New Beginnings

Having tested out the title of this post on a friend, she suggested it might be somewhat more appropriate to publish it tomorrow on the first day of the new year, rather than on the last day of this one. I take her point.

But this is just how life seems to be at the moment. Everything needs to start before the last 'thing' has finished. We dread the moment when we don't know what we're meant to be doing next. As such, my New Beginnings have already started, and New Years Resolutions are already in progress. I have been for a run this week, that's one. The fact I almost died in the process is irrelevant. I have booked a driving lesson, that's two. (Well I've made the decision to book a driving lesson, which is basically the same). I have one lot of work experience already lined up at The Sun, and have applied for another at The Independent. That's three. And I've given a lot of thought to finally making a start on applying for Journalism Masters courses. That's....three and a half. Not bad.

So it's the end of 2011. The year where I taught English to inspired 6th formers, I said the phrase, 'it rains every time I go to Paris', I went to Madrid for a weekend, I went on a date with a French hairdresser and played Uno with his friends, I was a waitress at a gypsy wedding (no, I'm not joking and yes, absolutely everything was pink), I found a packet of frozen snails in the freezer during my summer as an au pair for a lovely French family, I was made to eat aforementioned snails, I spent a week in Turkey, I helped out with a Help4Heroes concert and through a strategic introduction I gained a week's work experience at my local newspaper, and I returned to uni for my final year finally certain of what I wanted the next step to be and completely clueless  as to what to do about it.

Far from making tea or coffee, within an hour of arriving at work experience for the local paper I heard, 'Alex I need 150 words on...' Having never seriously considered journalism as a career prospect and having never written an article in my life, I was bemused to say the least. As confidence grew and my fear of interviewing strangers by telephone subsided slightly (it's a work in progress), I knew by lunchtime that this was what I wanted to do.

2012 has a lot to do to rival this year. Aside from the diet, exercise and mountains of uni work with which every year starts, hopefully it will see graduation; some decent work experience; a bit of travelling; a successful Masters application; and a whole lot of surprises too.

Burying the Christmas Cake

Being the 21st December, it is hard to avoid the delightful tackiness of tinsel, lights, carols,cards and snowflakes proving that Christmas quite literally is, all around. I love it all. Home from uni for a few weeks- work experience, essays, and a trip to Germany to see the family means that this year is another flurry of manic days trying to get everything done.

December last year was another story. I was three months into my British Council teaching placement at a sixth form college in a very rural village in France. Getting into the Christmas spirit I decided to show my rebellious students a series of pictures of an 'English Christmas'. First came stockings, then crackers, turkey, Christmas pud and then an image of a regal old lady delivering a speech. 'C'est ta  grand-mère , Alex?' The uncultured group then stunned me further with their apparent knowledge that English people, having made Christmas cake months in advance, dig a hole and bury it in the garden. Naturally.

Having cleared up this bizarre rumour, next on the list was the annual trip to London. I was one of four teachers accompanying 54 eighteen and nineteen year olds, most of whom had never left the country before. Bear in mind I had barely turned 22 a week before.

After a (very) lengthy journey on a coach, we emerged from the tunnel to a flash of trigger-happy amateur photographers; the essential checklist - a car driving on the left, a black taxi, and a double decker red bus. Fascinating photos all round. On our arrival into London, yours truly, with my knowledge of London limited to Oxford street shops and a handful of nightclubs, was presented with a microphone and told to do a guided tour of the sites in both English and French. Preferably with detailed references to dates and architecture if possible.

I somehow survived four days and six museums / art galleries, in all of which I was responsible for 15-20 students and had to listen, advise, and educate on what it was exactly we were looking at (yes, there was a certain amount of subtly reading the available description and then translating it confidently into French). I endured going into McDonalds and ordering 58 cheeseburgers, introducing myself to a tour guide having just had 54 snowballs thrown at me, and trying to figure out which pub a group of students had ended up in having been given the afternoon to explore Covent Garden, Picadilly Circus, Bond and Oxford Streets. Easy.

The climax of the week came on the last evening when the teachers had arranged fish&chips for the group before they got back on the bus and left me to the bliss of solitude and a very large glass (bottle) of wine. Arriving at the restaurant we were surprised to find no record of our reservation. And an assurance that the establishment had never served neither fish nor chips. With 54 hungry and bored students stood outside the door the owner told us to go to their partner restaurant where they would whip up another English 'delicacy', bangers and mash. I was given directions and proceeded to lead a crocodile line of students, in pairs, through the dodgy end of Soho on a friday night. Eyes down and walk quickly please students.

It's fair to say that while yesterday's marathon Christmas shopping provided stress and amusement, it was nothing compared to where I was last year. Saying that, I wouldn't change any of it for the world. Whether my colleagues at the school would agree however...

Stepping Stones

Being in my final year at university and looking to find the proverbial next step, I thought I’d keep an account of the trials and tribulations I encounter along the way in the form of a Blog. Doing an Arts degree and therefore, having not a clue what I was going to do post-graduation seemed to be a reasonable mantra for the first three years of university life. Fast-forward to final year and it’s not quite the same story. Friends once of the same school of thought as me are suddenly falling over each other to submit applications and take online tests as though their lives depended on it, all to bag the best-paid, closest-to-Canary-Wharf corporate grad schemes available. I have suddenly and without warning been caught up in a whirlwind of panic about what will happen once the safety net of "so when does next term start?", which has loyally given our lives structure since we were 7 years old, no longer has a reassuring response. So, what does happen next?  

Having been convinced aged 8 that I would undoubtedly become a vet (the childhood logic; I like animals therefore I shall be an animal doctor), and then a physiotherapist (until my brother correctly informed me that not all physios get to massage Jonny Wilkinson’s thighs), then a teacher (a year in France doing just that soon cured this desire) and finally, and most recently, a journalist.

I like to write, I am insatiably curious, and I enjoy telling other people what they should think: a recipe for success if ever I saw one.

This, then, is an account of my attempt to ‘make it’ at whatever cost. From starting a Blog to opening a Twitter account, to doing whatever work experience it takes to fill up my CV, and to looking back at some of the more notable moments of last year which got me to this place in life (teaching in a sixth form college in France, being an au pair in a French family, my first journalistic work experience, and a bit of temping to earn some cash thrown in), hopefully this will be the start of a journey that gets me to wherever it is I ultimately want to be.