It occured to me the other night, while I was lying awake in bed as is so often my wont these days, that I really, really should get back to my Nature blog. Not least because any readers I may have had when I was last writing will have been left totally in limbo following my last, woefully inadequate blog post. For this, and other things, I apologise.
A catch up is in order…

So, I submitted my thesis last October, which was excellent, insofar as I am capable of recalling it. It then took six months for me to be examined. My viva, which goes down as the scariest thing I have ever done, was held on the 6th February this year, and I passed with minor corrections. There was much rejoicing.

After that… well, I found myself in need of cash. In fact, most of the past few months have been characterised by this need. I signed up with a temping agency in London, who swiftly found me a job as a receptionist/administrator for a hospital office and clinic. I was taught how to do my job by an 18 year old on her gap year. Naturally, I insisted everyone call me doctor.

I then returned to St Andrews to correct my thesis, which was almost as stressful as writing the thing in the first place. Almost. There was some excitement when my internal examiner left my corrected draft with his scribbled comments at home, and some blind panic as I attempted to collect it from the biology department porters (it’s complicated; don’t ask). That achieved, I corrected my corrections, printed, bound and resubmitted. My hardbound thesis is sitting on the shelf by my desk. It looks good.

So, back to London. Trying to find a job. There are a number of stories here, which I shall ignore most of, I think. Applications to various Universities unsuccessful, job hunting for straight jobs in the meantime profoundly frustrating. I shall share one moment with you, from my recent past.

I had signed up to a different recruitment agency, in the hope that they could find me a more exciting brand of temporary job while I waited for my life to come together. I was interviewed by a 12 year old called Mark. He sat in front of me, with my CV on the table. My CV says DR JAMIE F. LAWSON at the top of it and begins with my academic history, from PhD, through MSc, and back to the dawn days of BA (hons).

Mark looked at me and asked me if I had any GCSE’s or A levels.

I like to view this as a learning experience. I have had many over the past few months, and I have reached two main conclusions. Here they are, the twin truths of the post-doctoral job market;

1. No one not in academia cares that you have a doctorate. In many instances it makes you less employable. No one has been able to explain to me why this should be the case, but it is. I know, because Mark told me.
2. Within academia, everyone has a doctorate. It is not an advantage, it is a requirement. Actually getting a job as a recently fledged doctor is a mysterious business, apparently due more to the motion of the stars than to your CV.

So that all brings us more or less up to date, missing out one final event which is that, the other week, a most unexpected thing occured. I got a job. An actual, proper, grown up job. Actually at a university as well. Oh yes, in October I shall be starting as a Teaching Associate in the Psychology Department at Royal Holloway. I am very excited and very pleased. It’s an absolutely perfect job for me at the moment, nicely filling in a teaching-experience sized gap in my CV while leaving me with some time to churn out some papers (the job is term time only).

So now, I just need to earn me some moneys in the meantime and also work out exactly how I am going to cope with a daily commute to Egham.

Nothing is ever simple…