...well not so much near as it has arrived upon us.

This, dear readers, is going to be the last blog. Thanks for logging on and reading over the past few months. I hope the entries have brought a smile or some other form of reaction. Thanks also to those who posted comments for the random question of the day.

Think of Fawlty Towers. There were only ever about 15 episodes made and that is part of the reason it is considered a classic, 25 years on. The Office and Phoenix Nights drew the line after two series. Films which call it quits after one or maybe two sequels are the ones which earn the plaudits rather than things like Police Academy 37.

So that's part of the reason why the blog is going to sleep. But really it never took off. Long gone are the days of 15 or so comments every day. We tried promoting it in the Free Press but it didn't really ignite any interest. And who can blame people. Between you and me, only one of my colleagues can admit they actually bother to read my ramblings on a regular basis.

So there's not much point carrying on. It takes ages to think of a subject and to then type in the entry each day. And I'm afraid half an hour for two or three readers just isn't very time-efficient. If you have stumbled across it as a new reader, feel free to trawl through the umpteen pages of entries. I hope you enjoy it...and you can always contact me at john.edwards@yrnltd.co.uk

Maybe today's random question can be LEAVE AN EPITAPH FOR THIS BLOG. LONG MAY IT REST IN PEACE.
"It was good while it lasted, but now it has gone"

No blog yesterday, no ideas for today's. I think it would be a fairly safe assumption that the fat lady is starting to clear her throat backstage!

There are plenty of John v Thom ideas bubbling away though. We are off doing our best David Dickinson impressions this afternoon, as we try to spot the tat from the treasure at an antiques shop. And next week, weather permitting, it'll be time for a round of golf, even though we are both total novices.

But before all that I'm concentrating on becoming power crazed. Me and thom are running our own election to tie in with the local council votes in a fortnight. We are drawing up our own manifestos about how to make Bridlington a better place and the lucky Free Press readers can choose their winner. We'll have a ballot box and on-line vote and the winner can maybe become Mayor of The Free Press or something similarly grand.

And our local MP is hopefully going to be helping us in our bids to be politicians, so that shows him to be a good egg as well doesn't it?

Random question? Oh I don't know. FAVOURITE POLITICIAN? No, actually scrap that. LEAST FAVOURITE POLITICIAN would be better. Thatcher's too obvious. George Galloway too. Alex (one policy) Salmond seems rather unpleasant. I'm sure there are plenty more little weasals who I think of later. But top of the list for worst politician must be that awful Ruth Kelly woman.

Promise the random question won't be as intellectual tomorrow. It'll be back to favourite sanwich filling or pizza topping or something like that. if it's still here...!

Did I have the winner in the Grand National? No, sadly not. None of my three tips finished the course, although Simon (backed purely because he shares his name with our deputy editor/Ben's godfather) was looking promising when second with six to jump. The problem was he didn't jump the sixth-from-home properly and my money was down the drain.

Those of you who followed my tipping guide on Friday (see below) probably didn't come up with the winner either. (It was 33/1 and I said the winner is always under 20/1) In fact the only person who I know did make a profit is free press celebrity Linda (as in the famous Letters To Linda), who quietly dropped into conversation that she had come up trumps. If only she had the magic touch with the office lottery syndicate she manages

So instead of thinking about how my winnings would change my life, I spent the weekend putting together a new lawnmower and picking up two pathetic injuries. One was a paper cut, they look so pathetic and are not at all manly but hurt like mad.

And also sunburn. Yes, sunburn, in Brid, in April. never thought it was possible. Admittedly my skin complexion means I burn in seconds when the sun is out, but it was still a bit of a surprise. All I did was go for a picnic in Filey (which is so much more genteel and well-kept than Bridlington) and go to feed some ducks at Buckton. And the ducks were very miserable. None of them wanted my bread. It was like throwing chocolate at 'hormonal' womenand seeing them chomp on lettuce instead.

Ah well. The pub quiz from Friday didn't quite work that well. Alan got Esha Ness as the winner of the non-National and has left a question. (I think it's Simon and Garfunkel, Al) So feel free to keep that thread running.
But for now. WHO WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO SEE BOOTED OFF OUR TV SCREENS FOREVER? Having seen the nonsense which passes for ITV's Saturday night line-up, can I nominate Vernon Kay? He grins all the time, thinks he is so cheesy and funny, does silly voices, his jokes don't work. I used to think he was bad on the radio but at least you don't see his stupid smile then. I reckon he's maybe not too bad off screen but put a camera in front of him and he turns into an absolute berk. Tess Daly is wasted on him.
I'll throw Davina McCall's name into the ring as well. Any more for any more?...

If last week's Boat Race was one of sport's great wastes of time, this weekend sees one of the greatest annual sporting events. The Grand National. Everyone loves it, from the regular gambler determined to earn kudos among his punting pals by picking the winner, to the housewife who has a flutter once a year and has to send hubby to the bookie's because she doesn't know how to fill out the betting slip.

