The first magazine I worked for, called JS, closed down without warning at 10 am one morning in July 1977. Its current issue was already being printed in the basement of The Statesman newspaper, Calcutta, when top management sent an order to stop the machines. A perfectly normal working day turned, in a minute, into the chilling, inexplicable end of a beloved job in an unforgettable magazine.

Maybe this is why I have an aversion to surprises. I also assume that, like Don Corleone, you insist on hearing bad news immediately. In that spirit, I’d like to share with you, dear and faithful reader, that next week’s column of IMHO will be the last. You are reading my 411th column, and my second-last one, just five weeks shy of eight years. After just one more, I will disappear in a puff of smoke.