So why London, Jacinta? And why no Uni?!

For most of my school life I was quite sure that, grades allowing, I would read History at Cambridge. I would spend hours of study time poring over the college prospectus whilst my friend did the same for Oxford. I was not particularly passionate about History and did not enjoy the lessons as much as, say, Drama or RE, but I remained unfailingly optimistic that I would get to University and discover a great love for the subject and for academia in general.

It wasn't until the Christmas term of my final year that this unshaken conviction quite suddenly deserted me. I was sitting in the common room at seven in the morning, frantically writing a History essay due in for two days earlier, when a liberating thought occurred to me: 'I don't enjoy this!' Never had my feelings about the essay writing involved in academic study presented themselves with such clarity and the relief was immense. I spent the next few weeks joyfully explaining to everyone that I was not going to apply to any University and nodding sympathetically when my peers complained about how difficult personal statements were. With no application, acceptance and/or rejection stress, this seemed like the best decision I'd ever made.

Having finished school I did some flyering work at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival; I went to London for four months and got work with a waiting agency; I flyered at the Adelaide Fringe Festival in Australia and I did some stand-up comedy spots in London and LA. I was having a wonderful (and productive) time and I never viewed this time as a 'gap year'. But apparently other people did.

As the following academic year approached, I began to notice a marked change in attitude amongst, most particularly, my family and, most worryingly, myself. As long as it was less than a year since I finished school, whatever I did, impressive or not, didn't much matter. It was my year to experience life and I was being indulged. Now that it was over I seemed to be expected to get a degree and start focusing on getting a 'proper job'. And all this despite the fact I'd been telling everyone, for just under two years, that I wasn't going to do any of that. I was shocked and all the energy I'd exerted and work I'd done over the past few months suddenly seemed to catch up on me. Sad, exhausted and lacking in a huge amount of self confidence, I moved back in with my parents and spent five months sleeping, eating and having a bit of an emotional meltdown.

And then finally, as we were getting ready for church on Christmas morning, my mum said: 'Jacinta, we need to talk about this.' So we didn't go to church but we did have a very good talk, the conclusion of which being that I needed to move back to London asap.

Slightly over a month later I am here, living with two good friends, Lucy and Sofi, in Queen's Park. Although I'm quite sure this is the right place to be, as I feel more comfortable and driven in London than anywhere else I've ever been and I understand how life works here, not quite everything has fallen into place as I thought it might. I still see no definite path to achieving my professional goals (not least because I'm not entirely sure what my professional goals are) and I still wake up guiltily at midday wondering why I haven't been doing productive things since eight in the morning. But I have been to some wonderful parties; extensively discussed feminism, the pros and cons of religion and Call the Midwife over many a peppermint tea, latte and bottle of red wine; booked tap dancing classes and played at least five games of Settlers of Catan. So it's definitely an improvement!

What the next few months (and years) will bring I have no idea, but I am very excited to find out.