To hell in a milk float

It is now!

 

 

 

 

Well, this is it, isn't it? Yes. But then, I think it would be fair to say that it was all over months ago. In fact, I'm talking to what was once a huge and beautiful concert hall, which is now just a disused, fly-tipped, abandoned, miserable ruin. With maybe just a cleaner, sweeping the plaque on the wall saying:

 

"Here lived and died the blog of Potnoodleboy, December 2004 to November 2005. Well, he actually died a bit before then, but he wouldn't admit it until November. But if you're reading this plaque, it means you've been wandering around an abandoned, dripping, crumbling concert hall, which probably means you're either some kind of psychotic lunatic, or else you're a pair of horny teenagers with nowhere else to shag. In which case - watch out for that crazy fella."

 

And if you are that cleaner (yes, you. No, really. You. Got it? If you're reading this, then by the law of averages nobody else is!) then listen up, 'cause I have a dying wish. Well, basically, check back here in the new year (that's 2006, for all you archaeologists from the future with your flying cars and jetpacks and pathetic interest in the past). I'm starting, dear reader, to go off blogging a bit, in case you didn't notice. I'm planning, instead, to run a podcast, which should run on a monthly basis, from some - as yet - unknown URL, starting fairly shortly after Father Christmas has been and left. Got it? Good. Well, I guess I'd better pull the plug, then. Make sure you keep that plaque nice and shiny. (Yes, I did mean that in a spiritual way. And no, it's not a suggestive euphemism.)