It's late, the night before the YBNBY Deathclock will finally reach zero. I've just gone through the system revoking author permissions for all the other writers who have already bid you their final farewells. And I've opened a bottle of Chardonnay.

In other words, the place is cleared, the chairs are up on the tables, and I've locked the front door. All that's left is for me to turn out the lights, and then lock the door again behind me as I leave.

Quiet, isn't it?

But first, there's no hurry. It's our final chat, so pull up a chair, pour yourself a glass, and let's reflect...