Should You Use a Nursing Recruitment Agency to Move to London? The Pros, Cons, and Red Flags from Someone Who Tried Three

Before I moved to London, I assumed finding a nursing job in the UK would work the same way it does in New Zealand – browse the listings, apply directly, interview, done. And technically, you can do it that way. But when you’re sitting in Christchurch trying to navigate the NMC registration process, figure out visa sponsorship, and find an employer willing to hire someone who isn’t actually registered yet, the idea of having someone handle the logistics for you starts to look very attractive.

That’s how I ended up using a nursing recruitment agency. Or rather, that’s how I ended up dealing with three of them before finding one that was actually worth the trouble. The experience taught me a lot – about what good agencies do, what bad ones get away with, and what every internationally trained nurse should know before signing anything. This is that advice.

What a Recruitment Agency Actually Does

At its best, a nursing recruitment agency acts as a bridge between you and UK employers. They match you with NHS trusts or private hospitals that are actively hiring internationally trained nurses. They help coordinate the practical side of your move – visa applications, sometimes accommodation, airport pickups, orientation programmes. Some offer support with the NMC registration process itself, connecting you with OSCE preparation courses or study materials. A good agency essentially project-manages the most overwhelming period of your professional life, and when it works well, it’s worth its weight in gold.

The business model varies. Some agencies are paid entirely by the employer, meaning the nurse pays nothing. Others charge the nurse directly for certain services, or operate on a hybrid model. This is the first place things can get murky, and I’ll come back to it.

How I Ended Up With Three

My experience wasn’t a case of carefully auditioning multiple agencies. It was messier than that. I initially signed up with an agency – I’ll call them Agency A – that had been recommended by a friend of a friend who’d moved to London a couple of years earlier. They were responsive at first, full of enthusiasm and promises, but communication dropped off sharply once I’d submitted my paperwork. Emails went unanswered for weeks. When I did get a reply, it was vague and non-committal. After two months of chasing, I quietly started looking elsewhere.

Agency B found me, which is itself a useful thing to know – agencies actively recruit nurses through social media, nursing forums, and word of mouth in countries they target. They were slicker and more organised than Agency A, and they moved quickly. But during the process, they tried to steer me toward a specific private hospital that I hadn’t expressed interest in, and when I asked about NHS placements instead, the enthusiasm cooled noticeably. I later learned they had an exclusive contract with that private facility and were essentially funnelling candidates toward it regardless of preference.

Agency C was the one that finally worked. They were upfront about which trusts they recruited for, transparent about what they would and wouldn’t cover financially, and consistent in their communication throughout the process. They weren’t perfect – there were still delays, still moments where I felt like a number in a pipeline – but they treated me like a professional making a significant life decision rather than a product to be placed.

The Genuine Pros

I want to be fair here, because despite my mixed experience, I do think the right agency can make an enormous difference. The practical coordination alone is valuable. When I was trying to gather NMC documents from New Zealand, sort out a Skilled Worker visa, find somewhere to live in a city I’d never been to, and prepare for two high-stakes exams, having someone who understood the process and could tell me what to do next was genuinely helpful. I would have figured it out alone eventually, but it would have taken longer and cost me more stress.

The employer connections are the other major benefit. NHS trusts that regularly hire international nurses often work with specific agencies, and those roles aren’t always advertised publicly. Agency C connected me with my current trust, and I’m not sure I would have found that position on my own. They also negotiated on my behalf around start dates and gave me a realistic picture of what the role would involve, which meant fewer surprises when I actually started on the ward.

For nurses who don’t have existing contacts in the UK – no friends who’ve already made the move, no professional network to lean on – an agency can fill that gap in a way that’s hard to replicate through solo research.

The Real Cons

The loss of control is the big one. When you work with an agency, you’re partly outsourcing your career decisions to people whose incentives don’t perfectly align with yours. They want to place you. You want to be placed well. Those aren’t always the same thing. Agency B’s attempt to push me toward a facility that suited their contract rather than my preferences was a clear example of this, and I’ve heard similar stories from other internationally trained nurses.

