And now the column I have dreaded writing. To get me started, how about a bar or two of Sinatra?
“And now, the end is here, And so I face the final curtain …”
Ah, that’s better. Thanks Frank. Now I can say what I have to say: “The Marcus and Kelly Show” is over after a two-year run.
That’s right O.V.E.R. The final curtain is about to be drawn.
Don’t worry, all you Kelly fans. It’s the ugly, old, grouchy one, with the plummy English accent, who is leaving. You will still have babbling Brooks to keep you company.
Am I sad to be leaving? Extremely. Do I feel slightly treacherous? Yes, I do.
And guess what? I also feel oddly relieved, for there is something of the confessional in handing in your notice. It is like unburdening yourself of a deep, dark secret that has been gnawing at your guts, making you hateful to all and sundry.
There are also gratifying perks to leaving: extra smiles, extra TLC, extra gifts. I’ve never felt so special. What would be the reaction if I said: “Hey guys, I was only joking”?
When I came to the Barrhead Leader on Sept. 6 2011, dressed in a black suit, sober tie and scuffed trainers – striking what I imagined was a chic balance between slick professionalism and informality – I was full of trepidation. I was an outsider, an oddball, something of a transient and misfit, with no experience of rural Alberta. I fully expected to be treated with suspicion.
Instead I was greeted with an outpouring of warmth. Virtually every week I arrived at my office to find a token of appreciation for a little article I had written: thank you notes and cards, chocolates and other candies. On my six-month anniversary I received a cake and ginger ale.
So why am I leaving? To plagiarize the Godfather movie, I got an offer I could not refuse.
That doesn’t mean a gun was literally placed against my temples. It means I was offered the chance of returning to Bermuda after seven years. Can even my harshest critic condemn me for accepting?
It was an unsolicited offer. I was content to spend the rest of my working life in Barrhead, but then the image of myself lolling on a Bermuda beach on Christmas Day, a glass of fruit punch in one hand, a plate of conch fritters in the other, was planted in my head. Once there, it could not be dislodged. Even as I write it smiles at me, fluttering eyelashes in seductive grace.
In one sense I am glad I am leaving on the cusp of summer, since I can’t be reproached for bailing out of an Albertan winter.
It is also great travelling weather – an important consideration as I drive 5,000 odd kilometres to Prince Edward Island, from where I will fly to Bermuda.
Tradition dictates a farewell column should contain a list of people who have made a difference to one’s life. However, I will eschew this practice. The list would be too long, the risk of omission too great.
Instead, I want to embrace all these people in a huge hug and say thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for your generous hearts, for your acceptance and your humour. Thank you for your love and affection.
Thank you for contributing to some of the happiest days of my life.
Maybe we will meet again. I dearly hope so, since I count you as friends.
If you should visit Bermuda, please look me up. I will be working at The Royal Gazette, the island’s daily paper in Hamilton. I would be happy to be a tour guide and show off the beauty of this North Atlantic gem, with its coral reefs, pink beaches and spectacular resorts. If you are lucky you will see the Gombeys, noted for peacock feather headdresses, energetic dancing and thunderous rhythms.
I would also be happy to introduce you to the delightful taste of a Rum Swizzle.
Ah yes those Rum Swizzles. They remind me how blessed I am to be going from paradise to paradise.
From one set of beautiful people to another.