I love it too. Jenny is convinced I had the winner last year, but I can't remember. I do remember cheering Red Marauder and Party Politics past the past in previous years though.  of course at this time of year, everyone suddenly becomes and expert and can tell you for certain which of the 40 horses will win you the cash.

Of course they can't and it is rather pretentious of them to suggets they know everything. So I'm not going to tip a winner but here are a few general guidelines I would suggest. (But do bear I mind I lost the John v Thom sports betting challenge in this week's Free Press.)

1. The winner is usually priced at under 20/1. So you are looking at one of the top 8 or 10 favourites.
2. But the favourite hardly ever wins the National. Too much pressure probably. Or the fact it is impossible to really know which horse should be the favourite.
3. The winner always has a rubbish name, not one that stirs the imagination. NumberSixValverde, Seagram, Minnehoma, spring to mind from the past.
4. Most importantly, there is always a great tale to tell about the winner. One which the media and public will love. Something like:

• The horse is somehow distantly related to Red Rum, or now lives in his stable.
• It is owned by someone famous, or a dear old slightly bonkers lady.
• The jockey's grandad won the National in 1938 but then died in the War
• It has a back-from-the-dead story and was 30 minutes away from being turned into burgers before it was saved by a loving trainer who dedicated his life to the horse.

That is partly why the National is so great. It has this great romance attached to it and gives us all a glimmer of hope that we can enjoy that great feeling of walking up to the bookie's counter and saying 'I've got a winner, hand over my £15.20 (or some other tiny amount). The music the BBC uses on National day is also one of sport's greatest theme tunes. And it is in Liverpool, a fine city.

What am I backing? I don't know, I haven't looked properly yet. I'll tell you on Monday if I won, but I'll probably spend no more than a tenner on three horses, two decent-looking shots and an each-way chance at longer odds.

Slight variation to random question of the day: LET'S HAVE AN ON-LINE PUB QUIZ? It's inspired by the National because one of the stock pub quiz questions is "Which horse won the 1995 Grand National that never was? (Bonus point for the jockey!)
My uni chums will remember that the pub quiz we used to go to also had one question used every week. RATED WORST is an anagram of which music star?!
So if you want to answer those two and/or leave your own classic pub quiz question for us to have a bash at, feel free by clicking 'add a comment'.
Just don't forget to come back on Monday and give us the answer if it was a toughie! Think of the fun we could have.

I'm back. Sorry for the delay. Have I been away? No, I've been busy. Honestly I have. The Easter holidays mean the Free Press has to be produced in half as much time as normal so my priorities had to lie elsewhere.

And besides I haven't been sat at my own desk for the past week so I'm out of my normal routine. A feeble excuse but there is no point lying to you, dear readers.

The theory is I should now have a bank of great ideas for blog entries stored up for the next few days. The reality is, I haven't had a good moan for a week so... (and I reckon if I'm within a week of something annoying, it still counts as topical).

The Boat Race. Why is this load of bunkum classed as one of the premier sporting events in the UK's sporting calendar. Everything about it is so easy to hate. Firstly, it is watched by and performed by hideous upper-class toffs. It used to be Marcus from Harrogate or Henry from Windsor in the boats, which was bad enough. But now it has been taken over by foreigners anyway. Rowers are more like to have come from Wisconsin as Windsor.

Secondly, why do Oxford and Cambridge have a monopoly on it? Each year, the loser should get kicked off and a new team brought in. Or maybe a guest team so it is a three horse race. This year it is Oxford v Cambridge v the University Of Central Lancashire (which can count among its former students me, and most of the layabouts who post comments on here!!) Or let NEWI (the pathetic little college with university status in Wrexham) have a bash.

To liven it up maybe they could all do it in fancy dress one year, in inflatable dinghies. That would be more fun, a kind of It's A Knockout-vibe.

This is all leading towards a random question (which could prove great fun for you all). As you can tell I'd put The Boat Race into Room 101. Along with another toff-fest Last Night of The Proms. And smelly egg sandwiches. And DIY. And millions of other things it would take too long to list here.
So why don't you have a go? NOMINATE THINGS FOR ROOM 101. AS MANY AS YOU LIKE. You'll feel better for getting it off your chest.

But most of all ban all the upper-class (insert own expletive here) who stand on the banks and shout 'c'mon Cambridge, c'mon chaps' and drink Pimms and talk about Henley and Varsity colleges which are not pronounced how they are spelt.

Apologies for the lakc of a blog yesterday. I was too busy doing proper work, it's been a busy week in the Free Press newsroom and tomorrow's edition is one of the bets in recent months.

