OK, I admit it. I'm now 60 - and have been since Wednesday, hence the lapse, for which I do apologise, dear Followers. Still, as Hugh Grant says, 60 is the new 40, and to judge from the past couple of days, he's not far wrong.

Wednesday was great, because it started with all the Newtonians (and then the rest of the school) wishing me a very happy birthday, and I was somewhat taken aback when I walked into my form room, to see my whiteboard completely smothered in birthday wishes! (I will draw a veil over the fact that the large writing in the middle of the board read 'Happy Birtday', because otherwise you might imagine that the teaching of English here is a little curious. I discreetly added an h.)

The day went on as it usually does on a Wednesday, until the evening, when we had issued a general invitation to our colleagues to come and help celebrate this momentous event. To my immeasurable delight, just about everyone came, and those who didn't make it all had very valid reasons as to why. It was a wonderful party, and I realised just how fortunate I am to live, work and have my being at this amazing school. My friend of many years, Mr Ives, our latest recruit, offered some extremely undeserved comments publicly, to which I responded that I had been determined not to become emotional about it being my last birtday at SF, but that to do so was to be like the chap who went and bought a gallon of Tippex. Big mistake.

Last night, the celebrations continued, as my dear wife had secretly and very cleverly arranged for our very greatest friends that we have known for many, many years, to congregate over in Mayfield, and then told me that we were going over to the Ives' for a drink. Of course, you can imagine what happened: all of the others jumped out from behind walls, under tables and behind curtains, and, having got over the shock (me of their jumping out, not them of me looking so ancient, I mean) we journeyed to a very nice restaurant in Jericho. (Oxford. No, I haven't gone completely gaga - yet.)

Anyway, it was wonderful, from start to finish, and, as I said in an interal e-mail to 'all staff', I wouldn't mind being 60 all over again .... !'

And so back to normality once again. Sheets and pyjamas were clean tonight, and the nit check elicited a few insectorial dwellings that have now been obliterated. (Not many, you'll be glad to know.)

I learnt of staring competitions with hamsters that take place at home, apparently, which put a new complexion on things, and then I was regaled with a whole load of jokes and quiz questions, some of which I was able to answer correctly by a process of deduction, which seemed to impress.

I was going to tell you my joke about the French snail who bought a Ferrari, but I think I've now been typing for long enough, so that can wait for another time.

Until then, then,

Goodnight

Another tremendous Newtonian evening, complete with a headmagisterial tour of inspection! And I know that Our Leader tunes in to this blog, so, sir, thank you for coming, and for making the evening such fun!

'twas shoe cleaning night, of course, and our guest of honour executed the judging thereof with all the skill of the professional diplomat, congratulating those who had won and making exactly the right noises to those who had not been so successful. (Sorry, brief pause, as I had to go and get mildly irritated' with Osprey, who seemed not to have noticed that their lights had been turned out. They're very quiet now.)

Apple juice was on offer tonight, as were what my brother and I used to call 'dog biscuits', which, I believe, are known as those packeted 'shortbread' things. You know, the ones that look like, well, dog biscuits. The HM had at least two, I noticed, and, unless my ears were deceiving me, then requested a third .... ! (Mrs C was watching me, with a menacing glint in her eye, lest I should get any big ideas.)

One incident did amuse me tonight, and that was the moment when Mrs C and Miss Alex gacve their evening final call for pants and socks to be handed in, and one of our member rushed down the stairs, waving the aforementioned garments in the air, calling 'Sir! Sir! Wait for meeeee ....!'
As I said to him, it was rather like the exact opposite of a scene from a film where one person is waving a handkerchief as a loved one sets sail for the other side of the world! A slowmo replay would be very funny indeed - but unfortunately, I didn't have my camera to hand. (And probably just as well, too. 'Er, well, your Honour, it was pants and socks, you see ..... ')

I must go. Last night's episode of 'Spooks' is calling.

Goodnight.

Well! That caused a fair old fluttering in the dovecotes ... ! I preached a sermon (gave a short talk) tonight, using the theme of 'choices', and regaled the congregation with my brief brush with the security services! I hear there's now a rumour going around that I'm a spy, to which all I can add is that 'I couldn't possibly comment' .... !

Tonight has been great. The boys have all been on top form, and whilst they've been buoyant, they haven't in any way been silly, so we've all been able to enjoy ourselves.

There isn't really much to report tonight, so I hope you've all had a good weekend. Not long now until Long Leave! Can you believe that?

Until tomorrow, then,

Goodnight.

Tonight there have been strange sights in Newton. Ghoulish figures have been seen, roaming the dormitories; ghostly silhouettes of human form lurching from corner to corner and then tumbling, gently, to the ground. Bewilderment has spread across the countenances of the Newtonian staff as they have witnessed these strange, alien visions.

I refer, of course, to sheet and duvet-changing. I could describe it all to you in considerable detail, but, basically, you just had to be there, as they say. Still, they got there in the end, and other than the possible scenario of the rescue team being called out to help a stranded pillow, there were no disasters. Not many triumphs, either.

