As a result of winning a Career Makeover courtesy of The Argus a month ago, I have been asked to write a blog about the trials and tribulations of job hunting in the UK.

My day-long makeover was fun and informative and made me look at myself from a more of a UK perspective. How I dress, how I think, my CV and my skills all have a bearing on how I’m perceived. It’s all about presentation. Although I knew this before my makeover, I wasn’t achieving the desired results and there’s nothing wrong with asking for help if you need it. I did - and have more focus as a result.

Winning the makeover was an ‘aha’ moment – but why did a seemingly confident, capable person need to apply in the first place?

This is where my blog truly begins. It’s all about making changes: once a goal has been achieved, even though the realisation may dawn well past the due date, I seek another - the reason for evolving into a skilled Jill of all Trades. I have been fortunate and I know I am responsible for the changes I’ve made, so I am not seeking pity for my current situation, just clarity and direction.

I lived on the Caribbean island of St Martin/Sint Maarten for 18 years until July last year. The island is located south of Anguilla and north of Antigua. It’s small - only 38 square miles - and bustling, busier than you’d expect. The island is split into a French side (a province of France) and a Dutch (part of the Netherlands Antilles, under the Kingdom of Holland.

Living there was not quite as idyllic as people imagine – it has ups and downs, recessions, hurricanes, manic high seasons and nail biting low seasons, but there certainly are palm trees and beautiful beaches. Island life becomes addictive, a transitional place for many and, without doubt, a wonderful place for young children to develop.

For the past five years I worked in incredible surroundings at The Butterfly Farm, St Martin FWI. I was a manager/guide and the farm was perfect place for me to work while coping with divorce and settling the children. Working with nature makes you appreciate how clever it is, adaptable and fragile at the same time. We can take so many metaphors from nature and I was surrounded by them. I also supplemented my income with massage, working freelance at Spas or with my regular clients and thoroughly enjoyed the balance of these two roles.

This all changed three years ago when I met the man of my dreams and my goals shifted. I moved to the UK after 18 years of island living, set up life with a new partner, moved to a new area, relocated two recalcitrant children, and settled them into respective schools. I also set about finding a meaningful career – the “life with purpose” thang. However, that last goal has eluded me so far, but this is the story of my endeavours and fun along the way.

My work path has been varied over the years: typesetting and administrator for creative departments in advertising; go-fer cum bookkeeper cum receptionist cum stylist for professional photographers; barmaid and waitress; grape-picker (albeit not for long!); and door to door oil painting salesperson (ditto). But all that was all a very long time ago.

More recently I’ve been an inventory controller for retail outlets, a bookkeeper on different programs freelance and part time. I’ve also typed and edited books on alternative health, worked as an administrator at a Montessori School, a massage therapist and Reiki master, a spa director and and a butterfly farmer.

Sint Maarten depends on tourism entirely, so that’s the area where there’s work. I worked for the 18 years I lived there. My first job on the island was as a Bar Manager in the old Turtle Pier Bar days, where the Friday night parties were so loud that the decks rocked and groaned. Turtle Pier was a spacious, wooden, gingerbread Caribbean style building with a circular bar and large shutter windows and views of the blue green hills surrounding the lagoon.

It had a wonderful ambience and truly terrible food. The owner was the son of the then leader of the island, so the Friday night parties were tolerated by neighbours for the first part of my time there at least.

Our guests included tourists delighted to soak up our “authentic” island atmosphere; drunk time-share salesmen; Vietnam veterans and immaculately dressed islanders whose elaborate braids snaked into impossible beehives.

And lots and lots of sailors – many different types: live on $3 a day rice and beans and a bottle of rum a day types; retirees with a difference; alternative families home schooling wild children; the rugged sailed the Horn types, as well as the wink wink types who came in and out of the island regularly and seemed to have, on occasions, outrageous amounts of money to blow.

As for the job, well, it included coercing this lot into paying their bar tabs and putting their shirts on, getting the lost and wayward home via lifts on rubber ducks, making the best frozen drinks this side of Miami and the meanest Bloody Maries for the hopelessly hungover punters, who would stagger in at 7am shaking and sweating. It was busy-busy and always fun, but after two years I was ready for something different.

I did apply for barwork locally, but received a response saying I didn’t have the relevant experience…