So this it how it ends.

For the past 1008 days this flat has been my home. No longer.

Goodbye Harrow brick road. Farewell Westbourne Park. Maida Vale studios - keep on rockin'. So long Pinky's. Adieu Le Cochonnet. Seeya Grand Union. And even though it's just around the corner, I never did get to visit the Institute of Psychoanalysis.

And to everyone else who's made these three years in West 9 so memorable - ta.

I thought I knew where I was leaving you for, but that's the way the cookie crumbles.

So I'm cast out onto the street, forced to move from spare bed to spare bed until I can once more find somewhere to call my own.

Until then, when I'm reunited with all my stuff (due to begin a sentence of unknown duration in HMP Self-Storage), this will have to be my home.

Don't touch that dial.