ALL things must pass, sang George Harrison, a line that told us the former Beatle had: a) a deep and empathetic understanding of the ephemeral nature of the human condition, and b) never seen Rob Andrew in action.

But things do move on. Which is what I'll be doing at the end of this week when my 11-year stint of heroic disservice at Herald Towers draws to an end. All being well, I'll take my leave in a blaze of reflected glory as I watch Edinburgh lift the European Challenge Cup on Friday evening, but I am too familiar with such things (and too much of a pessimistic old git) to take that particular scenario for granted.

Of course, there is a tradition in this business of hiding valedictory messages in final missives, but you will look in vain for one here. So if you happen to notice that the first letter of each paragraph of this parting shot spells out a suggestion that I want soon-to-be former colleagues to suffer a painful eruption of genital warts then that's your interpretation, not mine. Fact is, I'm leaving some good friends behind.

I've also seen a few go already. I've seen off more sports editors than you could shake a stick at - mostly by shaking sticks at them - as well as a good proportion of the motley collection of writers, snappers, dysfunctional oddbods and miscellaneous chin-strokers who made up the ground troops of this operation when I first arrived. In fact, the two individuals who interviewed me when I first pitched up in 2004 had both gone within a year, fled the country in fact, and nobody will ever persuade me that those swift departures were just a coincidence.

Things have changed outside the goldfish bowl, too. The Higgs boson has been discovered during my time here, and what a game-changer that has turned out to be. How did we ever get by without it?

The past decade-and-a-bit has also brought seismic changes in the political landscape of this country. I can say this with some authority as my local Ukip candidate's leaflet has just landed on my doormat, informing me that the fellow is a horse whisperer by profession. When not muttering into Dobbin's nostrils, he is receiving psychic messages from other parts of the animal kingdom. Thailand elephants - and I swear I am not making this up - appear to be his most enthusiastic correspondents.

Yes, the years have gone by in a mind-addling whirl. And Scottish rugby has measured that tempo, too. In 2004, the sport in these parts was under a dark cloud as its recently-appointed southern hemisphere coach had just led the national side to a humiliating Six Nations whitewash. By crikey, how things have changed.

But some of them have been for the better. Eleven years ago, Scotland's three professional sides finished the season in the bottom three slots of what was then still called the Celtic League (largely because nobody thought it was worth sponsoring). As I write, Edinburgh are on the cusp of becoming the first Scottish side ever to contest a European final and Glasgow hold top spot in what is now the Guinness PRO12.

Crowds are growing for both clubs. Glasgow's Scotstoun home has become a rugby arena as good as any in the league - and better than quite a few as well. Edinburgh still rattle around in the soulless barn of Murrayfield, but maybe they will find a place of their own in good time. In the administration of the sport in Scotland there is now an appreciation of the importance of the professional clubs as independent entities in their own right, and not just as the handmaidens of the international team.

Playing-wise, there are encouraging signs that the social base of rugby in Scotland is finally starting to widen and become more reflective of society at large. Jim Murphy can just about get away with crass dismissals of rugby as a middle class sport, but the reality on the ground is that more and more players are coming from places where talent would once have lain undiscovered.

In Scotland's first international this season - against Argentina - only one player, Alasdair Dickinson, had spent all his secondary school years in private education. We should rejoice in the fact that Mark Bennett has put Cumnock on the rugby map, that Duncan Weir has done the same for Cambuslang, and that Adam Ashe hails from Alva. Little by little, and at long last, rugby is becoming a game for everyone.

Highlights? Too many to count. The Lions tours of 2005 (New Zealand) and 2009 (South Africa) leave lasting memories, the former focused on Dan Carter's incredible performance in the second Test, the latter as it restored the touring side's status as one of the greatest institutions in sport. The World Cup in France in 2007 was also a joy, gloriously unpredictable throughout. Scotland have dished up some decent performances and some surprising results, but not enough of either in a lean period.

Instead, the brightest and happiest memory is of watching Glasgow against Toulouse in their Heineken Cup clash in the Stade Ernest Wallon on a sun-dappled January afternoon just over five years ago. Against all odds, and probably against their own expectations, Glasgow humbled the three-times European champions with a 33-26 victory. To witness that, while working for a Glasgow-based newspaper, was nothing short of a privilege (and the party afterwards was pretty good too).

But, as George says, things move on. Only a couple of the Glasgow players from that day are still on the club's books and now it's my turn to sling my hook as well. All things considered, it's been a blast.