Consciously or subconsciously, we all evaluate our progress as we move from branch to branch on our tree of life. This notion encompasses everyone: front-runners who have reached the pinnacle of their chosen field; folk at the other extreme struggling with everyday matters at a local level. Are we happy with our trajectory? Do we need to change things to incorporate other elements?

In 1984 I returned to Britain. It was more than ten years after receiving the extract of my birth certificate telling me that I was the son of the person whom I thought was my eldest sister, and that my father was unknown. The family I thought I knew was suddenly re-formed into a new shape and I was thrown to the fringe .....

“Scrap all aid! … Developing countries would be much better off without it.” I looked on from the back as this tall bespectacled, somewhat pear-shaped man, spoke out with such conviction, aided himself by a tri-coloured overhead transparency (This was before the days of PowerPoint). Large red arrows denoted money coming from Africa .....

I lay in bed on that first night, wondering how on Earth I was going to resume acquaintance with the backpacking lifestyle left behind a decade or two before. Now, I had a young family faraway in Australia, and here was I closeted alone, cheek-by-jowl with people half my age … or less! After my first encounter with one Singaporean hostel that seemed to pack five or ten people into each dimly lit, incredibly stifling room, I quickly moved on to find a place that offered single rooms; no window admittedly, but at least I had my own space: manna from heaven!

With the wonders of Singapore disappearing in the jetstream, I was starting to have misgivings. Just prior to leaving the island city, I had been offered a job by my boss to manage one of their TEFL colleges. It was very tempting: an assured salary (unlike the vagaries of classroom teaching) plus life in a city I had begun to love. Quite tantalizing, but in reality, impossible; months before it had been agreed that we would travel on as a family to England. The die had been cast!

It was like a fast-action video game acted out in real-time: The French Connection with a faster car. I watched in horror as we zig-zagged back and forth across three lanes, powering on past a sprinkling of vehicles out for a Sunday morning drive. Glancing across at the speedo caused even more alarm: 140 miles per hour! Twice the limit and faster than I had ever been on four wheels!