The Story So Far

So I've been told by another blogger that details of my move from sunny Sydney to dreary London are sketchy, and more info is required. For those of you who have not been paying attention, I provide a run down of what is going on. Saves me having to think of something witty to write about:

So basically, I was your average Sydney lawyer. I worked all the hours god gave me, and a few more to boot. I spent a lot of time fixing my older, more experienced and better paid colleague's mistakes, and got none of the glory. I (apparently) had senior associate prospects in the next five years.

Then one day, I realised I was miserable. Being a lawyer is, for the most part, about dealing with arseholes who get themselves into legal trouble because they are morons and then expect you to get them out of it. For nothing. And far too many of the practising lawyers out there are just as bad as people think. And law firms lie outrageously about what work you will be doing when they sucker you in to being their employee underpaid slave.

One day, after a particularly depressing couple of months where I didn't know what to do, I realised I had to get out. So I quit my job. This began what I like to refer to as my quarter life crisis.

I then started working as a secretary in the law firm from hell. I lasted four months before telling them to stick their job up their clacker.

During that period, I decided I was going to use my English passport to become another pain in the arse Aussie in London. Lord knows there aren't enough there already. London could use one or two more, surely. Plus, it may be my last chance to abuse my nan's west London apartment before she sells it to move into a more age appropriate place (read: nursing home).

I also got a second job working as a long suffering travel agent. Which, despite people largely being insane, I still quite enjoy.

I went for an interview for my number two dream job. It was an unprecedented disaster. Luckily, I had applied for two jobs with similar companies though, and managed to not fuck up the second one. And get the job.

I then had eight weeks to get my act together and arrange a move to London. I may or may not have freaked out at this point.

I moved home to get ready for Engerland. And worked various cruisy casual jobs to pay for said trip.

I met a boy man. I am refusing to think about this though, as I am in denial. It is a lovely place to be.

I now leave in two weeks. I am both shit scared and excited.

I think that sums it up. Apologies for the many links (and is there anything more up yourself than linking to yourt own goddammed blog? Computer says no).

At least this gets you up to date...