YOU may want to take this news sitting down.

More likely, though, you can start organising a street party.

But this is the last Bramwell Speaks Out (and I'm quite aware of the extra three words that are commonly added to this title).

In fact, it's more of a Bramwell Sneaks Out.

For, after six years in the post of sports editor and 11 years at this newspaper, it's time to enter the big, bad world of earning my own crust.

It was tempting to return to a former role of sampling, and then invariably heaping praise on, the regions pie crusts and other culinary delights.

But, after much Food For Thought, I have decided to stick with sports journalism and authorship, as well dipping my toe into the murky waters of sports agents as the representative of Carl Fogarty.

New horizons are always exciting, but the next six years will inevitably struggle to match the fun, challenges and characters of the past six years.

Here is an A-Z, in no particular order, of events and personalities which helped shape the experience:

Awkward: Having lavishly, wined and dined veteran broadcaster Kenneth Wolstenholme in London, realising that I had been acting on false information and he had not, in fact, been educated at Burnley Grammar, rendering the interview fairly pointless and my expenses claim expansive.

Brash: Rocky Saganuik, the larger-than-life, crocodile skin boots-wearing, ice hockey coach who was at Blackburn Arena for a colourful spell after a playing career which took in the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Cobblers: The shake-up of league cricket in the county and the high-handed attitude taken by some of the Old Trafford hierarchy during that process.

Determined: Some day to reveal exactly what happened in the build-up to Alan Shearer's infamous 'I'm staying' headlines before his move to Newcastle.

Exposed: Michael Parkinson. After a publicity interview, my extensive research failed to confirm that he lost a pair of mittens when Barnsley played at Ewood in the 1950s.

Flustered: Murray MacDowell -- remember the name? -- when I tracked him down to a North Carolina golf course in the first contact with any of the 'powerbrokers' of the ill-fated Peter Shackleton attempt to take over at Burnley Football Club.

Good luck: To Rovers manager Graeme Souness, Clarets chairman Barry Kilby and Ewood chief executive John Williams, who all deserve success for their respective clubs for a consistently dignified, fair and open attitude with their local media -- a real rarity in the sport.

Honoured: To be personally selected by the not-so-lovable rogue, South African cricketer Corrie Jordaan, to set up a blind double date for him. "It doesn't matter what she looks like," he advised.

Invite: Imagine my suprise when the letter from Victoria dropped through my door, requesting my company at a dinner party thrown in conjunction with her husband, David, and Sir Alex, to say thankyou for all the positive publicity.

Jerk: Having interviewed Aussie legend Steve Waugh for two hours during a tour match on the boundary at Old Trafford, I returned to the office to discover that I had failed to press the 'record' button on my tape recorder.

Kind: A racing-mad reader called Bridget Keane, who always rings with her best tips and occasionally buys me a Lottery ticket -- without success to date on either front!

Lookalike: On leaving Anfield, I was once pursued by a posse of teenage girls who, believing that I was Brad Friedel, demanded to know why I would not sign an autograph.

Mad: Marc 'The Mousse' Damphousse, the colourful French-Canadian ice hockey player. The owners of a goldfish that crossed his path at an eventful house party during his time at the Blackburn Hawks were also pretty annoyed.

Nice: Jimmy Mullen, Adrian Heath and Chris Waddle were all accessible and amenable Burnley managers.

Obscene: The suspended two-game ban imposed by the Ribbesdale League when a case of mistaken identity led to an umpire believing he had been verbally abused by me during a game against Read.

Pratt: After finally getting an interiew with France-based financier Ian Burns about the money behind Peter Shackleton's failed bid to take over Burnley Football Club, I got my maths wrong and valued their company at $250 billion -- instead of $2.5 billion!

Quick: Aussie paceman Chris Killen who, when playing for Barnoldswick against Cherry Tree on a hard and fast wicket, took exception to a few playful digs about the size of his girth.

Regrets: When rain stopped play in a charity match, preventing me from playing against then Accrington pro Shane Warne. I then regret trying to drink with him.

Schnap happy: Arriving in Trelleborg, after a previous fact-finding mission, on the day of the Blackburn game to find their local reporter ready and waiting in the Trelyktor Pub, complete with a line of at least 20 different flavoured shots of vodka.

Treasured: The memories of working with the late Peter White.

Unacceptable: The legalised thuggery that is boxing. At the very least, head guards must be made complusory at all levels of the spectacle.

Very good read: The autobiography of Carl Fogarty, priced £16.99 in all good and some not-so-good bookshops.

Witty: Oh, how I'll miss those Ribblesdale League wags and their favourite taunt of 'Stick that in the paper, Bramwell' as yet another of my deliveries lands in the Leeds-Liverpool canal.

Xylophone: Musical instrument made of a row of wooden bars played with hammers

Yukky: Could someone please return the negatives of pictures taken following the Blackburn Rovers game against Legia Warsaw in Poland when I was persuaded to mud-wrestle some local girls in the Arena nightclub.

Zeal: Something I have always tried to bring to my work. My beliefs may not always have been well-received, or popular, but sport without opinion is like a writer without readers.

Right, I'm off for a pint with my old mate, Keith Reynolds, of Hindle Street, Darwen.

PUT THAT IN YOUR PAPER THEN, BRAMWELL: My Ribblesdale League exploits have always attracted comment and been closely followed by the Evening Telegraph's loyal and very witty readers

BRASH: Rocky Saganuik