It's just gone 1am and here I am in front of the flat screen. Harry Potter mug of drinking choc (fridge is crammed with milk) and small bowl of homemade granola (wifey following Nigella's recipe) have been consumed.

General sense of well-being mightily aided by having actually accomplished stuff: (1) to update a friend's website gratis; said I'd do this last weekend, then promised I'd do it tonight, and (2), er, to update another site, this time in return for some free cake & coffee. It's all good.

Also adding to the overall pleasantness is Rufus Wainwright singing his showtunes in the background and the thought of a lie-in tomorrow. Ah.

Think I just heard the sound of tiny footsteps on the landing. May well have to turf youngest out of my bed when I head up shortly. Like the thoughtful dad I am, I checked his own bed earlier on (once he was in the land of the fairies) and removed the large marbles nestling against his side that he'd been playing with when the lights went out. Slumberdown City is calling me if I can only stop typ..

I'm at that awkward stage of my life where my brother-in-law is about to make his first zombie film. How have other readers got through this difficult time?

Seven days ago found us on Charmouth's stony and fossil-y beach. Most impressed by the heritage centre there: learned from and laughed at the cartoons showing how a fossil is formed.

Earlier in the week, had jogged to the local church at Chaldon Herring and taken a stroll around the graveyard. Was struck by one of the epitaphs there: All Shall Be Well. Felt the need to (mis)spell this out at Charmouth.

Back from sunny Dorset to sunny Suffolk. Before I regale some holiday tales, here's a thing: don't you think that caravans have weird & wonderful names? Here are some we (as a family - it beats I Spy) spotted last week:

• Moselle Pageant
• Ranger
• Adria
• Avondale
• Coachman
• Knightsbridge
• Fleetwood
• Shamal (bit Ricky Gervais, that one)
• Lunar Lexon (used to play this on a programmable calculator)
• Marauder (navigate around Hogwarts)
• Esprit Panache
• Delta
• Conqueror
• Freelander
• Wyoming Senator
• Expression
• Firebrand (ideal for quidditch)
• Coachman VIP
• Pastiche (popular in Cornwall?)
• Solar
• Swift Alouette (ohhhhhhh)
• Compass Reflection

And now I can tear up the sickly green 3x5 index card of my motorhome scribbles.

Thursday evening saw 80% of the family at the local flicks for the latest Tim Burton / Johnny Depp joint venture, C&TCF. Actually 20% of us (being 25% of those present) was there with her own friends, and the remaining 20% was having a pre-hols leg wax, priorities being what they are.

Marvellous looking film right from the opening scenes showing the chocolate bar production line and the Golden Tickets being seeded. How can they guarantee that the five special bars will be dispatched to different parts of the world? I like to worry about such insignificant matters, as others concern themselves with non-existent cameras on Hotblack Desiato's remote controlled vehicle.

The Bucket family look like they need a helping hand from Bob Geldof. Mum is none other than Helena Bonham-Carter, a long way from the church of Santa Croce.

My own stupid fault that I missed a couple of scenes: you think you're being thoughtful by taking a drink for the kids, but what goes in must come out (fairly soon afterwards). I joined in the spirit of the film by devouring a giant 25p Swizzel stick plus a handful of dolly mixtures washed down with a choccy Frijj milkshake. Great being an adult at times, since I hadn't even had my tea beforehand!

Unexpected call from a friend at work late morning: his wife had made him some sarnies - bless - so did I want to meet him over in the coffee lounge? Yep, said I, sounds like a plan: I can always tackle that Times Su Doku another time.

Ten minutes later, a second call: what about if he brought over his chess set - did I want a lunchtime game? Now there's an offer you don't get every day.

Quarter to one saw us scoffing sandwiches and laying out the miniature board, me trying to remember the last time I'd played. Couple of moves in, I queried the position of the knights which were inside the bishops: we agreed to reset & restart from square one.

Terribly civilised way to spend a lunch hour. Could have been somewhere much more exotic like Washington's Dupont Circle, f'rinstance.

He attacked, I defended. He didn't want to exchange queens. Then I spotted an opening and went after him, causing him to think it was checkmate, which it wasn't. Couldn't sustain the offensive, however, and eventually capitulated. Good game, as Bruce used to say.

Look, here comes item 8 from my NY resolutions:

"arrange and play 5-a-side footy match"

And lo, it came to pass. As unlikely as it sounds, I discovered an all-weather pitch c/w netless goals about 90 seconds walk from the office, bookable online for nowt, though hardly used. Seems that the tech-heads here would rather set up their gym membership direct debit and not do that either.

Been playing on & off of a Tuesday lunchtime for several months now: first game had a turn-out of five hardy souls and took place between snow falls. Attendance has been rising like something which rises very slowly, as former going-to-seed players have reverted to being current players. So much so that yesterday saw a dozen grown mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun, necessitating a mini tournament between three teams of four.

I used to daydream about beating one man, then the next, before rounding the keeper and slotting the ball home. Truth be told, I was always far more keen than capable; didn't stop me dreaming.

Then, with the final kick of the game yesterday, I found myself in space, took on the last defender - elbows & all - and somehow contrived to squeeze the ball into the net. Goooooaaaaaal! Pats on the back and kind words all around. Keeps a chap young, I tell you, having one glorious moment in the sun like that.

Not the requisite eight hours shut-eye last night. Beginning to drift off when The Boy scuttled on to the bed and quickly burrowed himself under the covers before his father could protest.

Several hours later The Middler appeared, as if by magic, claiming a bad dream. At which point her father carried the mostly-still-asleep Boy back to his bed where, miraculously, he stayed put.

Good, thought the parent: Dr Who still has the power to upset small children. Yes, the DVD had a "12" certificate, but one's eight and the other's five which makes 13, i.e. one more than you need.

Returning to his own bunk, the children's father felt obliged to brush off the thin covering of sand on the sheet. Which is what happens what person A is reading the book (HP6) previously enjoyed by person B on Walberswick Beach.