The next step...

It was a real wrench to leave Islay. Going straight from the island paradise to the centre of Glasgow the thought did cross my mind- why would anyone ever want to live in a city?

But at the ripe old age of 23 I really shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts, especially in light of the next adventure I had planned that was to kick off in less than a week; a year in Sydney. That week I dedicated to re-learning how to cross roads, not wave at everyone, and to at least attempt to talk to other people before reverting to conversation with the nearest animal.  

 I first had the idea of going to Sydney in my 3^rd year at Edinburgh when a solid chunk of my friends went gallivanting around the world for their years abroad. They learnt languages and had completely different experiences, granted mainly involving cheap wine and sleazy foreigners, but it just made me feel so claustrophobic and closeted. What did I know about living outside Britain?

Furthermore, what chance did I have of being employed in the metropolis of London when so many horrifically talented people didn’t seem to be?

With a naïve optimism many people mistook for bravery, I decided that even if I was jobless in Sydney, at least the sun would shine.

So for almost two years the city has evolved and reformed itself countless times in my imagination. Although everyone has waxed lyrical about how glorious they had found it I have become impatient to form my own opinion of it. Good or bad, I’m going to ruddy do it. Cat or not cat, I’m off to seek my fortune!