Station X. The ultra-enigmatic staff of Hut 6

Yesterday I brought home a certificate from the days' activities: a "Best in Group" laminate from the Priory school sports afternoon. There was no javelin, no Greco-Roman wrestling, no 100 yard hurdles, no rugby. Instead it was modern pretend sports such as throw the beanbag, balance the beanbag on your head while walking along and climbing the stair (yes, 1 stair). I won my prize because I was best at dribbling the ball around the cones, an ability gained from the excellent Thursday football training. I live in the catchment area for Priory: so, roll on, enrolment @ Portsmouth Grammar School.

Jof has banned me from Thursday football because of the current tendency towards argument. So on the way home LittleMax and I railroaded the parents into letting him come round to mine "to help cut the ivy". This was one of the registered jobs for today so the deal was done.

He arrived a short while later (the thermometer in the conservatory registered a conservative 110°F) and we removed our shirts and went straight outside to view said ivy: we ignored it and harvested some beans and peas instead. Then we got on with hula-hooping (unsuccessful) and holler-whooping (successful). LittleMax was terrified by the eagle that sat on Hut 6 (pigeon) and the giant beetles (woodlice).

Then we turned down the chance to hose the garden (with its 39 different species of flowers) and chose instead to go inside, get all the toys out and parade with the musical instruments.

Finally took him home 6-ish.