There’s also the opacity around money. Some agencies are completely transparent about their fee structures. Others are not. I’ve spoken to nurses who discovered after arriving in the UK that their agency had charged their employer a substantial placement fee, which in some cases affected the trust’s willingness to invest in their orientation or professional development. I’ve heard of others who were charged directly for services – accommodation, OSCE courses, document processing – that they could have arranged independently for less.

And then there’s the dependency problem. When an agency is managing your visa sponsorship, your accommodation, and your employment, you can end up feeling beholden to them in ways that limit your ability to advocate for yourself. If something isn’t right – if the placement isn’t what was promised, if the accommodation is substandard, if you want to change trusts – extracting yourself from an agency arrangement can be complicated, especially in your first year when your visa may be tied to a specific employer. I’ve met nurses who stayed in situations they were unhappy with for months because they didn’t feel they had the freedom to push back. That’s not a position anyone should be in.

The Red Flags I Learned the Hard Way

Over three agencies and a lot of conversations with other nurses who’ve been through the process, I’ve compiled a mental list of warning signs. If an agency asks you to pay a large upfront fee before they’ve done anything concrete, be cautious. Legitimate agencies that charge nurses typically do so for specific, itemised services, not vague lump sums. If they’re reluctant to put you in direct contact with the employer before you commit, ask yourself why. If they pressure you to sign quickly or tell you an opportunity will disappear if you don’t decide immediately, slow down – good positions don’t evaporate overnight, and urgency is a common pressure tactic. If they can’t clearly explain your visa arrangement and who your sponsor will be, that’s a serious concern.

And perhaps most importantly – if they discourage you from speaking to other nurses who’ve used their services, treat that as a significant red flag. A confident agency should be happy for you to hear from people they’ve placed. If they’re not, there’s usually a reason.

What I’d Recommend

I wouldn’t tell any Kiwi nurse to avoid agencies altogether. For most internationally trained nurses, the logistical support is valuable enough to justify the trade-offs, especially if you’re making the move without a strong existing network in the UK. But I would tell you to approach the process with your eyes open and your boundaries clear.

Talk to more than one agency before committing. Ask specific questions about their fee structure, their employer relationships, and what happens if you’re unhappy with your placement. Search for them online – check reviews, look for complaints, see if they’re registered with the relevant regulatory bodies. The Recruitment and Employment Confederation in the UK maintains a list of accredited agencies, and sticking to those is a sensible starting point.

Most of all, remember that you’re the one with the qualification they need. The global nursing shortage means that experienced, registered nurses from countries like New Zealand are in genuine demand in the UK. A good agency knows this and treats you accordingly. A bad one hopes you don’t realise it.

I got lucky with Agency C, but luck shouldn’t be the determining factor in something this important. Do your homework, trust your instincts, and don’t let anyone rush you into a decision that shapes the next years of your professional life. You’ve already proven you can navigate the NMC registration process. Choosing the right agency – or choosing to go it alone – is just one more thing you’re more than capable of figuring out.

I first met Charlotte in a queue. It was a grey Tuesday morning at a testing centre in London, and we were both waiting to sit our OSCE – the practical exam every internationally trained nurse has to pass before the NMC will let you anywhere near a patient. She was from Auckland, I was from Christchurch, and within about ninety seconds we’d established that we knew some of the same people, had trained at overlapping times, and shared an almost identical level of anxiety about what was about to happen inside that exam room. We’ve been close friends ever since.

Charlotte and I took quite different paths once we got our NMC PINs. I went into acute medicine. She went into oncology – specifically, a specialist role at one of London’s major cancer centres. It’s a field I have enormous respect for but have never worked in myself, and over the years I’ve watched Charlotte grow into it in ways that have genuinely changed how I think about nursing. I asked her if I could write about her experience for this blog, and she said yes, on the condition that I didn’t make her sound heroic. She says she’s just doing her job. I disagree, but I’ll try to honour the request.

