If, in August, you found yourself in a branch of Monoprix, the French version of Woolies, you'd have seen that those Frenchies, bless their brioches, have a word for it -- la rentree. It's plastered all over ads of smiling kids scribbling with stylos, carrying their sacs magiques and wearing sensible vetements.

I figure that this translates best as re-entry. You've been drifting along with minimal propulsion, enjoying the smoothest of rides (perhaps with the Blue Danube tinkling gently in the background). Suddenly there's greatly increased drag and your blunt body's in danger of burning up unless you have the right angle of attack.

One item you'll definitely need is a reliable Thermal Protection System: actually, when you've got a min, we need to talk about your TPS reports. Did you get that memo?

The Brooms of Broom Hill staged a staggered re-entry this week:

• I hit my entry corridor on Monday,
• wifey and Middler and The Boy de-orbitalised on Tuesday,
• and Eldest, after coming close to break-up the night before, eventually engaged her passive cooling system on Wednesday.

Took until day three for Boysy to come home with an "Ouch!" letter in his book bag. Said he'd got a piece of carrot stuck in his throat when going out to play: he was only choking.

To celebrate our successful crossing of the Heaviside layer, good old dad lashed out on some £1.99 Playmobil specials (4625 knight, 4647 rider and 4650 ghost) for the schoolies, and even threw in a drumstick lolly each. And because The Boy was catching up on some Doctor Who Adventures, there was also a Tilly Beany paperback from ebay and a Simpsons comic. Who says you can't buy love?