A brief personal interlude. . .

It could be that I'm about to hit thirty, it could be that I'm having a nervous breakdown, it could be a premature midlife crisis. It could be that my current job is making me more miserable than anything I have ever done before (and believe me, the competition is stiff for that title). There's a good chance that it's all of the above. The fact is, I am not totally satisfied with my life and I want to do something about it. Perhaps something drastic.

I'm increasingly aware that I have spent a large part of my twenties pursuing nothing of any real value whatsoever. I've been moderately successful in my (unchosen) career and earn pretty good money for somebody my age. I own my own flat, do not want for any material comfort and can generally afford whatever I have my mind set on at any particular time, be it a holiday, an iPod, a PC, a TV, a stereo, lots of CDs that I often never get around to listening to, books that don't get read, games consoles that I soon get bored with, a DVD player, a TV with integrated DVD player, lots of DVDs that I often never get round to watching, a satellite dish that enables me to receive hundreds of channels that have nothing worth watching on them and a fridge that beeps at me if I leave the door open for too long. Oh yes, I live the dream all right.

This isn't living, this is consuming.

So what is to be done? I don't know, but somehow I'm going to figure it out. A good friend of mine (we'll call him Paul Reeves, because that's his name) was in a very similar position earlier this year: bored and trapped in a spirit crushing job, desperate for something interesting to happen. He's spent the last four months teaching "soccer" in the US, having told his employers where to stick their job and putting his flat out to rent. He found it a bit daunting but did it anyway and has no regrets whatsoever. I, like all his friends, have nothing but admiration for what he has done. Next month he'll be back in England and can start afresh. Then there's Ms Jones: she was recently made redundant and has taken it as an opportunity to try and make a living freelancing as a writer and marketer. You can read about her adventures here.

So the point is, it can be done. There are options available! Perhaps "downshifting" is the answer. I have a fantastic girlfriend in a similar situation and I know that she would, in a flash, give up this awful corporate treadmill, quit life in London, and go and live in Brighton. In fact she plans to one way or the other. I am certainly seduced by the whole idea and the only thing holding me back is fear. What about my mortgage? What about my pension? What about my health insurance? All these fishhooks of life that combine to conspire to tie you down and provide false comfort. Then again, I don't have to downshift completely. I'm only 29 and (reasonably) smart. I'm still young and beautiful enough to re-train. I could learn to be a web-designer! Or train in IT! Or join the circus! Actually, scrub that one. I'd like to be fired out of a cannon, or tame lions, but I don't want to be around gypsies: it's bad enough working with the intellectually stunted plebs I'm stuck with here in the City.

It's a real chin stroker and no mistake. My thinking hat is ON.

Anyway, that's enough. Just needed to get that off my chest. I'll get back now to writing pithy comments about the world. And stuff.