty looked even more anxious.

"I think they need to come and see me in Mayfield at 7.20 tomorrow morning, Mr Cheater. I look forward to their arrival."

Well, arrive they did - and I haven't heard any more about it. I hope I don't. I think they did, though.

They can run, but they can't hide.