My life in Myanmar after arriving would be best illustrated by way of that great cinematic cheat – the montage. Deadlines, horrendous Saturday night editing shifts fighting with the censorship apparatus of the old government, tennis, beer, date with a beautiful girl, writing, monk-led uprising against the government, crackdown by troops on the street, curfew, holiday with the beautiful girl, more Saturday night fights with censorship, marriage and finally, a baby boy – Sam.

To say that I was at a low point would be an understatement. Ross had asked me to move to Mandalay, Myanmar’s second-largest city, to head up our bureau there but I didn’t want to. I could live with power blackouts, or so I thought, but Mandalay didn’t just have blackouts: at that time if you got three hours of power in a day it was a good one. My son was only a few months old and the promises of generator-backed electricity in my home seemed far from concrete.

And I didn’t like Mandalay – few foreigners lived there, it is stinking hot most of the year and I didn’t like the job. I love writing and can handle editing but I had no interest in managing a newspaper office and coordinating marketing, distribution and editorial for a negligible increase in salary.

So I said no, and was promptly asked to resign but was steadfastly refusing. 

My lease had also expired and I had quickly taken a place not far from the newspaper office in downtown Yangon for the princely sum of about US$160 a month, while my salary was around $2000.

While my place in the office was in limbo, life at home was tough. Our new neighbourhood seemed to belong in an electricity blackhole. It was also hot season, which runs from March through May, with daily temperatures regularly above 35C and high humidity to boot, and we were only getting six hours of irregular power per day.

Finally, the water supply needed electricity to function: no power, no water, brutal heat and a grumpy months-old little boy. Oh, and that little hiccup at work.

Cue the Queen and David Bowie track “Under Pressure”.

On an overly long Saturday night censorship shift, where we filled holes the censors had created with their cuts, my sleep-deprived mind wandered into what I could do to escape my predicament.

In particular, I thought back to the shambolic experiences I’d had when looking for a new dwelling. Perhaps setting up a web-based real estate company would give me a way out?

And in my mind it all seemed so easy, although nearly six years later – and five years into running my own company – I can assure you that nothing is easy in Myanmar.