At the age of 24, it is absolutely forgiveable to quit your joe-job and take off for warmer climes or the centre of the cultural universe or just a place where the gigs are better.

However, by the age of 37, it is flagrant irresponsibility. At the dawn of a promising career, to toss caution to the wind and follow that dream of wet heat and beef noodle soup for breakfast... well, it's just a good thing I don't have children.

My only excuse is that the last time I visited Vietnam, I cried at the airport - I didn't want to leave. Having been moved from place to place my whole life; never nesting or getting attached to a place; with no high school reunions to attend or god-parent status to maintain, it's hard to give your heart to a point on the map.

But in that steamy, grimey, noisy airport in Saigon... I sat down and cried. I had never felt so in love with a place in my life.

Now I'm going back.

Wish me luck.... I'm stupid and in love.