The Oxford Chapter

The view from my bedroom window in Oxford

So I lasted in my pub job in Oxford exactly two weeks.  Good effort me!  Haha. I laugh in my general direction.

But back to the beginning.  The flight to England was very very long, an impression added to by my chronic inability to sleep on aeroplanes – or really anything that isn’t a big comfy bed in a quiet room.  I arrived exhausted, having been awake for over 40 hours.

I wandered through the EU passport control section and felt like I was cheating.  I felt like any moment, someone was going to go “hey, wait a minute, you’re not really Irish!”   I am still getting used to the fact that I am a legal citizen of the EU and have as much right to be here as anyone else.

Despite that, I have pretty much felt at home here since stepping off the plane.  England is great.  It feels right.  It feels like coming home.  Must be in the blood or something.  Kind of fits with the theory I was coming up with about why so many Kiwis and Aussies do their OE to the UK – it’s like some kind of ancesterial calling, a yearning of the blood to be back “home”.  Well, for me anyway, it feels good to be here, even if I barely know a soul.

That first night in London I slept for a long long time, and then the next day took the train to Oxford, which was fairly quick and painless.  A short taxi ride later and I was wandering, still weary and dazed, into the pub I was set to live and work in.

And then followed quite a rollercoaster two weeks.  Turns out I was working in one of the busiest pubs in the UK, and when the British say “pub” what they really mean is “restaurant”.  Which meant I was a waitress.  I hate waitressing.  I already knew this.  But this place was not only madly busy from midday to practically midnight, but it was definitely a proper dining, full table service restaurant.

I have never really done hospitality work before, I have sat on my arse as a typist for a long time, and on my first shift, the day after I arrived, I worked 11 hours (with one single break which I demanded after 8 hours straight of working).  The next day I was rostered on again.  And the next.  And it was BUSY.  Turns out, the day of my first shift was their second busiest day in history.  My whole first week was their busiest week ever.  Madness.

The pub - on its winding country lane on the outskirts of town.

Having said that, the people were really lovely, it was a nice pub, Oxford is a really pretty city and I wouldn’t say that I didn’t enjoy the experience.  I mean, lets be honest, I hated the job with every ounce of my being.  But not really because there was anything wrong with the job itself – it just wasn’t me.  If I were someone else – for a while I thought it was about age, but then I remembered myself when I was 19 and knew it had nothing to do with age, I have always been like this – but if I were someone else, the job would have been a great way to make some money, meet some people, live in Oxford and have some fun.

But I’m not someone else, I’m me.  And (ironically enough) it was Kurt Cobain who said “wanting to be someone else  is a waste of the person you are.”  In the last two weeks I was confronted with myself.  And you come to a point where you just have to accept: I am who I am.  I have a dry wit, sarcastic tongue, and I don’t suffer fools gladly.  I like to be independent and self-sufficient.  I am not a servant, despite the nobility that I see in that and aspired to.  I like to take things at my own pace.  I like to be able to sit and have a cup of tea while I work.

The work I have done for the last two weeks gave me a whole new appreciation of office work.  It may not sound glamorous, it may not be exciting – but it suits me.  And I realised I have spent so much of my life doing medical administration not because I was trapped or waiting for something better – but because it suits me.  It suits my personality, it suits the way I like to work.  It suits me – not who I want to be or wish I was, but who I actually am.

On Sunday night I quit my job at the pub because I just couldn’t do it anymore and you know me – I’ve always preferred to quit than be miserable!  Life is way too short and fabulous and sometimes you just gotta know whento cut your losses.

The next day I gathered up my things (because I lived upstairs and the room came with the job) and headed out into the great unknown.  Turns out the taxi driver I happened to get owned a guesthouse and gave me a single room there for cheaper than a dorm room in a hostel would have been.  Crazy the little things the universe throws your way to say “don’t worry my love, you are being taken care of, keep going.”

I was planning on staying in Oxford, because it’s a pretty little place, but there seemed to be a dearth of work here and the pay doesn’t seem to be that good.  So I sent my CV to a couple of medical secretary recruitment companies in London and within moments had a call from a woman wanting to meet with me and find me work.  A few moments later and I had booked a week in a London hostel and a train to London for the next day.  I’ve never been one for mucking around – why waste time baby?!  When it feels right, you gotta trust the gut and roll with it.

This morning I was woken by another call from a fabulous Scottish man at another medical recruitment agency who reckons he’ll get me into work within days and is meeting with  me tonight the moment I step of the train from Oxford, backpack and all, before I’ve even checked into the hostel!

So Oxford has been a great experience, another story to add to the life list, and now I am excited about moving on and going to London.  Oxford it super cute and filled with history, but it is small, and I think maybe I would have started to feel claustrophobic here.  I am excited to be going to the big vibrant city where so much is going on and there is so much opportunity.  I think I should be able to get good, well paid work fairly soon in a field I am experienced and confident in.

Thus endith the Oxford Chapter – I’m off to turn the next page!

The main street in Oxford - a town full of history.

“Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing”

~ Helen Keller

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