Why Oncology?

Charlotte didn’t come to London planning to specialise in cancer care. Back in Auckland, she’d worked in general surgical nursing at Middlemore Hospital – a busy, high-acuity environment that gave her strong foundational skills but left her wanting something with more continuity of care. In surgical nursing, she told me, you meet patients at their most acute, you help them through recovery, and then they leave. You rarely find out what happens next.

When she started applying for NHS roles, an agency put her forward for a position at a cancer centre she hadn’t initially considered. She went to the interview mostly for practice and came out having accepted the job. Something about the way the team talked about their patients – not as cases or diagnoses, but as people on a long and often difficult journey – resonated with her deeply. She said it felt like the version of nursing she’d always wanted to do but hadn’t known existed in that form.

The Learning Curve

Charlotte is honest about how steep the first year was. Oncology nursing requires a specialist knowledge base that goes well beyond what general training covers. She had to learn complex chemotherapy regimens – not just what drugs were being administered, but how they interacted, what the expected and unexpected side effects were, and how to manage acute reactions when they occurred. She had to become fluent in a vocabulary of staging, grading, and treatment protocols that was largely new to her. She studied for additional certifications, including the UK’s Systemic Anti-Cancer Therapy qualification, which she describes as one of the hardest things she’s ever done professionally.

But the clinical knowledge, she says, was actually the more straightforward part. What she found harder was learning to sit with uncertainty and grief on a daily basis. In surgical nursing, the trajectory is usually clear – a patient comes in unwell, has a procedure, and gets better. In oncology, the trajectory is often ambiguous. Some patients respond beautifully to treatment. Others don’t. Some arrive with curable cancers and leave in remission. Others arrive knowing that treatment is about buying time, not beating the disease. Charlotte had to learn how to be present for all of those outcomes without emotionally collapsing under the weight of them.

What a Typical Day Looks Like

I asked Charlotte to walk me through a standard shift, and the answer was that there isn’t really one. But a rough shape exists. She usually starts with a handover from the outgoing team, reviewing which patients are mid-cycle in their chemotherapy, who’s been admitted with treatment complications, and who’s new. She’ll check blood results first thing, because a patient’s neutrophil count or kidney function can determine whether that day’s planned treatment goes ahead or gets postponed – a decision that carries real emotional weight for people who are counting down their cycles.

A large portion of her morning involves preparing and administering chemotherapy. This is meticulous, protocol-heavy work. Every drug is double-checked. Every dose is verified against the patient’s weight, blood results, and treatment plan. The personal protective equipment alone is a ritual – gowning, gloving, handling cytotoxic drugs with a level of care that reflects just how potent they are. Charlotte says she never rushes this part, no matter how busy the ward gets. The consequences of a chemotherapy error are too severe to allow time pressure to creep in.

Afternoons often involve managing side effects – nausea, pain, fatigue, mucositis, psychological distress – and coordinating with the wider multidisciplinary team. Oncology nursing doesn’t happen in isolation. Charlotte works alongside oncologists, radiologists, pharmacists, dietitians, psychologists, palliative care specialists, and social workers. The team meetings, she says, are some of the most intellectually stimulating conversations she’s ever been part of in a clinical setting.

The Emotional Dimension

This is the part Charlotte finds hardest to talk about, and the part I think matters most. She has held the hands of patients who were receiving their diagnosis for the first time. She has sat with families in quiet rooms and watched them try to absorb news that would reorder their entire world. She has cared for patients over months – sometimes over a year – building relationships that go far deeper than anything she experienced in surgical nursing, and then she has been there when those patients died.

