Times Up

Dear friends and others

After what seems like only 10 months at The Times, Mr Murdoch and I have decided to part company (though I don’t think he knows it yet. He’ll doubtless be distraught when he finds out). My last day here will be Friday June 4th, after which I shall be sat on my arse at home watching the World Cup and Test Cricket.

So this is just a quick note to say bye-bye to those with whom I’ve worked here, and hello to all you out there who might wanna employ me in future (oh come on ! surely?) My mobile should remain the same, if I can get the bastards to give me my PAC code.

Keep in touch, it’s been a blast. Honest.

Soon Not-to-be Features Picture Editor
The Times

Mike is available for wakes, strikes, global recessions, individual depressions, international financial slumps, natural disasters, acts of God, play-off humiliations, county court judgements, redundancy settlements, post-mortems, political carve-ups, serial killings and weddings. Standard network rates apply. Calls from mobiles will be higher.

11 thoughts on “Times Up

  1. Aaha.Well congrabulations…if indeed that is the right terminology for termination.
    June 4th eh? Suppose too soon/short notice for Sullys’ stag in Puerto Banus starting that very day?
    (Is a wake )

  2. Ah well, it would be perfect. I’ve got enough money to get me to Dartford, but I’d have to walk the rest. Think I’d miss most of it.

    • Date to be decided, but the address is :

      The Telephone Box,
      Outside the Swimming Pool,
      The Highway
      (knock three times and ask for Neddy)

  3. Join the gang. A mere 2.5m unemployed [sorry, freelance] hacks fighting for the three or four commissions available at any one time. And an endless torrent of eager newbies from 5,000 or so meeja skools ready to work for nothing to get a foot in the door. And a mass destruction of local papers by bone-headed beancounters.

    But on the bright side, you’ll get to see a lotta poofball.

  4. Dear Sir,
    you can always pick up your ars* and come to Buenos Aires, where a stupid she-President and a lot of beers always welcome Intelligence . . . if a stupid she-President can recognize the Intelligence . . . but if you have to walk from Dartford, better try a boat!

  5. You realize this only creates the rather enormous possibility that within three months, you’ll be blogging about what an annoying, time-wasting, Tory-empowering, consumer-buggering, soul-crushingly shite and hateful existence it is to be at home a lot with hardly a care. I’ve got the stop watch running already.

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