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Hello you. I’m Justin McKeating and I’ve been fortunate enough to be writing for The Friday Thing for nearly a year. You may remember me from such conceits as the geriatric Indiana Jones or that bit about Tony Blair dreaming about being buggered by his many victims.

If I could plead your indulgence, I’d like to say a few words to mark the passing of a dear friend. I hope many of you are as upset as I am as the sun sets on TFT. For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings.

I’d been a devoted reader from almost the beginning and had always dreamt about writing for The Thing. When I was asked if I’d like to join, my reaction was something akin to how my seven year-old self would have responded had he received a call from Han Solo asking him to stand in on Chewbacca’s day off.

I imagined TFT’s writers were impossibly cool; impeccably dressed, free with their money and fags, with a cynical and dry bon mot for every occasion. I was slightly disappointed to find in reality that they were a nefarious and dysfunctional crew of tight-fisted cutthroats, drug addicts and sexual deviants. Who dressed terribly.

I jest of course. I was lucky enough to join TFT during what I saw as the august organ’s golden age. Along with the excellent Sarah Bee, John Camm and Alistair Coleman, and under the dark tutelage of mercurial but evil geniuses Graham Pond and Paul Carr, I set sail for the very limits of taste, cynicism and sanity. In such excellent company I was inspired to produce some of my best writing. I hope you liked some of it.

(I have a blog which I won’t whore here. Google my name and get in touch if you’d like me to help cheer you up or if you feel like trying to raise my spirits.)

But that’s it. No longer will there be that sense of excitement on a Friday waiting for the latest edition to arrive. It was a fierce affection that I never lost even when I joined as a writer and I know many of you share it. TFT’s gone before its time like an anti-Tony Blair. He’s declared he’s going but looks like he’s sticking around for ever. We declared ‘Five More Years!’ on our birthday a few weeks back but here we are folding faster than George Bush playing Snap.

Bollocks.

(First published in the last ever edition of The Friday Thing. Go and have a look around the archives, it was really good.)