She told me about one patient, an older gentleman who’d been on her ward through several rounds of treatment over the course of a year. They’d developed a rapport built on shared dry humour and a mutual appreciation for terrible daytime television. When his condition deteriorated and the decision was made to transition to palliative care, Charlotte was the nurse who sat with his family and helped them understand what the coming days would look like. She was on shift when he died. She went home that evening and cried in her kitchen, then came back the next day and did her job again.

I asked her how she manages that, and she paused for a long time before answering. She said the grief doesn’t go away, and she doesn’t think it should. But she’s learned to carry it differently. The cancer centre has a clinical supervision programme and regular debriefing sessions, which she credits with keeping her functioning. She also runs – long distances, usually alone, usually early in the morning before a shift – and says the physical routine gives her a place to process what her mind can’t always handle in the moment.

A New Zealand Nurse in a UK Cancer Centre

I asked Charlotte whether being a New Zealand-trained nurse made any practical difference in her oncology role, and her answer surprised me. She said the clinical transition was significant – different drug protocols, different documentation systems, different regulatory frameworks – but the deeper adjustment was cultural. New Zealand nursing, she said, trains you to be holistic and patient-centred, and that translated well. But the NHS operates at a scale and pace that Auckland doesn’t, and learning to maintain that holistic focus inside a much larger, more bureaucratic system was a skill she had to develop consciously.

She also said that being an outsider – someone who came to the specialty without preconceptions about how a UK cancer centre works – was sometimes an advantage. She asked questions that locally trained nurses might not have thought to ask, simply because the answers weren’t obvious to her. More than once, those questions led to conversations about why certain things were done a particular way, and whether there might be a better approach.

What She’d Tell Other Kiwi Nurses Considering Oncology

Charlotte’s advice is characteristically direct. First, don’t go into oncology unless you’re prepared to invest in continuous learning – it’s not a specialty you can coast through on general knowledge. Second, be honest with yourself about your emotional capacity, and don’t mistake resilience for suppression. You need to feel the difficult things, she says, or they’ll catch up with you in ways you don’t expect. Third, find your people – the colleagues who understand what the work costs, who will debrief with you honestly, and who will make you laugh when you need it most.

And finally, she says, don’t let the hard parts obscure the extraordinary parts. Oncology nursing is watching someone ring the bell after their final chemotherapy cycle. It’s a patient telling you that your care made an unbearable time bearable. It’s the privilege of being trusted with people’s most vulnerable moments and knowing that your presence made a difference.

Charlotte would hate me for writing this, but she’s one of the finest nurses I know. And if her story encourages even one Kiwi nurse to consider this specialty, then she’ll have to forgive me.

During my first week on the ward, a colleague leaned over and whispered, “Matron’s doing a walk-round in ten minutes.” The effect on the room was immediate. Beds were straightened. Clipboards appeared. Someone wiped down a surface that, to my eye, was already perfectly clean. I stood there in the middle of it all thinking two things. First: who or what is a Matron? And second: should I also be panicking?

In New Zealand, I’d worked in a hospital system with a clear enough structure – charge nurse managers, nurse directors, clinical leads – but the titles and the hierarchy didn’t map onto what I was encountering in the NHS. Nobody had given me a chart. Nobody had sat me down and said, “Right, here’s how this works.” It was just assumed I’d pick it up, the way you’re supposed to absorb the offside rule if you live in England long enough. I didn’t pick it up. I bluffed my way through the first month and quietly Googled things in the staff toilet during breaks.

This article is the guide I wish someone had handed me on day one. If you’re an internationally trained nurse about to start work in the NHS – especially if you’re coming from New Zealand or Australia, where the titles are different enough to cause genuine confusion – consider this your cheat sheet.

The Ward Level: Where You Actually Work

The structure that matters most on a daily basis is the one immediately around you on the ward, and it starts with the staff nurse. That was me – a registered nurse working clinically, delivering hands-on patient care, and reporting to the people above me. In New Zealand, this role is essentially the same, so at least I had one point of familiarity to cling to.

