It’s been one year since I walked down that velvet red carpet at the South Bank Centre, legs surprisingly stable, palms unusually dry, a smirk of proud accomplishment at successfully picking the perfect outfit to fill in the draughty gaps in my Hogwart’s cloak and cap. No invisibility needed here. Graduation Day marked the arrival of new opportunities, meetings with figures that would help build my career, shape my being, and firmly cement me on the way to success. The future was bright. However, the future seemed to remain orange- the epilepsy sensitive colour of my work clothes. The same work clothes I have been donning since the start of my university working life.
Just before graduating I got offered a job working for a business journal. I was overjoyed. The dream of every Arts student, the assurance of stability from a flaky industry. One minute you’re in, the next you’re out. Well my friends I was in. But just as quickly I was out, and after that, things just seemed to float where I found myself becoming a jack of all trades to keep my head afloat. Fully aware Rome wasn’t built in a day I thought foundations would have at least been laid down one year on. What is this, Transport for London?