I bet you’ve read numerous biographies that start off with the following romanticised story, or something similar.

“I quit my job at [insert very young age here] to travel the world.”

Such certainty of purpose. That was not me.

My corporate job ended, of all crappy places, in a dirty underground car park. On a Monday, as if that day wasn’t bad enough. 

Stunned, I asked my boss to repeat himself.

“I wouldn’t come into work tomorrow, if I were you,” he threatened.

It was Monday 4th November 2013. I remember the date to this day. In fact, I have a little yearly celebration about it.

My boss was a spiteful and bitter man, one of the worst bosses I’ve ever had. No actually, scratch that. The worst. Full Stop. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200. 

I had been pulling in long hours, morning and night. At the risk of sounding egotistical, I was also doing a bloody good job of it, and I think that’s part of the reason my boss was so resentful. Down in Bristol and Bath, the next two cities, each student accommodation unit were on nomination agreements. It meant that the local Universities were contracted to supply students to the rooms, no less than 95% or 98% usually. While here in this city, we worked with Direct Sales. Every single room, every single studio and flat had to be painstakingly sold by bringing individuals in one by one, showing them round and signing them up. Objections had to be overcome, the price had to be competitive, the service had to be critical. The year before I had come onboard occupancy levels were at 16%. Now they were at 98% for the first ever time. 

There were other wins to put to my metaphorical lapel, but I won’t go into detail. The company was doing well, and the revenues and profits showed it. My team were happy, and so were are students (as happy as students get, of course). 

So I felt victimised. I had a trip already booked for the end of the week, using two weeks of my annual leave, and there was no time to feel sorry for myself. He wasn’t worth the time. 

I never really wanted to leave my job. I took what annual leave I could each year and never stayed home. I loved finding new challenges and new countries to visit. However, something happened over that week. 

By the following morning, I was calling my boss (who didn’t even work in the same city as me or my team). I was ready to come to terms. I would leave, but of course, the Human Resources team were already involved. Turns out in 2013 it’s not really cool to threaten one of your performing managers to force them to quit. 

There’s a lot more than I can’t talk about, sworn to secrecy and all that jazz. But by Friday, five days later I had my last meeting for the company at midday in a 4 Star Hotel in the City. Then I had only two hours to get home, pack, and get to the airport. I was no longer a corporate monkey, and I had a safari trip to enjoy. 

Luckily, the next few weeks were too packed to think about much else. I went and loved every moment of my holiday, like I promised myself I would.

I spent two weeks in Tanzania, camping out under the stars and next to the elephants, hyenas and lions. That’s not an exaggeration – one night I couldn’t get to the drop toilet as there was an elephant in the way, hyenas passed through the camp and our fire area looking for left over food, and one night we pitched just a hundred metres or so upwind of three lions. It was fantastic.

I returned to England and spent another week in the Lake District, looking out at stunning mountains and lakes. 

I then came home and my lovely staff – or should that be ex-staff now – threw me a leaving party.