So in a rather dramatic turn of events, I unemigrated.
I was living in London for a year and a half, convinced that I was blissfully happy and there was nowhere in the world that I would rather be. I love London. I’ve always loved London. The history, the culture, even the rain (not that I’m missing that too much here in Ireland). I still shed a tear over the beautiful transport system that makes us look like we get from A to B by donkey. I’ve wanted to live in London for so long, it was a dream come true when I moved there.
But after a long time of minimum wage jobs, sub-standard living quarters and lazier and lazier dinners (my ideas of being my own personal gourmet chef went out the window pretty quickly), I started to realise that I wasn’t so much living as I was surviving.
Don’t get me wrong, there are experiences I’ve had and people I have met that ensure I will never regret the time that I spent there. I made some amazing friends and had some unforgettable moments. Though our game of hide and seek in an apartment the size of a box may not make headlines, I’ll always remember my Easter Sunday with Alie, not to mention the time we crashed the St. Patrick’s day parade in a fit of Irish pride.
The Sherlock Holmes museum was certainly not the dream job I had imagined, run by the most evil people I have ever met, constantly making me sad that they are allowed to have anything to do with Benedict Cumberbatch (who I spotted once, making the whole trip worthwhile).
Nevertheless, I met ferociously awesome people and managed to squeeze in a few adventures before my time was up. Highlights include the time we rang ALL OF THE BELLS and, of course, the memorable treatise “In Bed With Sherlock Holmes”. My main role in the museum was to inform patrons that they could take photos but ask them to please not touch anything. The other girls and I added the loophole, that if Benedict Cumberbatch visited he could touch EVERYTHING.
My longest stint was in Pret a Manger, not the most glamorous career move but worth it for the free food. It was a sort of satisfying game to ring up your lunch and see how much money you were wasting from the company. It was also where I met the other best people ever, learned how to swear in Spanish and the rather exciting news that Andorra is ruled by two co-princes. Disappointingly, they are not rakishly handsome youths who get into all sorts of mischief, their Andorran crowns perched jauntily on their heads. It would make a good Disney Channel show though.
I can now add to my CV that I know how to make a cappuccino with a proper machine and everything, which is a useful skill for an arts graduate.
My next move was to a Thai restaurant, where I was personally invited to work after I wowed the right person with my sweet customer service. Good for something, eh? This brought a whole new class of free food. I met Giulia, who is a delight, several other lovely people, and a villain, which was an experience, and something to learn from.
Still, despite the good times, and the valuable life experience (code for things that sucked), I was starting to feel the need for a change. I’m not getting any younger. I need to progress in some way, think about getting myself… a career.
I couldn’t see this happening in London, where I was constantly struggling to pay rent, make time for everything and having some problems with my mental health, so it was time to go home. I miss London, especially the tube, and my friends, I suppose. But this feels right.
So I’m finally getting serious about my career. In 2015, I will apply for a masters in Creative Writing.
Of course, I will need to save to make this happen, so it won’t be all fun and games here, I need to get a job. Possibly a “real job”. It’s the start of a new, horribly terrifying adventure.