Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time . . .

We all know that Shakespeare was really referring to settlement on Glamis Castle. But your good wishes paid off: I have just received news that my own closing will occur on perhaps the penultimate syllable of recorded time, otherwise known as lunchtime tomorrow.

After which, I will not have time to enjoy my house. Either I will have to make a mad dash up to New York, or the world will end.

Anyone care to lay odds?