Just before the festive frivolities commenced, I happened to have a very black week. I know that makes me sound like the ultimate drama queen, but jokes aside, it was pretty noir.

This was the week when I coined the name ‘The Italian Shit.’ Not an unkind name, considering that the culprit openly kissed another girl in front of me and then claimed that he was ‘too busy’ to see me again.

This was also the week that I had my bag and purse stolen. And the week that my computer died. And the week that I went for three interviews and didn’t get any of them.

During these same seven days, my brother got engaged. This is such exciting news – but seeing the happy couple and chatting to their happily settled and successful friends – made me realise just how unsettled my life really is.

But then out of the blue, there was a small beam of hope.

It was a Sunday evening (thankfully the last day of that fated week) and I was heading to a waitressing job in North London. Just as I was about to complete my journey, I was informed that my connecting train had broken down. I did not have any money and I did not have a phone (because let’s not forget my bag had been stolen a few days earlier) and so all I could do was face the snow and find the place myself.

I started walking in one direction, then I hopped on a bus in the other, but I was still miles away from my ultimate destination and due to start working in no time at all. As I was frantically pacing up and down and despairing about what to do next, a miracle happened. A big black Taxi rolled up and saved the day. The cabbie who’d seen me panicking took me to the house for free.

It may have been the smallest gesture, but it made the biggest difference to my self pitying mood. From that point on, I decided to stop lamenting my lack of career and boyfriend, and just jolly well get on and do something about it.

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