Here's my very last word on the matter: Hold those you love close and remember Britain is the finest country in the world!

IF you're reading this then I'm dead. I've always wanted to write that. Well, obviously not always.

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But, bear with me because there's something very tempting, after more than half a century as a journalist and broadcaster, about having the final word! And this I suppose is it, my friends. You're reading this and I'm in the great radio studio in the sky, hanging out (hopefully) with some of my own broadcasting heroes.

I'm writing at the age of 74, facing, probably, the last few weeks of my life. I can't pretend it's not hard. On me or my lovely wife, Nadine, and my family and friends, too.

But it feels necessary, and I hope they'll understand. Am sure they'll be chuckling.

After all, I couldn't be silenced in life and, well, even now I'm still banging on! Of course, I don't want to die. I'd love to be around to see if Reform UK wins the next general election and whether my old friend and sparring partner Nigel Farage can sort out Britain's many problems; learn whether Keir Starmer even makes it to the elections let alone Rachel Reeves! And, touch wood, to see Ukraine free once again from Russian warmongering.

But in the grand scheme of things, I've not had a bad run. Even if I've not quite made the average age for men of my generation (82, since you ask), I've comfortably out-performed the expectations of those born only a decade or so earlier than I was.