How the mighty have fallen

I think I have essentially spent the last year of my life living out of a suitcase. Or bags, or rubbish bags, or whatever was handy at the time to transport my belongings.

When I moved to the truly awful pub in the countryside, complete with smelly named regulars and overconfident 19 year olds, I had one suitcase. It was the suitcase I brought back to the UK with me when I left Kenya. It was the same suitcase then went to the USA with me. It had the essentials.

While I was staying at the pub, a friend of mine managed to book a precious afternoon off to take me down to her friends barn in the countryside, where she had stored some of my stuff for me when I first left for East Africa. Even after I had decided that I couldnt stay at that pub, there was no way that I could call her and re-schedule, after the effort she went through in the first place to take the time off. The sum total of those belongings was 2 big black bags of clothing, and a box of personal items. Photos, dvds, music etc. All of which was stored in the tiny cubby of a room I existed in at the pub.

On one of my days off, I made a trip into London to an interview for an assistant manager position at a great pub off Oxford Street in central London. The accomodation looked great. Not too noisy, clean, own shower, shared spotless kitchen etc. The money was good, the job similar to what I had done before. I accepted on the spot.

I managed to get the manager at the country pub to allow me to leave some of my stuff there and made my way to my first day at the new place looking like a bag lady who had the benefit of a bath. I was dragging a suitcase, and carrying a box, and carrying a rubbish bag full of bits and pieces. And instead of arriving before the place opened, I arrived just as the customers were streaming in the door for their midday pick-me-up pint. Joyous.

The first couple of days of the job were fine. Nice staff, no drinking after work, no mad parties, only blissful quiet and sleep. The pub during opening hours, however, was insane. I have always worked at the type of quality location where making someone feel welcome and comfortable was more important than being able to do 15 things at once. This was not that type of bar. This was a 4 people at a time, people waving money in your face constant rush against the clock to get as many drinks out in as little time as possible. Frankly? I sucked. Badly. Its ego-destroying to discover that in your field there is a job you cant do. I know my job, I know my work. I could keep a pub running day to day with my eyes closed, and in some cases in the past have very nearly done exactly that. But this was beyond me. Do I really want to be stressed all day every day anyway? Needless to say, my week trial over, I am back staying at Miss M's and going to interviews tomorrow.

I truly am getting a little tired of moving around so very much. I would like all my belongings to be in one place, my bags to be unpacked, my room decorated with something other the stains of the previous inhabitant. I am homesick for a home I dont have. Lets see what the next pub brings...