Above the staff nurse is the senior staff nurse or band 6 nurse, depending on how your trust structures things. This is someone with more experience who takes on additional responsibilities like mentoring junior nurses, coordinating shifts, or leading on specific clinical areas. In New Zealand terms, this felt roughly equivalent to a senior nurse or a nurse with a specialty focus, though the banding system adds a layer of formality that doesn’t exist back home.

Then there’s the ward sister or charge nurse – the person who runs the ward day to day. They manage the roster, handle staffing issues, oversee patient flow, and generally hold everything together. This is probably the closest equivalent to a charge nurse manager in New Zealand, though the title “ward sister” threw me at first because it sounded like something from a period drama. I later learned it has deep historical roots in British nursing and is still used widely, regardless of gender, though plenty of trusts now use “charge nurse” as a gender-neutral alternative.

The Banding System – A Quick Detour

I can’t explain the NHS hierarchy without mentioning Agenda for Change, which is the pay and grading framework that underpins everything. Every NHS nursing role sits on a band from 1 to 9, with most registered nurses entering at band 5. Higher bands mean more responsibility, more seniority, and more pay. It sounds simple, and in theory it is, but in practice the banding system shapes everything from job titles to career progression to how people relate to each other on the ward. When someone says “she’s a band 7,” they’re communicating a specific level of authority and expertise in a kind of shorthand that took me weeks to decode. In New Zealand, we have pay scales and step increments, but they don’t carry the same cultural weight in daily conversation.

The Middle Tier: Where Strategy Meets the Ward

This is where it got properly confusing for me. Above the ward sister sits the matron – the figure whose walk-round had caused such alarm on my first week.

A matron in the modern NHS is not the stern, starched-uniform character from old Carry On films, though the cultural echo of that image is definitely still alive. Today’s matron is typically a band 8a nurse who oversees several wards or a clinical area. They’re responsible for clinical standards, patient experience, infection control, and staff governance across their patch. They bridge the gap between what’s happening at the bedside and what’s being decided at a strategic level. If the ward sister keeps the ward running, the matron keeps multiple wards running well and makes sure they meet the trust’s standards.

The reason Matron’s walk-round caused such a stir wasn’t fear, exactly – it was accountability. A matron visiting your ward is essentially a quality check. They’ll notice things. They’ll ask questions. And they have the authority to escalate issues or require changes. My colleagues weren’t afraid of the matron as a person – most of them liked her enormously – but they respected the function she represented. It was my first real glimpse of how the NHS uses hierarchy not just to organise people, but to maintain standards.

In New Zealand, the closest equivalent might be an associate director of nursing or a clinical nurse director, but the matron role carries a particular cultural significance in the UK that doesn’t have a direct parallel back home. It’s a title with weight.

Above the Matron

Beyond the matron, the structure gets more strategic and less visible from the ward floor, but it’s worth knowing about. The head of nursing or deputy director of nursing oversees nursing practice across a larger division or directorate. Above them sits the director of nursing or chief nurse, who is the most senior nurse in the trust and typically sits on the board. This person shapes nursing strategy, workforce planning, and professional standards for the entire organisation.

In New Zealand, the equivalent would be the director of nursing at a district health board – someone I was vaguely aware of but had never personally encountered. The same is broadly true in the NHS. As a staff nurse, you’re unlikely to interact directly with the chief nurse, but their decisions about staffing levels, training budgets, and clinical policy filter down to your ward every single day.

What I Got Wrong and What I Learned

Looking back, the biggest mistake I made wasn’t not knowing the titles – it was not understanding the relationships between them. The NHS hierarchy isn’t just an organisational chart. It’s a system of accountability that flows in both directions. The matron is accountable to the head of nursing for standards on her wards. The ward sister is accountable to the matron. The staff nurses are accountable to the ward sister. But it also flows upward – concerns raised at the bedside can and should travel up the chain, and the structure exists partly to make that possible.

