An end to all those tales of family drama and motoring nightmares.

Byline: Maureen Spring

ILOVE a good gossip - not that I need to tell you this if you've been a regular reader of my column for the past unbelievable number of years; judging by the nice letters you write to me, many of you have.

I don't suppose I should be surprised to find I'm no different to anybody else out there with offspring to drive a Mum mad with frustration whatever age they are, or a husband who isn't absolutely our idea of perfection - but we love 'em to bits most of the time.

Then there's the rest of our personal world: neighbours, friends, relatives or even strangers who do things that make us smile, or cry, or make us cross. We're all the same really - just living our private little lives. The only way I'm a bit different is that I've enjoyed telling everybody who has read this newspaper every Monday for the past couple of decades all about mine.

And now I have to tell you, this is the last time.

No more family secrets, no more confessions about secret longings or evil thoughts (come on - you can't say you haven't had both, though maybe not at the same time) no more grumbling, showing off or tedious tales about my car breaking down. Looking back over the hundreds of columns, I found I hardly mentioned a subject more than once (apart from Christmas - but most of those were different) yet at least twice a year there were 600 words of angst about my blasted car. It wasn't always the same car but they were the similar 'falling to bits' problems.

Now my friends, this is it. From the end of this column, I have to keep my secrets to myself.

No-one is more pleased than my family. I have embarrassed them more times than I should have by reporting their private lives (never, it has to be said, giving you their actual first names, but all their friends sussed which one of the three I'd be talking about, so took great pleasure in telling them what I'd divulged). Most of Warwickshire knew which boy/girlfriend I approved of, (or didn't), where they went, what they did and who they did it with. Mind you, there came a time when I wasn't completely sure of the details but I knew my lot well enough to imagine things they hadn't told me. I boasted (as any mother would) if they passed an exam, got a decent job or did something unexpected and lovely for Mum. Then, not long afterwards, I'd be in despair at their thoughtlessness, untidiness and ... ..well, goodness knows what else that had driven me and their father to wonder where we'd gone so wrong bringing them up.

Then, lo and behold, I'd get a heap of letters to assure me my lot were totally normal - their lot happened to be exactly the same.

Sometimes, I annoyed my readers, like the time I happened to mention that I wouldn't go anywhere within spitting distance of Wales, even if I lived forever. That was the only time during the life of this column that I received hate mail.

Yet a few months later, when I told you my husband had died, over 200 of you sent me cards, poems, flowers and such sincere and affectionately compassionate letters that I felt I had more friends than I could possibly deserve.

So this is my last opportunity to say 'thank you' dear readers for your loyalty, support, humour and friendship for listening to my chattering for so many years.

I shall miss you. I'd like to think you will miss me - just a little bit.