ANY of you who have regularly read my columns will know they tend to revolve around pop culture with a dash of current affairs or sentimentality thrown in for good measure, and to some extent, this one is no different.

Actually, it is a bit different, as it’s one I didn’t expect to write, and doesn’t contain the usual number of comic book references or political swipes, though it is a little heavy on nostalgia.

But first, a story.

Years ago, while on holiday in the USA, I was browsing t-shirts in a shop I could barely afford to be in, when a song came over the speakers.

I’d never heard it before, but loved it and asked a member of staff if they could tell me who it was by.

He disappeared for a minute, the music stopped, then he returned with a CD that was still warm from the stereo.

Despite my protestations that I only wanted to know who the band was (Postal Service, since you’re asking), the guy was adamant I should take it with me.

“This way I know you’ve got a copy, you don’t have to try to find it in a store,” he said, then got back to work and left me to look around.

While it’s entirely possible he hated the album or it belonged to a colleague, and giving the disc to me was the latest step in an ongoing feud between two employees, I much prefer to believe it was a simple act of kindness, and it’s stuck with me for the last 15 years.

As I said, I’ve been feeling quite sentimental recently, because this will be my final column for The Press, after spending almost a quarter of my life at the paper.

Over the last nine years, I’ve reported on some of the most horrific incidents in and around the city, from murders and sexual assaults, to violence and tragic deaths, and I’ve seen some of the worst aspects of the city’s inhabitants too - I’ve been threatened, spat at and verbally abused, sometimes while covering the most innocuous of stories.

Conversely, I’ve also seen some of the best aspects of the city - strangers coming together to help victims of flooding, fires and an explosion, thousands of pounds raised to send children with serious illnesses overseas for life-changing treatment, and the creation of a charity which has saved dozens of lives in the city in the last few years.

I’ve been called “quietly erudite” by a reader, and “a halfwit” by a serving MP, and if I’m honest, I’m equally proud of both.

I’ve gone from the nervous new boy who struggled to write a 60-word filler, to the slightly-less nervous 37-year-old whose work has been highlighted in the House of Commons.

In my first year, I had someone call for me to be sacked after writing a light-hearted picture story about someone walking through the city in a Star Wars costume, while just last week a story which featured a photo of a bloke in a hole went viral and was ripped off and shared around the country by the nationals.

While I’ll be leaving the city, I’ll continue to read about it thanks to the work of my wonderful colleagues in the newsroom.

We get stick from every corner of the city, from people in authority, business, members of the public and those who dedicate their lives to offending people in the comments section, but we roll our sleeves up day after day to do it all again.

I’m proud to have been a part of that, and certain that will continue once I’m gone.

The lesson I learned after being given a CD by a stranger in a foreign country, was that where I can afford to, if I’m making recommendations, I should give someone a copy of the book or album I’m raving about, and if they don’t like it, suggest they give it to a charity shop or someone who might enjoy it.

The lessons I’ve taken from my years at The Press won’t fit into this column space, but I’ll remember and be grateful for them forever.

Oh, and just so I haven’t completely missed a pop culture opportunity (or ‘poportunity’, if you will)...

...That’s all, folks!