Throughout the long, lazy years following our founding the editorial collective at t&p has clung defiantly to our independence. Not for us (we all agreed) the frippery, the gaud and glitter, of a dot com name; not for us (board members nodded self-importantly) the fast life of the high flyers, the Deans, the Gails, the Pudding Blues. No: we eschewed all that, hewing to the obscure and narrow path of the unread. As we examined the dismal monthly circulation figures we could at least console ourselves that this anonymity was self-chosen; that we were a tonic appreciated by an Elect.

Well, we’ve gone and done it: without so much as a “by your leave” we’ve left our former digs and set out — Joad-like — for the distant shores. “What prompted this sea change?” we hear (both of) you ask. We’re glad you asked.

No: we have not set out in search of Fame and Fortune. No: this is not the mid-life crisis which has laid low many of our peers. No: this great migration was spurred by a massive, and sudden, technology failure at our former home, the likes of which we have never seen. Overnight and without a moment’s warning, the finely-tuned editorial mechanism ground to a halt. The room-sized presses lay silent, and our teams of eager, budding writers were suddenly cast loose upon harsh sidewalks with no outlet for their pent-up prose.

You must appreciate that this entire endeavor is a folly for us, an occupation for our infrequent idle hours, and as such has had no institutional support. Tentative inquiries were made, from which we learned that a recent system upgrade had precipitately dropped support for the Berkeley DB_file module, upon which our entire MT-based edifice had been precariously perched. And so, fed up with this instability, we are relocating to more hospitable surroundings. We’re still settling in, so if you see something out of place, please let us know.

The clematis has been dug up and prepared for relocation; the boardroom furniture has all been shrouded in the customary linen cloths. We’ve winterized the duck pond, and our fleet of writers has been dragged — sodden — from the bars. There’ll be no turning back; we’re off…