Saffa, Finally can earn some pounds

1 More Saffa | Finally can earn some pounds | The South African

Fri, 13 Sep 2013 07:00:00 GMT

1 More Saffa | Finally can earn some pounds

Coming back into London, the rain spat in my face reminding me that the sun will not always shine and holiday time is over. The final stage interview was a little more ruthless in a meeting room and questions being asked by the head of department. Despite the minor stress and anxiety planting itself in red patches on my neck and cheeks (praying the lighting in the room softened it), I was phoned the next morning with the offer.

After wowing the event managers with talk of my highly skilled waitressing experience, I was successfully added to their staff calendar. The sheer excitement of walking into an interview and getting a job within five minutes; with the added benefit of being granted one level just above minimum wage due to my know how, was reason for celebration. I fished out my calculator and worked out that if I worked four functions a week, rent would be paid. Rocket food is a family run catering business with friendly staff and an office that intices you in with its clean white furniture, orchids and prize winning food photographs. They seem to have constant events all around south west and central London and provide you with a monthly schedule where you simply add in where you can work, shirts and aprons, late night taxi expenditure and the added possibility of working at fashion launches and private weddings hosted by Elton John. At least I can start my celebrity sighting logbook early and instead of strolling along the Kings road in my best outfit, I might be able to serve Hugh Laurie a cocktail. Sounds pretty glamorous; while I push the nightmares of long hours, sore feet, spillings and breakages to the back of my mind.

With catering organised as a secure back up, the big news came in when an offer with a private banking and wealth management company reared its head. Never underestimate the power of social connections and those small recruiters that your new friend put you in touch with. With corporate attire on, I eased my way through the tube journey of only twenty minutes to Oxford  Circus. For some girls, it’s paradise standing on Oxford street with more shops than you can imagine. Buildings, floors and shop windows are decorated with the latest trends, immediately tempting you to hallucinate and convince yourself there is no better than Karen Millen, Reiss and the ‘why not buy everything you can at Topshop’ frenzy – if you don’t like it in six months, throw it away while its seams have already started fraying!

However, I’m not your normal crazed shopper kind of girl. While I have a passion for trends, vintage and bags, I’m at complete surrender for online shopping or the male hunting mentality when searching for a new coat. If I can’t find something online (only with the ease and selection of asos.com), I dip in and out of the smaller shopping areas before the crazed shopper has set her eyes on which store to enter. I go with a purpose, a target and I hunt accordingly – defying any suggestion that women are gatherers. This is a different story when it comes to food markets and chemists where everything must be touched and smelt!

And so my surfacing onto Oxford street was met with a mild sense of panic and quick detection of how to nip into the gaps between the crowds and find my potential employer’s offices. Luckily it took only three minutes of focus and winding through and I stood outside my hopeful place of work. Before you knew it, I had met the project manager and been whizzed off for a cup of coffee as all their meeting rooms were booked. We bantered about the herds of livestock around Oxford street and Primark and over an hour, I explained my experience and how I thought it was an absolute must that they hire me for the three month contract to finish off a change project in place. Leaving with optimism in full force, the phonecall the next day saying I had made it to the final stage interview was music to my ears.

With a weekend getaway to the glory of Provence, I knew I would be ok. Being blessed with a father who decided to invest in a small cottage overlooking the town of Flayosc (an hours drive from St Tropez and Nice), the ease of an Easy Jet flight for two hours ignited that spark for future weekend plans when airlines promote their specials. Laying beside the pool, walking to the town to buy croissants (despite my gluten sensitivity), and sitting with my feet in the sand in a St. Tropez restaurant gorging on mussels was a dream.

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The beautiful sight of St.Tropez

Coming back into London, the rain spat in my face reminding me that the sun will not always shine and holiday time is over. The final stage interview was a little more ruthless in a meeting room and questions being asked by the head of department. Despite the minor stress and anxiety planting itself in red patches on my neck and cheeks (praying the lighting in the room softened it), I was phoned the next morning with the offer.

Barely believing I would finally be working after seven months of holiday, the Monday start sat on me like a bloated elephant. Time to get back into the real world and begin my real London start.

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