Life is what you make it. I recently moved from a quiet town in the country to chase my big city dreams. Nothing ever goes smoothly, nothing is ever what it seems, but everyday I am getting closer. I am yet another slightly less-than-average girl trying to find her way in London, and in life.

Sunday, 10 November 2013

And the countdown begins...

I've managed to bag myself a job in London. After years of searching and dreaming and several "hmmm, but it's just not quite right"'s, I have accepted a job in West London and will be starting on the 2nd December. As of right now, I have exactly 21 days, 12 hours and 49 minutes until I will be walking through those glass doors, teetering across the marble floor in my tiny 2-inch heels that are way too high for me, and sitting down for my very first day in my brand new job, in a brand new city.

I was officially offered the job on Wednesday, and without really thinking I blindly handed in my notice and will be leaving in less than 2 weeks. It was only on the Thursday when I actually went into work and everyone was congratulating me, that I realised actually how out of depth I really am. I have a house in Shropshire. I have two cats. I have a gym membership for God's sake! That's serious stuff. More to the point - I don't have a house in London. I don't even have a potential house. This weekend, I have been trawling the internet for flat shares (Jesus there's some funky shit out there) and I have got nowhere fast. I've tried to contact people about a few rooms, only to be hit with "oh, you have to pay to contact this seller" (brilliant, thanks for that); or "sorry, in the 3 seconds since we posted this add, it's been snapped up"; and some genuinely disturbing twats with the general "oh I've got a place for you beautiful ;)". I am so bloody lost. I never knew it would be so hard to find somewhere decent. I suppose I do have fairly strict criteria, but that's because I'm looking for a home, not just a place to crash. It doesn't help that living 4 hours away means I can't just pop for a visit, and I'm generally terrified about these flatmate 'interviews' that I've been reading about online. I came across one article whereupon a girl was forced to audition for a room, with a Britain's Got Talent-style panel and actual buzzers. ACTUAL BUZZERS. I have no talent, I literally would cry if that happened to me. I thought trying to land a job would be the worst part, apparently it's nothing compared to the dog-eat-dog world of flatshares.

Rest assured, I am entirely terrified. I doubt I will come out alive.

21 days.

Fuck me.

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