How to... get sacked!

Still reminiscing; I was reminded of my first day at my first job in London. It was memorable because within 4 hours of starting, I was sacked.

I had taken a risk by registering with a new recruitment agency, and had secured a locum position on the acute wards of a large hospital in South London about a month before moving to London; however in the week before starting, they had changed their mind and I was jobless. At the time I was snowboarding in Switzerland, so this new recruitment consultant sweet-talked his way into my resume, and promptly spammed the inboxes of every SLT manager in London shouting my praises trying to get me (and him) a contract. He certainly caught my ear when he told me I'd been 'headhunted' and that my name was being tossed around by London managers who were interested in having me on board.

A day later, he found me a job. I was told it was acute. I was told it was inpatients. Despite asking numerous times, I was assured that my criminal record check, ID, heck, even my surname and address, were not necessary before starting. I believed him. He even had the nerve to tell me I was worrying about nothing.

I turned up on day one.

A year ago today

Kleine Scheidigg

So I'm sitting on the lounge with a terrible head cold, reminiscing about where I was exactly a year ago today.

I know exactly where I was; at a bus station in Dover, East Kent, feeling sick to the stomach and wondering what on earth I had got myself into. I was terribly anxious, not least because I was worried the coach wouldn't arrive and I'd be left in a deserted building too late to get a train home.

A week beforehand, I had been working in East Kent, living in hospital accommodation, and could count the friends I'd made in the UK on one hand. I had just secured my first locum position in London, and had just found a London flat to live in. I was moving in a week's time. I had been attending St Helen's Church in London for about 7 months; commuting a whopping 2 hours each way to get there by bus, train and tube.

Church was exhausting; each week sitting next to someone different (and equally welcoming), but not really meeting the same person twice. For 7 months I had the same conversation every single Sunday:

"Hi, I'm ...... And you are?"
"Lindsay."
"Nice to meet you. Are you new to St Helen's?"
"No, I've been coming here for ..... months."
"Great! What RML are you in?" (RML is the weekly small group.)
"Oh I can't go to an RML. I live too far away."
"Where do you live?"
"Margate."
"Margate?!?! In Kent?"
"Yep."
"How long does it take you to get here?"
"2 hours."
"Oh my goodness. Oh, hang on, the service is starting / I have to go. Nice to meet you."

That's how every single conversation went. Apart from a girl who took my phone number, texted me the following week and the weeks afterwards, and met me at the entrance to church nearly every week.

Oh, and the people I met a few weeks before my birthday, who threw me a 30th birthday party. Yep, I spent my 30th birthday with a bunch of strangers. It was great!

I digress. Anyway, the girl I had become friends with had suggested we go on the church ski trip. It was a great deal; and included a return coach trip all the way from London to Switzerland. It sounded like fun. On a whim, I agreed.

But then I changed my mind a few weeks before the trip...

My (not so endless) numbered days

Every adventure comes to an end eventually. Every Tier 5 visa has an expiration date.

In 60 days I'll definitely* be on a flight home to Australia.

I have no idea whether this move will be temporary or permanent.

For months now, I've been waiting to find out if my work will sponsor me to stay in the UK on a Tier 2 Work Permit visa. And with 60 days to go, I'm no closer to knowing.

In the next 60 days, my job may rise to the top of a list of jobs to be approved to be advertised for application. Right now