Over and out (for now) from Jonn Penney

Hello again. Goodbye! Yes, I'm afraid the time has come for me to shuffle off before you get bored of my tenuous meanderings and tire of my persistent references to past glories,

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It has been most pleasurable having an organ through which to broadcast my musings and share my opinions/memories/stupidity.

I was flattered by the invitation and have been humbled by the support I've had from my friends here at the Express & Star. Thanks folks!

It's a 43-year-old Mr Penney who is finally beginning to understand that bringing things to a halt can sometimes be a force for good.

I could teach a thing or two to that 27-year-old JP, who faced the end of a recording career back in the day. The end is the starting pistol for a fresh race; the more you embrace change the better that change will treat you.

So, without sliding into a pit of maudlin morosity, shall we explore what is a great taboo for so many of the members of that 'celebrity' club that I joined when, for a short time, my face got splashed across the nation's screens and music pages.

How does it feel when it all comes to an end, when your feet thump down on 'real world' terra firma? When you see that 'has-been' in the mirror?

My experience taught me that despair is a formidable adversary. It is better to submit early: hide from him and you will be overwhelmed.

Your allies (family and friends) may salute your bravery, but they will be blissfully unaware that you're nearly out of bullets and descending into your own personal Alamo – a massacre of your self-confidence that will take years to recover from.

The other inevitable that I was unaware of, while I brave-faced my way through years of feigned positivity, manifested itself in an utterly different ambush. I was ambused by love, support and affection, not just from my nearest and dearest, but also from those thousands of people who bought my music and came to my shows, these people had been living in the real world all along.

I'd forgotten to do in real life what my music had always done: tell the truth and ask for help. What happened to snap me out of this miasma of grief, to end the fantasy, to stop being just 'the singer of Ned's Atomic Dustbin'?

I woke up on the floor of a student flat in Toronto the morning after playing to 100 people. Ten thousand had applauded my previous visit and those upstarts Blur had played support.

In that instant, a penny dropped. The real Penney woke up and admitted it was time to go home and live in the real world.

I didn't know what to do. A man very dear to me suggested I help him with a painting and decorating job – I could have some pocket money for my troubles. . . Eureka!

I found out that I could do things other than jumping around like a monkey on stage and bearing my heart in lyric.

I could paint, I could think, I could get a degree, I could get a job, I could work for my favourite venue – all I had to do was say 'yes'. I embraced the change.

So what happened exactly one month after that fateful Toronto morning?

Sam from JB's, in Dudley, asked me to reform my band for a big show at Dudley Castle. "I'm not sure anyone will be interested Sam!"

Five thousand people disagreed. Thanks all for everything!