Er, 1 day left at Printing House Street

With tomorrow the last day, some of us are feeling a little nostalgic at the years that have passed. In my case, the first time I tapped away at keyboards in editorial here was 18 years ago.

But can you imagine the feeling you get when you move on from a job after 60 years?

This sprung to mind today when I was clearing the last drawers at the editor's desk and came across a letter from a great old hack.

Fred Norris - colour writer, story-getter and old-fashioned showbiz correspondent extraordinaire - penned his thoughts on September 23 2003:

"It is with a very sad heart that I write this letter as it brings down the curtain on a career which began almost 60 years ago when, still wearing a school blazer and cap in 1944, I joined the editorial staff of the Mail as pencil sharpener, tea boy and cigarette hunter in wartime Birmingham city centre."

Imagine that... 1944 to 2003. I still keep in touch with Fred, and know he won't mind me quoting him. And each time I meet him he recalls a different dazzling story from those 59-odd years when print was king.

The great trials; Coronations; Churchillian visits; Enoch Powell speeches; executions; riots; (not-so) secret shenanigans of the then stars of stage and screen.

But what I also remember from Fred is how he, too, moved with the Mail across town from the old Cannon Street premises in the mid-1960s to where we are now on Printing House Street.

"Back in those days we lost whole days of editions, such were the technical hitches created by the move," he recalled. "I remember interviewing the then MD for a story explaining to readers why their beloved paper had not been on sale the previous day."

That's not going to be the case in 2008, of course, as the digital age means it's literally a case of some well-planned unplugging and plugging in by our computer superiors in IT. (Fingers crossed).