Term has been stumbled to a conclusion. All lectures have been given, classes taught, and if all essays have not been returned, this is not the fault of the Professors. The first and second years in particular appear to dread the notion of feedback; they wish only to deposit their horrid little offering and scurry away. There is no news on the dog front. Either this will happen or it won’t. We seem to be on better terms with our central heating, I’m thankful to relate: a visit from the head man of the heating engineers revealed that the occasional explosions were indirectly caused by the heavily-tattooed Wee Craig, who had neglected to open some essential valve somewhere in the system. Things have now gone quiet. Barry the Great has insulated the attic, so one way and another, we are a good bit warmer. We are thus in a position to turn our minds to Christmas: this year’s production was retrieved from the printer’s only on Thursday (our fault, not theirs) so those of you who are reading this from abroad are unlikely to see anything till the new year, but I hope you will like it when you do.