She knew someone involved with the hiring and suggested to my mum that I apply.
Incredibly, none of us considered that this prestigious job would definitely not go to a navigationally deficient teenager who'd only been driving two years, solely in an ancient Morris Minor. Somehow a nepotistic interview was procured (and bear with me, as there is a link to these images of my house).
got painted black
I turned up at the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club and met a man who must have owed a large favour to my mum's misguided friend. Very quickly it became clear that – duh, obviously – my competition was an army of retired taxi drivers, decades of The Knowledge at their core.
got painted black
As only a blissfully unjaded teenager can, I thought I was getting away with it, and soldiered through question after question about the detailed routes that would get me, the limo and an imaginary Steffi Graff to the grounds from a variety of geographically hypothetical London hotels at which she might have been staying.
black paint theme in the kitchen continues
All my routes, however, resolutely included Waterloo Bridge, much to my interrogator's bewilderment. Quite simply it was the only route I knew across central London. It had always worked for me, why stray into the unknown – especially in an increasingly stressful job interview? Eventually, after questioning the directness of most of my suggested routes, my interrogator was forced to ask: "And, Kate, if Waterloo Bridge is closed...?"
Needless to say, and luckily for Steffi et al, I didn't get the job.
All came up after a trip to Wickes for cork tiles (for an exciting corkboard project I'll be sharing soon): I returned minus tiles but with an impulse-bought can of black spray paint for metal.
It could be disastrous... I shall keep you posted. Meanwhile – does anyone else have their own "Waterloo Bridge"?