Still Busy, Still Curious: A Year of Work, Wanderlust, and Wanting More

Wow. What a whirlwind this year has been.

It began in the Gran Canaries, my winter destination for the past four years, and it will end in Thailand, where I’ll spend the first two months of 2026.

For anyone who imagines this lifestyle puts me in some rarefied class, let me assure you: it’s entirely possible to live in many countries for less than the cost of living in one’s own—especially London—so long as you don’t mind home‑sharing, working long hours, and living frugally. Life, after all, can be a suitcase you learn to pack lightly.

At 64, I’m busier than I ever thought I would be (Retirement? What’s that??), with multiple jobs, each contributing to my income: my Substack; my role as co‑director of a UK government‑funded programme called Startup School for Seniors; and, when time allows and opportunity presents itself, singing jazz and blues in London’s pubs and clubs. Then there’s Airbnb and hosting guests, both fleeting and semi‑permanent, in my home. Don’t imagine, for one single second, that chasing the sun in winter doesn’t come with its own price tag. Not that I’m moaning (you know me, that’s reserved for very specific circumstances).

My flat in London has, for the past year has been occupied by my best mate, who’s been living in my garden office while his own flat was being renovated (he moved out two weeks ago), along with Substack writer Kevin Sessums and a constant flow of Airbnb guests from around the world. The income allows me to squirrel away enough for my flight to Thailand and accommodation there, which comes in at under $1,000 a month for a decently sized hotel room. Not luxury but comfortable enough for a short stay.

My son, currently visiting, has taken over the Airbnb room. He usually lives alone in Brooklyn (he’s 30-something, so it’s a rite of passage) and is finding life with others something of a culture shock, but I’m so accustomed to it now that it feels like second nature. “You’re like a real‑life version of This Life,” he says—a ’90s TV show about a group of law graduates sharing a house. Personally, Kevin prefers our situation to Three’s Company, the ’70s sitcom about three singles sharing an L.A. apartment, while I lean more toward a modern‑day Golden Girls—if the show featured an older gay man, a mouthy sixty‑something ex‑New Yorker, and her much younger, very hot ex‑boyfriend. We joke that maybe one day we’ll be immortalised in a series of our own and finally each be able to afford to live alone. For now, we’re a small constellation, orbiting the same kitchen island.

I recently discovered that if I sleep with earplugs and my Music Cozy playing ambient music for eight hours, I can barely hear anything beyond my own breathing. Sleep has never been my forte, but my earplug/headphone combo is is like sinking into my own private cocoon, which makes it far easier to fall, and stay, asleep. The only real downside of home‑sharing is that we all run on different clocks. I’m an early‑to‑bed, early‑to‑rise sort of person, while everyone else keeps their own erratic timetable. My bedroom also faces the front door, so footsteps and keys are always a possibility. Still, it’s a small toll to pay for the privilege of trading grey skies for warmth.

As for my sex life, the reason many of you are here…