Reunited

The job search continuing, today I slaved over my endlessly face-lifted CV to create yet another visage of my every skill and quality. To what end? Tired eyes and wild hair, due to this commonly struck pose:

But considering the latest revamp includes a link to this blog, as a way to showcase my writing, I think I better get on the case and write a few more posts!

Only on Wednesday this week, I woke early to prep myself for the following day’s interview in the city of Oxford. Having got back in contact with my Godfather (oh the wonders of Facebook), the subject of my job-search prompted the introduction of me to his sister, Kate Allen…head of Allen Associates Recruitment. It’s about who you know, right? Suit brushed of all stray dalmatian hairs, from my stay with relatives in Cambridge (Cruella someone-or-other), and shirt *cough* expertly ironed, I was, of course, ready and raring to go!..roughly 4hours before my train was even due to leave. There’s something for potential employers: I’m not often late. Just very, very early.

Pacing aside, visible tracks now lining my Grandma’s carpet, I finally boarded my train in the early afternoon on the usual empty stomach (later filled by the usual flying visit to UpperCrust, which seem to line rail stations like Starbucks does the high streets), but the journey was not without its potential hiccups. Changing at Southampton, and finding myself swimming upstream through a school of Spanish-wielding on-comers, I was repeatedly told off for going the wrong way by their shepherding teachers, frustrated both by my direction and by that annoyance that becomes us when we just can’t place the face…

Ducking beneath my cloak of invisibility diversion, I managed to spin-move my way out of the fray and onto the train (there’s a rhyme in there…I can feel it). Fortunately (for then, and unfortunately for this later story-telling) the remainder of my journey raised nothing worthy of note.

After so many years, ten long years, it’s amazing how that one distinctive attribute brings all the memories flooding back; what a laugh my Godfather has! Abundant and hearty, it infects your diaphragm in an uncontrollable fashion, and by 10pm that evening, my face was aching for smiling. Not to mention how grand an audience he proved to be,  as well as the jester. A lovely home-cooked meal warming my belly, and James’ laugh stroking my ego gently behind the ears, the evening swam with good feeling, ending only after I had out-debated his wife Emma (on topics such as the conspiracy of Google, and whether Gravity was real). My bed awaited me in this beautifully renovated house in the rurals north of Oxford, and I was all too happy to adhere to my gaping breaths. Oh, did I not mention? This house was fantastic!

According to Emma, the woman who lived in this house prior to them had retreated further and further into the depths of this large estate, until she lived out her final days in the proximity of only a few small rooms. Spruced, painted, and tastefully kitted out with country-chic furniture, the addition of the original surrounding structure, with its every wonderful imperfection, made for quite the first-impression. Walking, ever-so-slightly-awkwardly through the wonky halls on the upper floors, ducking beneath the thick, rustic low beams, and soaking in the character of the barn-like doors to each and every room, I just couldn’t get enough of it.

I apologise for the poor quality of the pictures! (I must remember to take my proper camera with  me when going on trips!)

You can even see my trusty journal on the table there.

But as for the antics, this story comes to an end. And unless something interesting happens over the next couple of days, stay tuned for a quick recounting of what happened when I entered Australia on my travels.

Thanks for reading…whoever you are. Procrastinating, much?

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