In New Zealand, hospital hierarchies felt a bit flatter and more informal to me. I could knock on my charge nurse manager’s door with a concern and it would often be resolved in that room. In the NHS, the structure is more layered, and navigating it effectively is a skill in itself. Knowing who to escalate to, and when, isn’t just a matter of professional etiquette – it directly affects patient care. I had a situation early on where I was concerned about a patient’s deteriorating condition and wasn’t sure whether to go to the ward sister, the registrar, or the site nurse practitioner. In New Zealand, I’d have known instinctively. Here, I hesitated, and that hesitation cost me time I shouldn’t have lost.

I figured it out. I asked questions – mostly of the healthcare assistants, who knew everything about how the ward actually functioned and were unfailingly generous with their knowledge. I watched how the more experienced nurses operated within the system. And gradually, the hierarchy stopped feeling like an obstacle and started feeling like a framework I could use.

A Note for Other Internationally Trained Nurses

If you’re reading this as a nurse about to start in the NHS, here’s what I’d suggest. First, don’t be embarrassed about not knowing the structure. It’s not intuitive if you’ve trained elsewhere, and most of your colleagues will be happy to explain if you ask. Second, learn the banding system early – it unlocks a lot of the shorthand that people use daily. Third, pay attention to the matron. Not because you should be afraid of them, but because understanding their role helps you understand how the NHS thinks about quality and accountability. And finally, befriend the healthcare assistants. They know where everything is, who everyone is, and how everything actually works. They were my secret weapon, and I owe them more than a few cups of tea.

The NHS hierarchy can feel imposing when you first encounter it. But it exists for a reason, and once you understand it, you can work within it confidently. It took me a few months and more than a few awkward moments, but I got there. You will too.

The first time I bought a pie from a bakery in Bromley, I genuinely thought there’d been a mistake. I’d ordered a chicken and mushroom pie expecting what any self-respecting New Zealander would expect – a full pastry case, golden on all sides, with a solid base you could hold in your hand while you ate it walking down the street. What I got was a ceramic dish of filling with a pastry lid sitting on top like a hat. No base. No sides. Just a soggy little roof over some stew. I stood in the street staring at it, fork in hand, and thought: I have made a terrible decision moving here.

I’m joking. Mostly. But food was one of those unexpected flashpoints in my first few months in London that caught me completely off guard. I’d braced myself for the big stuff – the NMC registration process, the homesickness, the weather. I hadn’t braced myself for the small, daily, sensory ways that being far from home would get under my skin, and almost all of them came back to food.

The Supermarket Identity Crisis

My first trip to a big Tesco near my flat in Bromley was an experience I can only describe as mildly dissociative. Everything looked almost right but wasn’t quite. The milk came in quantities I didn’t recognise. The butter was in brands I’d never seen. I spent ten minutes looking for Whittaker’s chocolate before accepting that it wasn’t going to appear, and then another five minutes standing in the biscuit aisle trying to work out what a digestive was and whether I’d like it. I couldn’t find decent crackers. The bread was different. Even the eggs were a different size. The cheese section was bewildering – an entire wall of cheddars that all looked identical but apparently represented deeply held regional loyalties I wasn’t yet equipped to understand.

None of these things matter individually, and I knew that even at the time. But collectively, they left me feeling strangely unmoored. I think when you move to a country that speaks the same language and shares a lot of the same cultural touchstones, you expect daily life to feel familiar. And it does – right up until you’re standing in a supermarket aisle near tears because you can’t find Marmite and the British version isn’t the same thing no matter what anyone tells you.

The thing nobody warns you about with homesickness is that it doesn’t always arrive as a grand, sweeping sadness. Sometimes it’s just the absence of a specific flavour you didn’t even know you were attached to.

