1989 marked the end of a two-year sprint of study. I was 23 when I came back from Canada to begin my university journey. During those intense two years, I spent most days, nights, and weekends in bed with my books, eliminating every possible distraction.

I had a part-time job at Drummonds, a private health club, working at reception. I met and greeted guests, answered phones, sorted out memberships and locker keys, gave tours, or covered bar poolside duties. Once work was done, the rest of the time was mine to catch up on reading, projects, or go over my notes.

My typical day involved heading to lectures, often from morning through to late afternoon, then off to work, a quick sunbed and shower, pulling myself together to look respectable, but definitely not glamorous. Home, sleep, repeat.

Every break I could get, I’d hop on a flight to Athens to relax, soak up some sunshine, and reconnect with Kosta and my friends.

My life goal back then was crystal clear, I wanted to join the Royal Navy, just like Pops. I’d tried straight out of school. They offered me Admin, but I wanted the Fleet Air Arm, so I held out. By 25, it was my last chance to join the Wrens as an officer. Getting qualified would give me a fighting shot at that dream.

I got to the selection board. The Admiral looked me over and told me I was “too nice.” I was devastated and honestly, a little insulted. How can someone be too nice? My best friend, however, was relieved. She said my talents lay elsewhere. Maybe she was right.

Let me backtrack a little to give the full picture.

When I left school, I had English, Dressmaking, Domestic Science, and Art. I was one Maths short of the minimum qualifications for most traditional routes. Mops made sure I learned touch typing and shorthand. No choice, she wears the pants. I ended up in an admin role and continued waitressing part-time.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t expect to make it to 21. So my plan was simple, live as many adventures as I could while I could. I chose to become an au pair for the roof over my head and the promise of regular meals plus I’ve always loved children. I picked Germany because I’d studied it in school and liked it. I was ahead of the game in French, but my German sucked. The deciding factor? My aunt and uncle were stationed in Germany with the army, and my aunt spoke fluent German. I knew I’d be safe.

I moved in with the Becker family, where I looked after Bärbel, the brightest two-year-old I’ve ever met. That’s when I met Conny, Johanna’s sister. Conny and I hit it off at first glance. She had Wolfgang, her husband, and four children. They holidayed for a month every year in Greece and invited me along. I said Yes please.

Conny and I shared the drive down to Greece together, since Wolfgang didn’t drive, so it was just us, the kids, and a lot of autobahn. Never since have I ever felt such a deep sense of responsibility. I was driving a whole family down through Europe, on the wrong side of the road, down fast German motorways, using only road signs, paper maps in the days before sat navs, and Wolfgangs navigational skills.  In German as he spoke not a word of English.

On our very first day in Athens, I was offered a job. I called Johanna to check if it was okay to accept, and ended up staying for a year. That chapter is a story in itself.

When I finally returned to the UK from my travels, I arrived with nothing but a pair of stilettos, the clothes on my back, and a few tired belongings. I landed in Manchester, where all you needed was a pair of Doc Martens and some decent jeans. Two years later, I had built a strong wardrobe fit for my new career, mostly Nicole Farhi, and all the shoes I could ever need.

Canada, had given me my A-level equivalents. I seriously considered settling there and studying at university, but in the end, I said no. I wanted a better qualification and the life I felt was waiting for me back home. 

Midway through my studies, my best friend’s job took her to London. She had to sell her house, and I moved into a rented room on the other side of Chorlton. Once I’d finished my studies, I secured a place at Salford to study for my Master’s and I was staring down a big decision.

Do I stay or do I go?

Half of me whispered, “It’s now or never,” and the other half said, “Go for it.”