why i need 9 jobs!

When sarah Moore, 26, from north ronald­say, ditched city life and a dull job, she’d no idea what she’d be tak­ing on…

Pick Me Up! - - CONTENTS -

Rush­ing around the stock­room, I was up to my ears with de­liv­er­ies as usual. Busy, yes, but… This is bor­ing, I thought, mis­er­able.

It was May 2014, and I’d been work­ing as a stock­room pro­ces­sor in a clothes shop in Ed­in­burgh for al­most three years, hat­ing ev­ery minute.

I popped out for lunch, but my mood didn’t im­prove.

Cars beep­ing, peo­ple rush­ing around… I’d never been much of a city girl.

‘We’ll be off on hol­i­day next week,’ my mum Jennifer re­minded me later.

Mum, my dad John and I were go­ing back to the Orkney Is­lands for the sec­ond time – a group of 70 beau­ti­ful, peace­ful, re­mote is­lands north of Scot­land. My lit­tle piece of heaven… ‘I can’t wait,’ I sighed. Step­ping off the plane a week later, I felt a rush of hap­pi­ness.

Sur­rounded by blue sea and rolling hills, it was hard to be­lieve all this was just an hour’s flight away.

‘I just love it here,’ I said. ‘I know you do, love,’ Mum said, smil­ing.

The next two weeks ex­plor­ing the is­lands were in­cred­i­ble. There were no traf­fic jams and no queues.

With a pop­u­la­tion of just 22,000, you could go ages with­out see­ing any­one.

But thoughts of life at home were like a black cloud hang­ing over me.

‘I can’t face go­ing back!’ I cried on our last day. ‘Back to reality,’ said Dad. I felt crushed.

But an idea started to form… The minute I was home,

I got out my lap­top. How to live in the Orkney

Is­lands, I typed into the search-en­gine bar. I read that an age­ing

pop­u­la­tion meant the is­lands were cry­ing out for young peo­ple like me, to go over there and work!

‘This could be the an­swer,’ I told Dad.

‘We all want to es­cape the rat race,’ he sighed. ‘But it’s harder than you think.’

I knew it’d be tough, but I’d noth­ing to lose.

At 23, I lived with my par­ents, hated my job and was des­per­ate for a new start.

Pre­pared to try my hand at

any­thing, I knew that I could find work.

I’d my heart set on mov­ing to one of the small­est of the is­lands, North Ronald­say.

But, with a lack of hous­ing there, the hard­est part would be find­ing some­where to live.

So I signed up to a hous­ing web­site and, mean­while… ‘I quit,’ I told my boss. Walk­ing out, I’d never felt so elated. I was fi­nally free!

‘You did what?!’ cried Dad. It was hasty – but, within weeks, I found work at a lo­cal ken­nels. Then, in De­cem­ber, I got the email I’d been wait­ing for. A two-bed bun­ga­low had come up for rent on the is­land.

At the bot­tom of a hill, with just one other house nearby, it looked cosy and idyl­lic.

‘I’ll come to see it with you,’ Dad said to me.

‘Com­ing round to the idea, then?’ I smiled.

‘Let’s see this place first,’ he said, rolling his eyes.

When we ar­rived, the bun­ga­low was even better than the pho­tos.

‘I love it!’ I cried. ‘Won’t you get lonely?’ Dad asked, wor­ried.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘But I’ll miss you and Mum.’

The is­land was tiny, only five miles wide with a pop­u­la­tion of just 45! But I knew it’d be easy to meet peo­ple by vis­it­ing the other is­lands, too.

‘You’ll be the youngest per­son here,’ grinned the es­tate agent.

‘As long as I have plenty of work,’ I said.

As luck would have it, he knew an old lady who needed some help.

And so my de­ci­sion was made.

In Fe­bru­ary 2015, feel­ing ter­ri­fied, I moved into my lit­tle cot­tage on North Ronald­say.

What have I done? I thought, strug­gling to work the boiler.

But, later that day, my new neigh­bour popped over to help.

‘How do you feel about sheep?’ he asked over a cuppa.

With over 2,000 on the is­land, they des­per­ately needed peo­ple to help herd, shear and care for them.

Be­fore I knew it, I had 20 sheep in my back gar­den!

My care job in­volved mak­ing break­fast for an el­derly lady each morn­ing, leaving plenty of time to be a shep­herdess, too.

And, as I met more is­lan­ders, more job of­fers came in.

Be­fore long, I was a carer, a shep­herdess, and I worked at the air­port a few hours a day.

There, I had sev­eral roles – as fire­fighter, bag­gage han­dler and air-traf­fic con­troller!

A cou­ple of years on, I heard the post­man was re­tir­ing. It wouldn’t take more than an hour ev­ery few days to de­liver the mail, so I ap­plied – and got the job!

Since then, I’ve taken a job as the town clerk, I drive dig­gers on a farm and I do tours of the light­house. That’s nine jobs!

It may sound crazy, but I’ve never felt so free. Nine jobs here is better than my one dull one back in Ed­in­burgh!

Last Oc­to­ber, my par­ents re­tired out here. I’m so happy, I’ll never leave this is­land.

Yes, jug­gling nine jobs is a hand­ful, and I don’t get much time off. But, to me, ev­ery day is like a hol­i­day!

Pre­pared to try my hand at any­thing, I knew I’d find work

Look­ing for a postie? I’ll de­liver!

In need of a fire­fighter? That’ll be me Shin­ing light! Clean­ing the light­house lamp Hot wheels! Yes, I drive dig­gers, too

Herd about my job as a shep­herdess?

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