Robyn Coryton

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After graduating in 1999 I bought a van with my sister (the requisite VW camper van for true bohemian effect) and spent the next four months travelling around Europe visiting friends and places known and unknown, part of this voyage included three weeks in Chamonix Mont-Blanc helping a friend renovate his newly bought chalet for the coming winter season. At the time this was just a chance to stand around in the sun painting then cool off with cocktails in the nearest pub with a pool for three weeks, but it turned out to be the start of a much bigger event.

Returning to the UK in time for the millennium, I came back to Edinburgh and worked as a cocktail waitress in the Balmoral Hotel, living with friends from university. Unlike many lesser bars, the Balmoral paid you up to five times the hourly wage for the more important times of the season, so by working virtually non stop (or so it felt, but I recall a good deal of partying too...) I finished the Christmas season with a bank balance that allowed me to go back to Chamonix and spend the rest of the winter season learning to snowboard in the Alps, and not work.

By the end of that winter I decided that as I had been here so long I may as well stay for the summer and learn to rock climb. So I did. This was the start of five years living and working in Chamonix, with every new season being a chance to tackle new routes, buy new kit (because there is always some expensive bit of metal or Gore-Tex that you just know will open up new horizons) climb new rock faces and try new tricks. I tried mountain biking but didn't really like it and couldn't afford the 3000 euros of so that went onto most bikes there, so I stuck to rocks and snow. It was a marvellous lifestyle. I worked in a variety of roles, spending a few seasons cheffing, another few running a bar, and one glorious summer on a four day week earning full wage as a 'bilingual receptionist'. And yes, occasionally I could be found filing my nails at the desk, it just seemed too good a chance to miss!

However, the day came when I realised that as much as I loved this, I really wanted something more than hedonism, random hospitality jobs and a large amount of specialist fibres in my wardrobe.

So after many phone calls, considerations of where I would want to be in five to 10 years time and some philosophical debate with myself I came back to the UK to train as a secondary Maths teacher. Not having a Maths degree I had to do a six month subject booster course which was in Bognor Regis (were they trying to put us off perhaps?) and moved from there to the University of Brighton to do my training.

I am now living in Hove with two other maths trainees, I have a whiteboard on the wall in my sitting room and I get excited by discoveries of tessellation tiles on the internet for me to print out. I also get to confiscate Smirnoff Ice from 11 year olds, get asked what "mullered" means, have 16 year olds tell me they think three times three is six and try desperately not to swear at the kids. I am loving it.

They are funny, nasty, selfish, confused, adorable, infuriating and keen all in one hour. My brain is being used, and I have discovered I am actually reasonably good at maths (which is lucky really) So for now my future is in Sussex teaching the economists of tomorrow, but I hear there is a demand for teachers in Bermuda that I might have to investigate...