Imagine a place two-thirds the size of Scotland, with less than a fifth the number of people. It has more space and less traffic on the roads. Imagine the Highlands, with smaller mountains and cheaper hotels. Nova Scotia in Canada is far more Scottish than over here in many ways. Saltires fly proudly outside most houses and the people serving you in restaurants wear kilts.

But there are no neds. No rubbish littering the streets. No random acts of violence.

New Scots, unlike the old ones, take pride in their land, their streets and in each other. There are recycling bins on every corner. Human life seems to have worth. They don’t even lock their doors at night. And in the summer they are warm. When we visited, my young children were transfixed by the fiery orange vitamin D-synthesising orb in the wide sky.

So we are all moving from auld Scotia to the new improved version in January.

It was not a hard decision. Some people think I’m mad to give up a well-paid career and move to a part of the world I only saw for the first time a month ago with my partner and three young children. Common responses included: “You’ll freeze to death.” “You’re very brave.” “Nova Scotia — is that not full of eskimos?”

So why am I doing it? I live in a flat in the middle of Edinburgh, with a balcony overlooking Princes Street and the castle. It’s the best home I’ve ever had. You can feel the human energy rising from the streets below and the sunset over the distant Forth Road bridge is a daily blessing. If they introduced a few more asbos for the pipers it would be perfect.

But the country in general is less impressive than the view from my balcony. Not Scotland per se, but the UK in general. It’s grim, financially frightening and increasingly violent.

There are personal reasons, too. I’m bored. Bored of my lifestyle. Bored of my career. Bored of the person I am. That may seem strange. How can working in the media be boring? How can you be bored of being on the telly and radio, of being “famous”. Doesn’t everyone want to be a celebrity?

Well it’s fine if you are interviewing Irvine Welsh or Alex Salmond, singing on stage with Glasvegas, trying not to mess up a question on Postcode Challenge or finding God in the Philippines.

But those moments are few and far between because television and radio is 99% formulaic. As the head of one of the big radio stations said to me the other day: “Scotland is great if you’re a jobbing DJ or presenter, but if you want to do anything ambitious or imaginative, you’re screwed.”

So I’m moving to a place where I hope to get more control over my life. I will grow my own veg, keep my own chickens and fish for trout. I will raise alpaca goats and sell their fleece. I might even hunt bears. I’ve already looked at alpacas for sale. There’s one on the market just down the road from where we’re going to live. He’s called Jon Bonjovial. You really can't beat that for a sign . . .

I also plan to write and make music, to sit in a room each day and create, with nobody telling me what I can and cannot do. If what I produce sells, then great. If not, at least I’ll have genuinely cared about every second I’ve spent on it and been true to myself.

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