Learning to Love What’s Here

It took me a few months, but I eventually stopped trying to replicate New Zealand in a London postcode and started actually paying attention to what British food does well. And there’s plenty. A proper Sunday roast with all the trimmings is one of the great meals of the world and I’ll defend that position to anyone. The curry scene in London is extraordinary – I’d never had a good vindaloo before moving here, and now I have strong opinions about which places on the high street do the best one. Fish and chips from a genuinely good chippie, eaten out of paper on a bench, is a perfect meal. And the sheer variety of food available in London – the Turkish bakeries, the Vietnamese places in Hackney, the little Ethiopian restaurant I found near work – is something Auckland simply can’t match at that scale.

I also discovered the glory of the M&S food hall, which I now treat as a kind of secular temple. Their ready meals got me through some rough post-shift evenings when I was too tired to cook but too hungry to sleep. No shame in that.

The pies, though – I maintain my position. A pie needs a base.

Coffee, or the Lack Thereof

I need to talk about the coffee, because if you’re a Kiwi moving to London, this is going to be one of your first and most persistent frustrations.

New Zealand has genuinely excellent coffee culture. I don’t say that as some kind of national boast – it’s just a fact. Flat whites were popularised in New Zealand and Australia, and the standard café in any mid-sized Kiwi town will serve you a properly extracted espresso-based coffee with well-textured milk. It’s not a luxury there. It’s a baseline.

London, by contrast, is a city of extremes. There are some absolutely brilliant specialty coffee shops – places where the baristas know their single origins and the milk is stretched beautifully. And there are also vast chain operations where the coffee tastes like it was made by someone who had the concept of espresso described to them over a bad phone line. The middle ground, which is where most New Zealand cafés sit, barely exists here. You’re either getting something wonderful or something tragic, and the wonderful option usually requires a deliberate detour and a longer queue.

Finding My Coffee Routine

In my first few weeks in Bromley, I went through what I now think of as my coffee grief cycle. Denial came first – surely the next place would be better. Then anger – how can a city this size not have consistent coffee? Bargaining followed – maybe if I order a long black instead of a flat white, it’ll be harder to ruin. Depression hit around week three, when I ordered a flat white from a well-known chain and received what I can only describe as hot milk with a rumour of coffee. Acceptance came eventually, but only after I found two local spots that met my standards and committed to visiting them exclusively. One of them is run by an Aussie, which I refuse to acknowledge publicly but am quietly grateful for.

My advice to any Kiwi landing in London: find your coffee place early. Ask other Antipodeans – they will have opinions and they will share them passionately. Check the independent shops first. And if someone offers you instant, it’s perfectly acceptable to politely decline and quietly reassess the friendship.

Food as a Lifeline on Long Shifts

Here’s where the food story connects to the nursing story, because they’re more linked than you might think. When you’re working twelve-hour shifts in an NHS hospital – often nights – food becomes one of your few reliable comforts. A good meal in your break can turn a difficult shift around. A bad one can compound an already rough night.

I learned quickly to meal prep on my days off, partly for health and budget reasons, but partly because having something familiar and homemade waiting in my lunchbox was a small act of self-care that kept me grounded. I’d make big batches of pumpkin soup, lamb and kumara stew, or simple pasta bakes – nothing fancy, but things that tasted like home and reheated well in a staff room microwave.

The other nurses on my ward caught on quickly. One of my colleagues, a Filipino nurse named Joy, started bringing lumpia for the night shift, and a Polish nurse called Magda would bring pierogi. Before long, we had an unofficial food-sharing arrangement on night shifts that became one of the best parts of the job. Nothing bonds a group of tired, overworked nurses at three in the morning quite like someone pulling a Tupperware container of homemade food out of the fridge and passing it around.

I brought a pavlova to the ward Christmas party. Half my colleagues had never had one. It vanished in minutes, and for the rest of December I was known exclusively as the pavlova nurse, which is frankly the best professional reputation I’ve ever had.

