First thoughts about moving to Ibiza

The idea came to me as I sat unshaven in a grubby dressing gown in front of my computer. Rain was running down the windows and it was getting dark.

Although I had not got round to getting dressed, or even cleaning my teeth for that matter, as far as my world was concerned I was sitting in an office shiny, happy and probably in a suit. I can generally make a good impression on the phone.

There is little need for face-to-face communication for the company I run. This is perhaps strange because we are supposed to be in the communications business. Essentially penpusher, the company, is a word factory providing mostly product descriptions, case studies and e-newsletters.

We started it to cash in on the internet wave, reasoning that people would want websites that were well-written to go with their flashy designs. Unfortunately the bubble burst before we could make our millions.

So we ditched the office and went virtual. What that means is that instead of phoning clients from a room with people, you call them from a back bedroom. In practice, nobody knows the difference. You could be anywhere.

So what the hell am I doing in damp, chilly, miserable Britain? A good question.

When most people reach my age – 47 if you must know, although I think I look younger – they have things to tie them down. Kids are the usual reason, or elderly parents.

Despite years of trying and a course of IVF treatment that led to an infection nearly killed my wife, I am not going to be a parent. My mother died eight years ago and my father just before the Queen Mum’s funeral just last year, not that the two events were in any way related.

For a long time it seemed likely that the flexibility of my work would allow me to help him through his last days. In the end that was not necessary thanks to his best mate. It was, perhaps, as straightforward as these things ever can be.

Depression sounds like the easy option. However, maybe I am callous, but I like to think I am being rational. I see the combination of events as an opportunity for a new start.

For children of the middle classes, of which I am one, the death of your parents means a substantial nest egg. In theory I am against inherited wealth, but in practice who would turn down a lump sum to pay off all their debts?