There, said the Mayor, that's that

Well, that's the end of this stint at the Independent. No more sleep-deprived battles with the Scottish division three table (did you see Gretna this season? What were they on? Chelsea? Pah!) No more late night drives across darkened London. No more celebrity interludes at 24-hour service stations.

Will I miss it? Obviously. Am I glad to be finished? You bet. Was I pissed off when I tried to drive out of the underground garage at 3am to go home, and found the security grille was down and I was trapped inside? Actually, no – it provided the opportunity for one last joke with the security guards when they eventually arrived to let me out.

But now is definitely the moment to hang up the old security passcard and move on to whatever the future holds.

At least until next time.