An opportunity for pleasure

With torrential rain stinging my face and finding ingenious ways to get past my tightly fastened collar and down my back I trudged wearily along the pavement, the heavy suitcases in each hand balancing one another out. This wasn’t what I expected when I decided to make London my home.

When I was little I would listen to my grandfather tell stories about when he was an airman in the RAF, a Polish exile fighting in the skies over Southern England. He spoke of a green and pleasant land covered in Ash and Oak, Willow and Hawthorn, and of rivers like arteries criss-crossing the land. His memories of sunny days, squirrels, rabbits and wild deer seemed far removed from my first experience as I waited in line at immigration, a concrete jungle of an airport. “Anna,” he would say, “It is a land of opportunity.”

At least my English was good and I hoped that my education would help me to find a good job in the city. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that I would be able to secure a post in the financial sector right away and I had braced myself for a stint in hospitality, perhaps in one of the larger hotels but I had an ambition to do well and the drive to make my dreams come true.

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