Am suffering from unexpected and rather Scroogesque dislike of the Arctic weather conditions currently prevailing here in Blighty. Normally I would be bouncing up and down like a rubber wallaby at the appearance of so much snow, and indeed I spent much of last week introducing my kids to the joys of snowball wars (like snowball fights, only with strategy and barricades) and building very small igloos. However, while attempting to get to work on Friday I managed to introduce my car to the Lighthorne Heath roundabout (they got on smashingly well) on account of icy road surfacings, so the resulting minor whiplash and large dent in the front of my beloved Pastamobile have rendered my feelings somewhat antipathetic towards all things wintery.

Lest the words "humbug" and "bah" should find themselves wandering towards this post, not necessarily in that order, I shall stop here and go and apply something warm and soothing to the back of my neck.

After a truly whopping number of years plugging away at miscellaneous unruly servers for the same client, I am legging it away off to a brand spanking new job. I am hoisting the mainsail, singing yo-ho-ho to several bottles of rum, stowing the anchor and sheeting the yardspoon.

Okay, maybe not the last one; it's been a while since I sailed anything larger than a bath sponge.

Given the volume of job-related crap which has been dumped upon my long-suffering noggin in recent months, I'm quite pleased about the prospect, as my will to live was seriously considering faking its own death and buggering off to Panama. But, no longer; I'm now positively brimming with vim, vigour, verve, vivacity and other fizzy-sounding words beginning with "V" which are surely just dying to leap out of a nearby thesaurus and attack this sentence.

I have sent out my "so long and thanks for all the fish" email. I have arranged the traditional farewell steak-pie-and-half-a-shandy lunch at the local pub for this Friday. All of my electronic offspring have been handed over to their new guardians. My desk is clean and my drawers are as empty as a hermit's social calendar. All that remains is for me to try and get as much as possible of the contents of the giant economy size tub of Marmite sitting on my desk onto the eight slices of toast which are sitting next to it. I suppose I could always take the jar with me, but where's the fun in that?

Exciting times, citizen!