We’re all pip! pip! hurrah! and jolly hockey sticks as the lads transfer from an American to a British school, an exercise which involves the donning of caps and ties and that most sensible of desert wear, the woollen blazer. Mad dogs and Englishmen? We iz them.

Where once they came home with tales of the Founding Fathers and the place of John Wilkes Booth in history, now they are reciting the Rime of the Ancient Mariner and making sure their top button is securely fastened.

Eldest has a space in his timetable where he had to choose between Latin and Mandarin. Reasons galore left him making this choice without adult guidance and he has gone with Latin a choice he has explained thusly:

‘Well, Mum, everyone is learning Mandarin,’

then later (for yes, he was double enquired of)

‘Well, Dad, how much interest have I ever shown in China? But you already know that I love Asterix.’

So pip! pip! hurrah! and veni vidi vici. If they were just doing lacrosse instead of hockey they’d be living my schoolgirl dream. I always wanted to struggle with my Virgil, then be given slices of orange out on the lacrosse field.

On another note, I went back to the gym for the first time since we left for Barcelona. If you need me, I’m on the couch staring vacantly into space and hoping school pick up doesn’t roll around too soon.