But I'm back today, fully refreshed. Young Benjamin is at the age now where he likes nursery rhymes to be read to him. I think he enjoys the rhythm of the voice as you say them, because he definitely doesn't understand the words. Nursery rhymes were written in such an innocent age, if they were re-done in the 21st century, things would be far more cynical.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall,
He got straight on the phone to Accidents Direct to lauch a compensation bid with their no-win-no-fee service.

See saw, Marjorie Daw, Johnny shall have a new master, He shall get but a penny a day,
Because he's being employed by an eastern European gangmaster who illegally smuggled him into the UK.

Dr Foster went to Gloucester,
Because the rural community hospital he worked at had been shut by managers who needed to claw back millions of pounds of debt.

The Grand Old Duke of York, he had 10,000 men,
But their ammunition was second rate and there was a lack of urgent Army supplies.

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey,
She really fancied a burger and chips, but such was the pressure on young women to be Size Zero.

Jack Sprat could eat no fat, his wife could eat no lean.
She had ballooned to 22 stone and was classed as morbidly obese and was having a stomach band fitted.

Feel free to add your own ideas. But today's random question of the day, following on from Monday: THE BEST THING ABOUT THE 90S? The best thing was everything late in 97 and early 98. Happy days, on a par with now. Just started university, only had about six hours lectures a week and six days of boozing. The music scene was great, the country was buzzing, Wrexham were in Division One, the words 'Tory' and 'Government' no longer went together (yay!) and then in the summer holidays of 98, student loan and grant which was left over meant we could get drunk down the local every weekend and play I Want You Back by the Jackson 5 on the jukebox several times during the night. Happy days indeed.

There isn't really an iconic April Fool is there? Nothing that caught the whole country out or one which everyone still talks about today. Which is a shame. I suppose some people talk about a BBC one from years ago when they tried to make out spaghetti grew on trees, but that wasn't exactly fantastic.

I saw a couple yesterday. Google did something about their new broadband system being run from your toilet cistern and the News of the World reported on how darts was set to be revolutionised by the introduction of a square board. Radio One played sound effects like a phone ringing and water runing over the top of songs to confuse people (it worked as well, didn't it Jenny?!)

Next year, all the papers and TV channels and radio stations should unite and do a massive prank to get the whole of the country flummoxed. The bigger the better.

In the meantime, all hail Wales for introducing the smoking ban today. Can't wait for my next trip home at the end of the month.

And finally, random question of the day. Seeing as the Proclaimers are enjoying a revival back at number one on the charts, WHAT WAS THE BEST THING ABOUT THE 80S? I was only a youngster but I reckon the ZX Spectrum (A computer for the uninitiated!) Very basic, awful graphics and sound compared to today's standards. everything had to be loaded off a cassette tape which made an awful noise for about three minutes, but the delights of Emlyn Hughes Soccer and Paperboy made it all worthwhile.

Not sure I should be writing this blog. They are dangerous apparently. A few weeks ago I read about how bloggers are falling victim to identity thieves because of the stuff they write about. Then yesterday the Daily Mail ran a piece about how blogs can lead you to miss out on jobs you apply for.

Firstly, I need to point out I don't buy the Daily Mail, or read it wherever possible. It's a horrible waste of ink and paper, bought by horrible Tory people and middle-class xenophobes (ooooh listen to me and my preaching!). But it is the only national paper we get delivered to the Free Press office and with 10 minutes to go until hometime, I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to start writing a new story so I leafed through the Mail. I washed my hands afterwards, I promise.

Anyway, a new survey says one in five potential employers type an applicant's name into Google to sneakily find information about them. And managers have said that the dubious information they uncovered led to them rejecting the candidate.

Apparently the stuff they have read on blogs include tales of drunken antics, topless modelling competitions, criticisms of former employers and being on the police wanted list. Now I'm going to keep my editor on tenterhooks here by not revealing if I have applied for any jobs recently, but if I have have i said anything on here that might hinder my chances.

Well, if I have applied to the Daily Mail and they come across today's entry, I reckon it's a fairly safe bet that my luck's going to be out. But otherwise I rarely get drunk these days, never model topless, am not on the police list (as far as I know) and have no previous employers to criticise because the Free Press was my first job.

Pictures of my little boy, information about what I had for my tea last night and random questions of the day, shouldn't portray me in too negative a manner so I reckon I should be safe. And anyway typing John Edwards into Google won't get you far. There are millions of websites about the American politican of the same name and there are thousands of other John Edwardses in the world, a couple of whom are probably more important than me.

:: Sunday is April Fool's Day, so in the spirit of humour. YOUR FAVOURITE COMEDIAN? Steve Coogan, mainly for creating Alan Partridge but also for the under-rated Paul Calf character. Join the debate, click 'add comment'. No votes for Lenny Henry please. Or Ruby Wax. Or Victoria Wood. Or any women for that matter!