My apologies for there having been no bloglog last night: Mrs C and I were off duty and Mr Porter was looking after affairs. Affairs of Newton, that is. Oh come on, you know what I mean. Our evening of release meant that we were able to catch up with Holby, and to learn whether Ollie really was going to leave medicine, or whether that ghastly Jac Naylor had managed to cast her witch-like spell over him - again. As for the rest of the subject matter of last night's episode, well, perhaps it may be best to cast a veil over the substance of the plot - as it were. I do admire Mr Hansen, though: I wish I could maintain his cool, unflustered composure so deftly, instead of engaging in my nightly Basil Fawlty impressions.

There being no telly tonight, it being a Friday, we turned on the rather impressive old stereo radio, instead. Radio 1 was blaring out, and this caused further amazing sights on the dance floor of the DCR. Remarkable, the effect that music has on some!

As for the snacks, well, custard creams, digestives, juice and fruit were all consumed with alacrity, although I was dumbfounded to discover that Miss Alex had never tried digestives with cheese before. Obviously she has never camped, been a university student (obviously) or 'enjoyed' (not) a caravan holiday in the New Forest. So I remedied this missing feature of her life, and, to her credit, she said that rather enjoyed it.

As I say, you just have to be here.

Goodnight.

Last night, my friends, Mrs C and I journeyed to Buckinghamshire to be with my sister-in-law and her husband in their lovely home. We had a really delightful time, but our delight was extinguished when we returned (not late) to hear the members of one of our three dorms still chatting. We were not pleased, as you can imagine, and so we made our feelings pretty clear.

So, my dear Followers, would your own hearts not have melted if you had received, as we did, a card inscribed with the following:

'Dear Mr and Mrs C,
I am very sorry we cannot be friends. I do love you and I am not going to muck around any more. Love and goodnight,
xxxxxx xxxx.'

I explained, of course, how it all works, and how, whatever befalls us, we will always remain friends, and so I think - and hope - we are back on an even keel again. I'm sure we are.

Today, I went on a trip to the British Museum, which, by happy chance, happened to be right next door to where Tom C was in a lecture on the Japanese language. He therefore joined us for lunch, which was great, and I was able to catch up with how things are going. Well, it seems, and made all the better by the fact that several boys, who had been in Newton and therefore knew Tom C from yesteryear, offered him their Kit-Kat bars because they didn't want them ..... !

I must say that I didn't know much about African art before I went, although my dear mama (now 92) used to buy various pieces and infer that we'd brought them back from our international travel.s (On which we went as far as France.) They're probably worth a fortune now.

You'll be pleased to know that the Newton telly is now re-tuned to digital whatever-it-is, thanks to Mr Computer-Price's input.

Anyway, it's been a very happy and enjoyable Newtonian evening - and we've all been friends.

Goodnight.

So there I was, you see, strumming my piano as if I were calming the punters in a sleazy nightclub (the last time I was in such a place was many, many years ago in Bath, when, as I recall, several of us ended up in a hedge halfway up Landsdown Hill, so the less said about that the better), when suddenly I found myself surrounded by young admirers who generously informed me that they thought it was the radio. Oh well, there's hope yet, then.

Panda Rescue came into its own tonight, with a tricky situation to deal with down the side of a bunk, but you'll be pleased to know that we didn't, in the end, have to call for helicopter assistance and that all the experience that the team had gained in the teddy rescue of two weeks ago proved to be invaluable. I pointed out the appropriateness of my initials being PRC, which some understood. (Panda Rescue Company, lest you, too, should be struggling. Better than People's Republic of China, which was the moniker (is that the right word?) that was bestowed upon me by no less a figure than Richard Curtis, when I told his brother, Jamie, that his initials, which are JCRC, could be read as Junior Common Room Curtis.)

Shoe-cleaning took place tonight, which was tackled with the customary diligence and a singalong with Miss Alex's radio, which was anything but tuneful. There were five lucky winners, who had given their footwear a decent shining, and each received an edible prize. I feel puns coming on, but it's a bit late to make up silly sentences about sole winners, or lacey boys.

Jaffa Cakes rounded off the evening, and silent reading came and went, well, silently. And now they're all asleep, after a very enjoyable time.

All is well.

Goodnight.

Goods evening, everyone, and welcome back.

I don't know about you, but Mrs C and I had the most amazing weekend, largely thanks to the exceptional weather, but also because it was very nice indeed to get to our house and, as the young will have it, to chill.

I had a glorious ride on the bike on Friday: an evening journey, up through our local villages, then down into Portesham, along through Abbotsbury and along the coast road. Unspeakably wonderful as I rode through lovely countryside, with the sea glistening on my left all the while.

That, and some lovely walks, again in countryide that is unequalled, with Mrs C and the dog, made for a great and memorable time. We were additonally blessed in that Miss Hannah C decided to come and stay on Saturday night, which was delightful and meant that we all had a very enjoyable dinner together. And not just because of a most exceptional South African red, either .....

As for tonight, well it was a pleasure to play for the service once again, especially after a nail-biting race up the M27 and the like, making it back just in time for choir practice and the director of music enquiring whether I'd had a 'good lunch' (I had: did it show?), and then an equal pleasure to be able to speak with many of you at the post-service bash. I arrived back in Newton very happily, where I was greeted by a chorus of 'How was your weekend' and the ever so slightly unamused countenances of Mrs C and Miss Alex, who reckoned that I might have outstayed my welcome in New Room. As you can imagine, I simply retorted 'Well, I'm the boss here, so I can do what I like'.

Er, um, no, I didn't really.

Goodnight,