The last word

By Will Smith

When I was told that this would be my final column, any sadness I felt was soon replaced by anxiety: what would be my final mission? Would I be expected to go out on a high, base-jumping from the 14th floor of the Economist building? Would I be asked to combine my previous 25 missions in a bizarre piece of performance art, in which I attempt to decorate a wedding cake during a cage-fight dressed as a Christmas elf? The reality turns out to be less daunting, but with a similar sense of closure: I am to help edit the magazine.

How hard can it be? As a scriptwriter, I’ve often been on the receiving end of that charming inquiry. Once I told a friend of my parents that it took me a year to write a film, and he barked back that I should "damn well learn to type quicker". So I know not to fall prey to layman’s arrogance and underestimate the task, which will doubtless require more than finding the word-count tool on a drop-down menu. I am also anxious not to disappoint Isabel, the deputy editor, who has presided Obi-Wan Kenobi-like over my growing confidence as a columnist.