It’s been a secret for two and a half weeks, but finally, today, my resignation from PCW was formally announced. It’s not been a well-kept secret. I have had so many emails from editors and writers on other magazines that it’s clear most of the industry already knew but internally at least there was just a couple of us in the know.

It’s very exciting, obviously. A new job. A different magazine. A different publishing house. New people to meet. A new schedule to work to, as I switch from PCW’s monthly rota to the fortnightly schedule of MacUser.

I will have many happy memories of my time at PCW. I had only planned on staying two years, but it has been six, so things must have worked out pretty well. That makes me the second longest serving member of the team, though, as only Clive has been there longer. I can’t even begin to work out how many have passed through the team in that time, but it’s at least 50, and perhaps closer to 100.

So anyway, I’d better start thinking about a leaving do. I’ve been to so many in the last few months that it’s difficult to think what to do, or where to go. I’m thinking either dog racing or bingo rather than the regular night at the pub, which is pretty much de rigeur.

Speaking of which, it was Mark’s last day today, and in spite of his ‘official’ leaving do last Friday, he had another one tonight to mark the final final very last day. I am going to miss him a lot, but even if he wasn’t leaving, I am, so we’d still not be working together any more.

We decamped to Porters, as usual, and took over half a dozen tables or so to drink the night away, and when the time came for me to leave we hugged and promised that we’d do lunch whenever we can - starting with next week.

For once, I have no doubt that we will. It’s so common to say you’ll stay in touch, but never actually do it but I know that between us it will actually happen.

I could have stayed far longer if I didn’t have to be at Waterloo at some obscenely early time tomorrow morning to catch the train to Paris, and even now I’m sitting here typing emails I didn’t have time to do in the office. It’s ten to midnight, I haven’t packed a bag yet, and I have to be up at a time that shouldn’t even exist to get to London on time.

I’m grateful we’re travelling first class, where they feed you a free breakfast and slot you into seats wide enough to sleep in. A small mercy that will be so very, very welcome.

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