The Great London Tights Fiasco

I've been back in London for one week now, and am doing alright. It was harder than expected to leave Boise, going in I thought after almost 3 months I'd be itching to leave, but I definitely could have stayed longer, and I miss my family and Abby. But, I'm happy to be back with Sarah, and she's found us a wonderful flat on the Thames. Yes, on the Thames. And not even at a gross dirty bit! It's a top floor penthouse flat, and we have gorgeous views, over to central London from the front, and of the river from the bedroom and living room. I'll put up some pictures soon.
Sarah organized a lovely little get together at the Hurlingham Pub with some of our best London friends- Mia, Blakeley and Sam, which was amazing, and I even got to meet our very Irish landlord, and share an odd little dance! It's nice to be back, as I missed them all.
Unfortunately, I'm not enjoying the job search. Who ever enjoys job searching? Probably no-one, but definitely not me. The first day after I was back, I went to meet a recruitment agency in the city around Farringdon station. That was good fun. I left home two hours before to make sure I had time, didn't have to rush, and factored in any wrong turns or closed tube lines. It was the first time in one year that I had on a work skirt and TIGHTS. Tights and I have never had a good relationship. And today was no exception. You see, I have never mastered the art of tights and a skirt. I find that as soon as I leave the house, the skirt works its way up, and the tights work their way down, so I am constantly pulling down my skirt to avoid looking like... I don't know, someone with a much-too-short skirt. I waddled to the tube station, got on the train, and made a vital mistake: I sat down. So about 20 minutes later I stood up and started my hunt for the recruitment office. I noticed my tights had worked their way down from my waist to my hips, and as I walked, they rolled down, down, and I caught them mid-thigh. What's a girl to do when her tights have become thigh-highs, her skirt is yearning to be a mini-skirt, and she's in the business district of London? Panic! I dove into the nearest alley, hoping to have a chance to pull them up. Looked around, nope, CCTV camera staring right at me. So I dashed to the next alley along, firmly holding my tights up, skirt down, and doing my best to look as if I'm not about to flash an unlucky passerby. The next alley had windows into office buildings. The third alley was filled with practicing ballet dancers. Couldn't I catch a break? Apparently not. It continued like this, running into alley after parking garage entrance, after secluded doorway, until I made it to my destination. That should have been the end of it, but of course not- I had to navigate a steep flight of stairs on my way down to fix the situation, and in the heels I had just put on (you mean zebra print converse shoes aren't professional?) I managed to stumble down at least two and make a loud ruckus.
So that was that. When I finally got into the interview, she seemed disinterested and suggested I go back to my old company (you mean the one that inspired me to move to Australia for a year just to escape the stress? No thank you!) instead of finding me new opportunities. So, I've spent today putting my CV on every website I can think of and applying for what seemed like hundreds of jobs but in reality was probably more like 20. So here's hoping!

I'll leave you with the view from my bedroom window!