It’s been almost 2 months since I arrived in London with a skip in my step and a ridiculous naivety which had me thinking I’d be gleefully employed within two weeks. I blame my mother’s unconditional support and parting words ‘once they see you, they will definitely want to employ you’. It was this advice that led me to the reception of two journalism publishing houses, both establishments didn’t let me past said reception, one laughed in my face, the other, I got quite literally hit with the door on the way out (still struggling to master the pace of those spinny door things).
Who knew it could be so hard for someone to take a chance on you?
Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t been completely unsuccessful, I had a wonderful interview with two men who took great pleasure in watching me squirm under their intense scrutiny and fierce questioning. I didn’t think it was possible to shake and sweat so excessively in the space of 30 minutes. Safe to say I didn’t get that job.
Another, more friendly interview had the employers asking ‘So what have you been doing since you moved to London?’. My honest answer: sleeping in, watching a shit load of American TV shows, listening to hundreds of radio stations, surfing the net for jobs 24/7, researching said jobs, playing a lot of social sports and getting drunk. My Guernsey friends have taken to calling me hobo, it’s got that bad. The answer I gave in the interview? ‘oh, you know, finding my feet, getting to know London and listening to your radio station of course’.
So, where am I going with this blog post? You tell me. It’s boredom that has brought me here and I felt like you should share my pain and if, by chance, you happen to be a potential employer… I promise to do something better with my time than watch ‘Melissa and Joey’, and I promise I’m an asset to your team, and I’ll try to keep the swearing to a minimum.