And so here we are at the end.

Not the end, of course. The world doesn’t do tidy endings. The world prefers loose threads, dangling questions, and the faint suspicion that your hat has just winked at you.

Proper endings are for books, plays, and fairy tales. The universe, on the other hand, runs on in exactly the same way it always has: slightly tilted, making strange noises, and occasionally dropping unexpected frogs into people’s tea.

But for the sake of form, we’ll call this an ending.

By now you will have noticed a pattern? Yep. There is no pattern, just a load of frayed edges and bits that don’t quite line up. The world is fundamentally weird. Odd things happen all the time, and most people carry on as though they don’t. The post goes out, the buses run (or don’t), and the stars appear exactly where you left them (more or less). Beneath all that, though, the strangeness keeps bubbling away: stuff hiccups, shadows get ideas, and odd socks occasionally turn up down the back of the sofa.

And here’s the secret: it’s not going to stop.

Even as you read this, something very peculiar is happening somewhere. A lamppost has just decided to take up ancient pottery recreation. A baker is icing a cake that is spelling rude words back at him. A cat has filed a tax return in impeccable handwriting. And no doubt, somewhere else, a perfectly sensible person is ignoring all of it, because they’re late for a meeting and life has trained them not to look too closely at things that might shout back.

That’s the real magic, if you ask me. The world doesn’t pause to let you catch your breath. It keeps piling on oddities like a conjuror with too many rabbits. Some of them are terrifying, some of them hilarious, and most of them make no sense whatsoever. But together they make up everything.

And everything is worth embracing.

Because what’s the alternative? A flat, grey, reasonable existence? Endless lists, meetings, and traffic jams. What’s the point if there are no ghosts, no singing doors, no small coincidences that line up so perfectly they might as well have been orchestrated by some drunk cosmic fiddler? No thank you. Give me the lunacy. Give me the improbable. Give me the world the way it actually might be: cracked, creaky, wonderful, and slightly dangerous in places.

So as this book closes, don’t treat it as a conclusion. Treat it as a reminder. Step outside and keep an eye out. Listen to the wind to see if it’s trying to tell you a joke. Glance at puddles just in case they’re deeper than they look. And if your toaster hums the national anthem, don’t panic.

Just remember: this is all part of the great, ridiculous whole. The trick isn’t to understand it. The trick is to live in it, laugh at it, and maybe, if you’re feeling brave, wave back at it.

After all, the world’s not finished yet.

And neither are you.