Alison Broom: How I swapped politics for hippy hedonism

When a star falls, what happens to its satellites? Without the gravitational pull giving them direction and purpose, do they just drift off into the universe never to be seen again? I don't know anything about astronomy, but when it's a human "star" I can tell you, with some authority, that there's a blinding flash of publicity as the event is seared on to the public retina - and then nothing. The world turns, and those of us who circled the star in its glory days, are cast adrift to find a new place in the world.

When a star falls, what happens to its satellites? Without the gravitational pull giving them direction and purpose, do they just drift off into the universe never to be seen again? I don't know anything about astronomy, but when it's a human "star" I can tell you, with some authority, that there's a blinding flash of publicity as the event is seared on to the public retina - and then nothing. The world turns, and those of us who circled the star in its glory days, are cast adrift to find a new place in the world.

My star exploded on election night 1997. I'd been Michael Portillo's political adviser for seven years and expected to continue in that role, albeit in opposition, post-election. When he sensationally lost his seat in Enfield Southgate - an event that became one of the nation's favourite TV moments - we both lost our jobs overnight.

I've always enjoyed a good crisis, and the drama made it an exciting night, despite the circumstances. To my surprise, I also experienced an immense feeling of liberation the next day as I contemplated a life in which I was no longer at the mercy of the pager night and day (technology now as obsolete as I am). The weeks and months that followed brought a thorough investigation of my navel, however, as I tried to work out what to do with the rest of my life.

So, to the self-help section at Waterstones, where I found A Guide to Downshifting. This was what I needed - a simpler life, stress free, and was willing to live on little income to achieve it. But with few exceptions, the "downshifters" proudly describing the careers they had given up for the simple pleasures of life, were married women who had husbands to bring home the bacon.

I was single and 36, so I went back to university, got more degrees, and spent most of my life savings. I discovered I loved not working, but still lacking a partner to feed my new habit, went back to work to pay off some debts. After a failed attempt at self-employment, I took the only sensible option and ran away.

I can highly recommend this course of action and would advise any newly-redundant satellite to skip straight to this stage. I wonder now why anyone stays in cold, grey Britain when it's so cheap and easy to live a hedonistic life in the sun - something Shirley Valentine discovered years ago. It started with six months in the South of France, swimming in deserted rocky coves every day, enjoying the food, bohemian lifestyle and the novel joys of a beautiful toyboy.

If, when contemplating following my example, you have that puritan urge to justify your seemingly irrational escape plan and explain it away to friends, I suggest signing up for a course of some kind. People always applaud your initiative if you're seen to be improving yourself, and it looks purposeful and unthreatening to those still trudging the daily grind.

Perhaps more importantly, it gives you a focus for your expedition and introduces you to a new group of friends at your destination. I've become one of the most overqualified of beach bums. So far, I've trained as a business/life coach, qualified to do psychometric testing, and most recently done a TEFL course in Spain to enable me to work anywhere in the world that takes my fancy. That place is currently Seville.

I've traded in a beautiful 18th-century six-bedroom house in the Cheshire countryside for a two-room apartment with balconies in one of Seville's trendiest plazas, recommended in the guide books as the place for nightlife after 3 am. It's noisy and raucous and I love it. It's cheap compared to Britain, especially London. A few hours of English teaching a week leaves lots of time to enjoy the glories of Seville, learn the language, and spend long weekends travelling around the country or going to the beach.

My new friends are mainly in their 20s - simply because there are not many 40-somethings around living the happy hippy life. They are bright and open minded. And they've given me new perspectives on the world at a time in my life when my opinions might have been in danger of calcifying. No one cares or even seems to notice the age difference any more than race, religion or sexual orientation would matter to today's liberal, educated youth.

This is real downshifting - life is uncomplicated and fun, with no pressures or big responsibilities. I'm free to move on and travel to new places whenever I please. Nothing now would induce me to swap this life for a return to a "sensible" job and a mortgage. If this is a mid-life crisis, then it is the best crisis I've ever had. Indeed I see no reason for it to end.

Many of the new graduates of electoral ejection, will this week appreciate for the first time how horrible it is being on the outside knocking at doors when you've been in the inner circle.

Some of them will be headhunted for lucrative lobbying jobs. Others will become commentators and pundits, write books about their experience and reminisce about the good old days when people returned their calls.

Some, who haven't been disheartened by the savagery of Westminster, will be preparing to stand for election themselves next time and start the whole merry-go-round again. But for those who are looking nervously over the edge, wondering whether there's a life outside politics, I encourage you to take that leap, you might just land in la dolce vita.

alisonbroom1@aol.com

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