I didn’t really know what I was going to do after leaving the BBC. Simply, I wanted a job. Something that interested me and where I could utilise the skills I’d picked up.

However, the second, or third, lockdown happened and that plan was pretty much thrown out of the window. The jobs were there, but the kids were at home. I had to be there for them.

The good thing about this was that it gave me time to think. I didn’t rush into anything.

I started to panic though. What was I going to do with my life? Had a made a terrible mistake in leaving?

The priority for my mental health had been to get out of journalism. I wasn’t enjoying it anymore. Sometimes it could be brilliant. Most of the time I was writing copy, on autopilot.

“Can you write this post about a cannabis farm being discovered.”

In the words of Brenda, from Bristol, “Not another one!” was the usual, internal reaction.

I’d be asked to write something for Facebook, which I did, only to see it get changed, totally different to what I’d produced.

It was pretty demoralising. I felt worthless. I was wasting precious time, precious life.

I wanted to do something that mattered.

I saw my wife, a teacher, renewed, during lockdown because she knew what she was doing was important.

The kids needed her. She needed them too, and her colleagues.

Teaching art had always been at the back of my mind. There was a regret that I never went into the profession. I thought I’d never get the chance again.

And then it happened very quickly. I enquired about a course and the next day they called me.

Of course, they need to fill places, but they don’t just take on anyone who fancies a stab at the job. They look for potential, people they can develop and employ.

But, most of all, they loved my story and after a chat I was made to feel wanted. It gave me a confidence boost.

I flew through the interview, where I had to take a 10-minute lesson, and they decided there and then I’d got a place.

It gave me a massive buzz and to see my wife and children excited and proud of me, was even better.

I start on 31 August at a school in Nottinghamshire.

I’m excited, nervous, I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, how it will impact on my family… but it’s what I want to do, it’ll be tough and we’ll be fine.

I’ve had a few negative comments (disguised thinly as jokes) but the support has come from those who matter and that’s important.

I met up with my old art teacher, last week. Mrs Owen’s had a huge impact on my life. She first taught me in 1992, when I was 14.

I knew I had talent, but I wasn’t very motivated or confident. I needed to not be afraid to show what I could do.

Mrs Owen, changed all that. She completely revolutionised the way I worked, helped me fall in love with art.

I could write many words about the impact she’s had on me and there we were, sitting outside a coffee shop, 25 years after I left my school’s sixth form college.

The irony being that she was my age now, when I collected my results.

This is the pull of going into teaching. The lifelong positive influence. Teaching matters. Now, more than ever.