Endgame

Well, dear reader(s), this is it. This is my last blog. After a year documenting the minutes and minutiae of my life (putting the chronic in chronicles), I am hanging up my metaphorical pen and signing off as a blogger. The time has come to dedicate all my creative energy to my increasingly hectic day job as the nation's favourite freelance copywriter - and there’s something pleasingly circular about finishing up before Christmas, having started this blog back in early January. There may not be so much as a hint of Lindt or a soupçon of Suchard over the next fortnight, but there will be excessive amounts of cheese-eating and general vegetation, and quite frankly, I can’t be arsed thinking of clever puns and wordplays to entertain you over the festivities. Although did you know that Gary Numan is 13 days older than Gary Oldman? That’s my Fact of 2013, that is. I mean, like, dude, and stuff, you know.

Writing a blog has been fun, but because my working weeks are so jam-packed nowadays, it’s increasingly eating into my spare time. These precious moments could otherwise be spent planning my wedding, learning German, building up my Twitter following or maintaining my frankly obsessive knowledge of modern and classic cars. So that’s what I’m going to do from now on. In a year’s time, I’ll be a married bilingual twat who can spot a Dacia at a hundred paces. If I’m completely honest, it’s also becoming difficult to write new posts without revealing too much about myself – I’m fundamentally a private person, so blogging at all is slightly counter-intuitive. If I’m blogging for much longer, I’ll end up recounting the story about the drug dealer’s girlfriend…

As a final parting gift to a grateful and tearful world, I have decided not to delete my blog, but rather to leave it online. It will thus form a permanent shrine to my sheer talent with a keyboard (move over, Rick Wakeman), and also in case anyone stumbles upon it who might want to give me a lucrative job blogging for a newspaper or magazine. That way, future generations can marvel at my use of the Oxford comma, the deft deployment of parenthesis, and the occasional indulgent inclusion of past participles. Also, any Johnny-come-latelys can read my considered ramblings about the failings of the NHS (‘Wait and bleed’), the threat of militant feminism (‘Here comes the monster’), abused apostrophes (‘Mr Writer’), and why some Lanarkshire towns have to have self-repairing infrastructure (‘Welcome to the jungle’). By the way, if you spotted that all these blog titles are also the names of rock and metal songs, well done – you would have my eternal respect if I knew who you were.

In the immortal words of Dave Mustaine, one thousand times goodbye. And if you actually are the commissioning editor of Shortlist or GQ, gissajob. Go on…