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For two weeks I would take part in two vastly different types of work experience. Week one would be at a very popular, national car magazine and the second placement would take place in a small local newspaper.This diary captures the experiences of a professional work environment for the first time as a journalist in busy London capital and a sleepy Midland city.

The first week I stayed in London with a friend.

My final day in London started out just like my first, getting off at the wrong stop. The train announcements suck on the South West train service around London. When pulling in to Strawberry Hill the tannoy announced “This is Teddington” and as I was in a different compartment of the train than usual I got off without recognising the platform. I started walking until I reached a sign stating where I was and attempted to run to the nearest train door, only for it to once again close in my face. Brilliant.

If this week has taught me anything it is to leave plenty of time in the morning should you face any issues.

As I was leaving directly form work to return to Leamington I had all my luggage: a suit, suitcase and laptop bag – each one packed so tight that it could burst open with dirty pants and socks if it was placed down too quickly. When I arrived I asked politely at reception “if there was any way, in my current predicament that someone as beautiful as yourself would be so kind as to assist me in ensuring safety with regards to my valuable and important belongings for merely a few hours before I have to jet off to another part of the country, struggling with said bags on tubes, trains and buses alike?”

No was the answer. I had to cram all the baggage beneath my desk and hope that no one steal them when my back is turned.

The day was ultimately quite boring. I continued to upload content to the new site, I spent some more time digging around in the wonderful archive for car reviews and tried writing one or two more news stories.

When I left, it was disappointingly unceremonial. I sent an email to the three top cheeses before I left thanking them for the week and only one, the one I spent the least amount of time with, messaged back. The other two gentlemen were very polite and perhaps too busy to take full notice, although one did congratulate me for wearing a tie the whole week and informed me that now I was leaving I could take it off, and in a metaphorical act, cleansing myself of the magazine I had worked for throughout the week, I did.

I dragged my suitcase, carried my suit and lumbered my laptop bag packed with even more stuff than I had managed earlier that morning and fought through Friday rush hour footfall through the centre of London to Marylebone. The train to take me home had not announced it’s platform yet so I grabbed myself a cup of tea and sat down at the nearest awful tea dispensing outlet. Little did I realise the hundred+ passengers standing underneath the giant digital screen were all anticipating the race to earn a seat in the final 100 yard dash to where the train would be boarding within seconds. When the platform was announced, an electric surge propelled the hundred+ people toward the platform with a force capable of waking Winston Churchill. By the time I had tidied my shit up and found my ticket at the bottom of a bag every seat had been taken. I took a risk, along with two other gentlemen who had missed the rush and sat in the rather spacious disabled passenger seat. If someone were to get on then of course I’d have no qualms getting up and I may be lucky as there were three seats so the disabled person may ask to sit there instead, and plus how many people do you see on a train requiring one of these positions?

There was one on Friday at least.

He had asked for assistance from a train conductor with his luggage and he naturally picked me to get up, leaving me tired and seatless for the 2 hour journey home.

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