UNFORTUNATELY I'm afraid I have some bad news this week and there's no easy way to say it -- so here goes.

I'm off. I've going. Bye bye.

In fact, by the time you read this I could well have already gone.

So have a good one, as some might say.

Now, the thing is, I say I'm going but, if I'm being honest, it's not that I actually want to go.

It's just that I've got to, I'm afraid.

From where I'm standing I've absolutely no other choice.

I've made my decision and, call it typical Taurean stubbornness if you want, but that, as they say, is that. Don't try and stop me, all right?

You see, it's got to the point where I can't stay even if I wanted to. I just can't -- I can't stand it any more. I've got to get out before I go completely mad.

And I'm nearly there.

In fact, I thought I'd actually gone this morning when the clock radio burst into life at 7am, sending Duran Duran's Ordinary World blasting into the room. And this, my friend, is the crux of the problem in Wrightland this week.

You see, I'm afraid I cannot possibly stay in a country where the pop charts -- the Big Top 40 as Fluff Freeman would say -- are as they are at this moment in time.

I just can't do it.

And it's your own fault.

I said I'd go three weeks ago as soon as I heard boy band A1 had covered A-ha's Take On Me -- though I must admit the final straw actually came when one, I heard the complete rip-off, and two, I then heard they were battling it out for the top spot that week.

When they proceeded to get there I had to despair because, personally, I can see no future in a country where the youngsters spend their money on that.

And in a week where Mariah Carey and Westlife have released the Phil Collins "classic" Against All Odds, I really don't see where we can go from here either.

I mean, sorry? Have I unwittingly hit 88mph somewhere along the Grane Road between Blackburn and Haslingden, instantly sending myself back in time like a female Michael J Fox?

Because looking at the charts we could be back in the 1980s.

Dig out an old puffball skirt and your Adam and the Ants gatefold album and hey presto! We're almost there.

Only, no, I'm sorry, but I, for one, am most definitely not.

I've not got the bum for a puff ball and copying Adam's red and white nose stripe almost blinded me the first time around so I'm off. I'm outta here before Mariah et al fully revive '80s pop and park a dance version of the Birdie Song on the number one spot.

And I'm going before we head back down the road towards the decade's TV Top 10 of Family Fortunes and The Price is Right. Next thing we know Ant and Dec will be back gracing our screens.

Oh my God.

It's obviously worse than I thought.

Aliens in the shape of Simon Le Bon and Bet Lynch must have already landed in their mission to sap the nation of any lingering creativity and halt any glimmer of dangerously new ideas.

We're doomed to a life of fashion revival, re-runs of Dynasty and shoulder-pads.

Me? I'm just off for a packet of Opal Fruits and a bag of Spangles before I go. See ya.