It is exactly a year since I left my last job. Like some politicians, I resigned to 'spend more time with my family'. My elderly mother had just moved to Lewes and my oldest son was struggling with a debilitating condition that prevented him from attending school, so I wanted to be near them.
However that wasn't the whole story. I also think I'd reached a crisis point where, in my mid-40s, I was no longer willing to tolerate the frustrations of working for other people. Ironically, it was probably the most successful job I'd had and I enjoyed a good relationship with my employers. But I felt ground down by the nine-to-five routine, the 25-mile commute and the grim environment - an open plan office on a drab industrial estate.
Although there was little danger of me regretting my decision, I made this short film to remind me why I'd left:
One year on, I feel as if I have become myself again for the first time in 25 years. It is as if I have been been deprogrammed after belonging to a rather unpleasant religious cult.
Some people find security in the routine of working so many hours a day, for so many days a week, for so many weeks a year, but I couldn't stand it and felt as if the best years of my life were ebbing away. I had watched my father endure years of hard work and a tortuous commute, only to succumb to heart disease within months of retirement. I wasn't willing to follow the same path.
The last year has been difficult. I have been trying to negotiate the thin line between self-employment and unemployment - time versus money - but I think I've cracked it. In a few weeks I will be starting a new project which should, hopefully, provide the financial security I need to deal with the challenges that lie ahead.
That's Plan A. There is no Plan B, so I'd better make sure that I get it right.