Well no, he isn't.
But that was how it sounded on the one end of the telephone conversation Mme Salut could hear when the first call came inviting me to take a new job in Abu Dhabi.
My only memories of Derby are football related.
A cold, wet day for the last Sunderland game I attended there. Other away days long forgotten. And several hours stranded a few miles out of town on a soft, damp verge into which an incompetent driver had sunk the wheels of our coach during the journey back to London from an FA Cup semi-final at Old Trafford.
No, then, not Derby.
But I am off to Abu Dhabi to work on a new daily paper being launched with Martin Newland, who as editor of the Daily Telegraph sent me to be its correspondent in Paris, in the hot seat.
What it all means for Salut!, just a week or two short of its first birthday, is not yet clear. Salut! Shukran comes to mind. At any rate, it would be a shame to call it a day without thinking of ways of keeping it going - if, that is, anyone thinks my ramblings perform any useful service.
All I can say for now is: "On verra....
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