I have been talking about relocating to a new city for a while.
Over pints, with a red, flushed face, did I all too often, dramatically announce, “I’m leaving! Remember this face! I am gone! I am sick of Dublin. Sick of it. There are too many ghosts in this city.”
Eyes were often thrown to heaven. “Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard this before”. Sometimes I even received, “what do you expect to get from London that you can’t get in Dublin?”
A month ago, Best Friend proposed he and I spend some time looking for jobs in London using the internet. We did an in-depth, intricate search on Google, using scant terms such as “London VAT jobs”. We received a few matches.
Best Friend perused one particular job spec. “I think this job would suit you.”
I read the detail on the screen. I shook my head. “Oh, no, this sounds very technical. No, no, this is not for me at all.”
We came across similar jobs. I shooed the notion of them away.
A day or so later, I pondered the job spec. The more I thought on it, the more I realised this job was for me. I could do this. I could be good at this. This is my job! I called the recruitment agent. We chatted about my experience and interest in the role. He forwarded my CV to the recruiters, who instantly expressed interest in my profile.
Faraway, in another land, removed from flights of fancy of living the London Life, Best Friend and I addressed our living situation. The duration of the lease on the apartment, slowly wasted away; to extend the lease or not.
“I could just quit my job – for the first time in my life, throw caution to the wind and leave! Oh wait, no, I have no savings. This won’t work.”
Best Friend disagreed. “You need a job before you move. We’ll look at the matter of the lease, when the need arises.”
Meanwhile, elsewhere, away from employment opportunities and living arrangements, did I happen to meet a handsome, English man – London Bloke – in Dublin for a business trip. We arranged a date. The date went well. In fact, it went very well. I like him very much. I am lazy in romance and for what is a rare occasion, I made the first move on our date.
Roughly one week later, events progressed nicely. Before I knew it, I was required to go to London for a second interview. London Bloke and I had been in contact prior to the interview. We arranged a second date, deciding to meet in Soho.
I arrived late, having spent fifteen minutes wandering around Soho in search of Compton Street. I walked into the darkness of the bar and looked around for London Bloke. I spotted him within seconds. He looked good. I awkwardly greeted him. I was nervous. Do I shake his hand or kiss him on the mouth? What is the etiquette for a second date? I opted for a kiss on the cheek.
“It’s really nice to see you again,” he said.
My head spun. Wow, Irish men never say stuff like that. Well, the Irish men I’ve known never would. “It’s nice to see you too,” I replied somewhat coyly, looking to the floor.
“You’re in my city this time. Let me buy you a pint.”
We moved to a nook of the bar. Conversation and laughter radiated from that corner.
London Bloke supped his pint of ale. “So, how did the interview go?”
“It went OK. My head was completely fried afterwards. It was two hours long. I spoke for two hours! I am naturally talkative, but even I found that challenging.”
“When will you know the results?”
I hesitated. “Thing is … I already know the results …”
He raised his eyebrows in expectation. “Oh?”
“I got the job.”
A sexy smile crept across his face. “I am so happy for you. And, I am happy for me too.”
I was stunned. I’m sure my smile beamed. “Thanks.” I felt very strange right then, unaccustomed to the sensation of shyness.
I returned to Dublin the next day, slowly and gradually communicating my news to friends. Events were slowly settling in my own head. Since then, I have handed in my notice at work. I am due to finish my job 15th July; the same day the lease ends on the apartment.
I fancy the arse off London Bloke. As sad – or hopeful – as it sounds, I have not felt like this about anyone in years. I no longer feel dead from the waist down.
I never subscribed to the “whatever is meant for you won’t pass you by” train of thought. In my opinion, our lives are what we make them. Recent events have caused me to wonder if sometimes, now and again, things just go right and fall tidily into place.
It’s really quite nice when this happens.