My last will and testament

I Lane Nichols, being of sound mind and body (what's left of it) do hereby set out my final wishes as to my affairs and estate.

Well 'estate' is a bit of a stretch. To be honest I have sweet $%#@ all. On paper I'm worth close to nothing.

It's not like I own any property. My family can hardly flick off my inner city condo and collection of imported European sports cars then split the resulting millions in sale proceeds.

They'll just have to hawk off my modest possessions at Cash Converters and scrape together whatever they can.

If they're lucky my old Mazda (yes, I finally bought a car) might fetch enough to cover my funeral expenses. But I wouldn't plan a lavish holiday to the Swiss Alps on my imminent inheritance proceeds if I was a grieving relative.

Now if you're reading this, sadly it means I've met an untimely demise. (Not actually true - Ed.)

Though I eventually brought my cigarettes relapse under control this year and dispatched the filthy habit, I was a bit wild in my 20s and might eventually have succumbed to a smoking or alcohol-related disease.

It's possible I was tracked down by one of the dodgy crooks I wrote hundreds of news stories about and got hacked to bits under a bridge. I might have met my fate in a horrible skydiving accident, hot air ballooning tragedy or been ripped to pieces by wildebeest during an African game park safari.

Assuming I didn't drink myself to an incoherent, pinot noir-induced oblivion, and whichever way I met my violent end, I ask that those who loved and respected me (too many to count) don't mourn my passing wallowing in inconsolable grief.

Remember me as a happy, athletic, well-built building of a man. Handsome, successful and in hot demand by the opposite sex. An award-winning journalist and cutting edge social commentator who helped feed the hungry, halted wars and brought about world peace.

God, I was impressive.

So to my mother and father: Be strong. I hereby bequeath my dusty photo collection, old letters and postcards.

NOTE: Can one of my close friends sort through my stuff as soon as I kick the bucket to make sure there's no old porno mags laying in wait for my mum?

To my three brothers: Help yourself to my clothes and bank savings, and split my possessions evenly among you. You were little bastards growing up but you all turned out alright as adults.

To Churchouse: You can have my old six string - but for God's sake take some lessons. I hope you can one day bring that rampant body hair under control.

To Fitzsimons: My old drum kit is yours. Though our garage band - The BTCs - never got off the ground, maybe your young sprog can achieve the international music success about which we only dreamed.

To my girl (yes I have a lovely new one) try to love again - futile though it may seem.

I'd like my icy corpse to be coated in chocolate and sealed in bubble wrap then jettisoned into space as the payload on the next Coromandel rocket, to orbit planet Earth for eternity.

Nice knowing you.

FOOTNOTE:

After nearly two years, 400-odd posts, more than a million hits and thousands of dim-witted responses - the Lost Boys are calling it quits.

Tune in next week for the blog's final farewell...

ADDED EXTRA:

To sate the desires of the many readers who have been clamouring to see a copy of the Lost Boys' romantic novella Double Entendre, here it is as a PDF. It's 10MB large, and you might need to upgrade to the latest version of Adobe Reader to be able to open it properly.

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Oldest First

Nicola   #1   10:08 am Dec 18 2009

Long time reader, occasional poster - can't believe you're ending the Lost Boys! How sad. Thanks for making my day on so many occasions

em   #2   10:10 am Dec 18 2009

Oh, I am so sad to hear that your blog is ending!!! Have loved reading it over the past two years, and was really enjoying the addition of Tom. He's a breath of fresh air.

Que?   #3   10:21 am Dec 18 2009

Oh. What a stink one.

I am really sorry to hear you are all ending the Lost Boys Lane, but I guess it has gotten to the point you aren't lost any more.

All the best for you and your new flame, to Tom with bubs and to Nick with the chest hair (stop cultivating Churchouse).

Wish you all a Merry Christmas and the best for next year... :-)

JeM   #4   10:24 am Dec 18 2009

The lost boys is over?!! Is this because we were mean to you?

I'm sorry! Don't leave (well not you and Nick anyway). I'll be nice, promise.

SS   #5   10:38 am Dec 18 2009

You're leaving??? But I liked yours the best!!!

Geoff   #6   10:43 am Dec 18 2009

I see the problem. Right up there on the first line. The bit where it says "...of sound mind...".

Yup, there's your problem.

Sydneysider   #7   10:56 am Dec 18 2009

This is BS!! What will I do now when I get to the office ....... heaven forbit I will have to work!! Who will I laugh at now? (ok fair enough I am in Sydney and there are many Australians to laugh at .... but I actually laugh with The Lost Boys). Very sad guys but thanks for the memories!

NoAngel   #8   11:16 am Dec 18 2009

"How to deal with death is at least as important as how to deal with life". James T Kirk.

Lane, it's far more likely that you'll get done in by sheer embarrassment when a 10 year old girl with a bank statement skips down the street and waves it in your general direction.

Personally, I would have gone with paint ball :) Ahh, but a shame it's ending.

*Bean*   #9   11:28 am Dec 18 2009

Very sad way to end the year. All the best though, and thanks for the laughs.

CaptPicard   #10   11:45 am Dec 18 2009

It's time.

I been a regular reader and sometime poster. Nick and Lane.. ...well more Lane really... you have annoyed the tits off me at times but I have found it all very entertaining.

You guys aren't lost anymore - if you ever were. You have all found your way 'home' in your own ways. Thanks for sharing the journey.

It's been like listening to two clowns smack randomly into the furniture during a night time power cut. Hilarious.

I've never really connected with the new guy though. Who wants to read about a young foggie's apron, slippers, hair curlers and coupon-shopping at the super market?

I would be very interested in reading Mr Dave Martin's obituary for the blog. He's hot.

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