Sandi Toksvig bids us goodbye It was today at the stroke of noon in 421 that Venice is said to have been founded. I like the idea of significant matters of history having a definite starting point. Of people not drifting into 100-year wars or the foundation of legendary cities without checking their watch to make a note of when it all kicked off. Venice's rather specific origin relates to the dedication of its first church, San Giacomo. The church still stands and has a rather fine clock on the front with which you could mark your own momentous moment, if you were passing. Time is a funny old thing. I've been writing this weekly column for a long while and the other day I thought how quickly the seven years had passed since I began. I had a look back and found it had been quicker than I thought as in fact, I have been scribbling here for nearly eight. During that time I have been pleased to cover the issues others might overlook - the dangers of cheerleading (still the number one cause of American female sports injuries), the possibility that the tune of the British national anthem was originally written to celebrate the healing of Louis XIV's anal fistula and how many Lego bricks there are per person on the planet (62). The time has come, however, for me to close my cabinet of curiosities and move along. I should like to tell you that I am departing to make the necessary preparations for my participation in the forthcoming Olympics. I realise it's a little late in the day to be getting ready for triumph, as I have yet to pick a suitable sport. I had a brief flurry of excitement when I realised how few people have signed up for the "Pebbledash" only to have my hopes thwarted by rules which prevent anyone inventing new games. Instead, I have decided to head off into the world and became, if only briefly, a modern day "mountebank." It's a fine if neglected word which literally means "a doctor that mounts a bench in the market, and boasts his infallible remedies and cures." Some would say it's another word for a quack with dubious credentials but it's not the "snake-oil sales" part that appeals to me. I like the old-fashioned showmanship. Often accompanied by a "Merry Andrew" or clown, the mountebank would arrive in town with a great flourish. E Cobham Brewer (who died this month in 1897) quoted a wonderful description of an incident in 1723 at the George Inn in Winchester when a "coach with six bay horses, a calash and four, a chaise and four" entered the inn "in a yellow livery turned up with red; four gentlemen on horseback, in blue, trimmed with silver" and with the motto Argento Loborat Faber (Smith works for money) written on the side of the coach. Upon inquiry, I found this great equipage belonged to a mountebank, and that his name being Smith, the motto was a pun upon his name. What a fantastic entrance. Smith was accompanied by tumblers, trumpeters and a woman who "danced on the ropes." He sold packets of pills, but, as the witness declared, "his amusements on the stage are worth the sixpence, without the pills." Mountebanks were common in Venice where they were called Mantâ inbanco, a name similar enough to make the English think they might be able to speak Italian. Twice a day they would erect a stage while fanfares called the public forth. An orator would take to the stage spinning tales intermingled with "such savoury jests... that they minister passing mirth and laughter to the whole company...." That's the bit I like. What a cure for the malaise of modern times. This autumn, the fine folk at Virago publishing will be producing my new novel entitled Valentine Grey and I shall take to the road. I can't claim to have trumpeters or even a liveried coach, but I shall endeavour to visit country towns far and wide, spinning tales mixed with the odd jest. I shan't be curing "hydrocephalous dysenteries, odontalgic, or podagrical inflammations" but hopefully one or two people might feel better afterwards. Do come and say hello for I'm sorry to leave these pages. It has been more fun than I can say. Anyway, as the clock strikes noon today, I shall put down my pen. In the words of the Von Trapp children, "So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, goodbye." Next week, please join us in welcoming our new columnist, best selling author Lynne Truss