Upset pub bosses: 2
Cats in new home: 2
Time taken to get to work: approx 1 hour
Supermarket near work: Waitrose (Yippee!)
Love for my hockey team: masses
It’s been a hell of a few weeks.
Everything was plodding along, in the way that things do
when you’re resigned for a few months of mind-numbingly boring PA course,
interspersed with a few shifts at the pub which forms part of your social life,
with the odd couple of hours of distraction with Gorgeous Carpenter. And then, out of the blue, my world was
turned on its head. Through an old
school acquaintance, I was offered a job at a boutique estate agency in Kensington
as a Lettings Negotiator, with the starting date just two weeks away. In short, it was my dream job. I ought to have been over the moon; finally,
something to get me out of this rut I was resigned to until at least
Christmas. Yet the surprise and speed at
which things started to happen was rather terrifying, and I was suddenly all
for crawling back to my comfortable hole. Where was I to live? With whom? How much could I afford? How would
they manage at the pub without me? What about my PA Diploma? And, of course,
WHAT ABOUT GORGEOUS CARPENTER? For things had begun to progress to a new level,
and I couldn’t deny how much I liked him.
I’ll spare you the ins and outs of house hunting and
decisions, least of all whether I should actually take the job. Pretty much
single girl, age 23, given her dream first job in London on a platter. How many other graduates are given an
opportunity like that, especially in today’s hard-core job market. The decision
was pretty much unanimous that I’d be a fool not to at least give it a go.
So I gave notice at
the pub, shifted my diploma to weekends only, and took a Monday-Friday let in a
family home near Richmond. I’ll be home every weekend to play hockey (I’m not
ready to leave my Havant girls quite yet), and see Gorgeous Carpenter, I
reasoned. I signed the job contract,
paid a month’s rent up front, and waited for D Day to approach. It was a mixture of excitement and pure
terror.
Yet I couldn’t shake off the feeling of unease about
Gorgeous Carpenter. The inevitability is
that soon I’ll live full-time in London, and with him being busy even at
weekends, where did that leave time for travelling the 70 miles between us at
weekends? So what, really, was the point in giving it a go for 6 months with me
only home at weekends? It would probably
only end up in tears. He came over on my
last night at home, and we talked at length.
We were both utterly torn. Eventually we came to the sad decision that
it was best to end things. We had a cup
of tea, watched the Bake-Off and Bad Education as usual, and he left. Needless
to say, it was not what I needed when I was feeling so much trepidation about
London in the first place. I guess some
things really are too good to be true.
I’ve decided to put my fishing on hold as I settle into
London. And how I need to settle. I’m not even sure that I like London after
all. The metaphorical pond has enlarged significantly, and my current situation
of finishing work late, exhausted and with my make-up having slid off my face,
not even being in London at weekends for now, is not a good basis for dating. Plus, with all this change, my skin has
erupted and my bottom swelled more than I thought was possible. Maybe I will need those M&S control pants
after all. I think early bedtimes with
pyjamas and a hot water bottle will be my friends for the time being.
I’m looking forward to reading Helen Fielding’s new Bridget
Jones novel. Perhaps this will shed some light on my future.
I promise not to moan so much in my next post.