Making Peace With It All

I’ve been in London for a while now, and my relationship with food here has settled into something comfortable. I’ve stopped mourning what I can’t get and started appreciating what I can. I’ve found a shop in central London that stocks some New Zealand products – Whittaker’s, Pic’s peanut butter, a few other essentials – and I allow myself an occasional overpriced trip there when I need a taste of home. My parents send a care package every few months with biscuits and lollies, and I ration them like they’re medical supplies.

But more than that, I’ve come to see food as one of the most interesting parts of being an immigrant. It forces you to notice things you’d normally take for granted. It connects you to other people who are also far from home. And it gives you these small, daily rituals – the morning coffee, the meal-prepped lunch, the Sunday roast at the pub – that slowly turn a foreign city into your city.

I still miss a proper New Zealand meat pie more than I probably should. But I’ve made my peace with the pastry lid. I just eat around it and pretend it’s a stew. Which, if we’re being honest, is exactly what it is.

I remember sitting in my flat in Bromley, three weeks into my exciting new London life, staring at the Nursing and Midwifery Council website with a sinking feeling. I’d packed up my life in Christchurch, said tearful goodbyes at my farewell do, and flown halfway around the world assuming my New Zealand nursing degree would open doors here pretty much straightaway. It didn’t. Not even close. My perfectly valid Bachelor of Nursing, my years of clinical experience, my registration with the Nursing Council of New Zealand – none of it meant I could walk into an NHS hospital and start working. There was a whole process ahead of me that I hadn’t prepared for. This is my attempt to explain why that gap exists, what I had to go through, and what I’d tell any Kiwi nurse thinking about making the same move.

The Assumption That Tripped Me Up

Here’s the thing – it genuinely made sense to me that my qualification would transfer without much fuss. New Zealand has a well-regarded nursing education system. We train to a high standard, we work in modern hospitals, we speak English, and we share a whole Commonwealth history with the UK. I assumed there’d be some paperwork, maybe a form or two, and I’d be good to go within weeks.

What I didn’t appreciate is that nursing regulation is fundamentally a national affair. Every country decides what counts as a safe and competent nurse within its own borders, and the UK is no different. The Nursing and Midwifery Council – the NMC – is the gatekeeper, and it treats every internationally educated nurse the same, regardless of whether you trained in Auckland, Manila, or Mumbai. There’s no fast-track lane for nurses from countries with similar systems. You join the same queue, tick the same boxes, and sit the same exams.

It stung a little, if I’m honest. But once I understood the reasoning – that patient safety standards need to be verified, not assumed – I could at least respect the logic, even if the process felt exhausting.

What the NMC Actually Requires

The NMC’s overseas registration pathway has several stages, and each one takes time. First, I had to submit a detailed application with proof of my qualification, my nursing transcript, evidence of good standing from the Nursing Council of New Zealand, and documentation showing I’d completed a minimum number of practice hours before applying. This alone took weeks, because I was dealing with time zone differences and the bureaucratic pace of getting certified documents sent from the other side of the world.

Then there was the English language requirement. You’d think being from New Zealand – where English is, you know, the language – would be enough. Kiwi nurses can be exempt from sitting the IELTS or OET exams if they completed their training in English, which I did. But I still had to formally demonstrate this with supporting documentation, and it wasn’t the automatic tick I’d expected.

The real hurdle, though, was the competency assessment: a two-part testing process made up of a computer-based test (the CBT) and a practical clinical exam called the OSCE. Both had to be passed before the NMC would grant registration. No exceptions.

The Competency Tests – Harder Than I Expected

I’ll be upfront – I underestimated the CBT. I figured that since I’d been a practising nurse for several years, the clinical knowledge would be straightforward. And in many ways it was. The anatomy, the pharmacology, the pathophysiology – all familiar. What caught me out was the UK-specific content. Drug names were different because the UK uses generic names I wasn’t always used to seeing. Questions referenced NHS structures and frameworks I’d never worked within. Legislation like the Mental Capacity Act and the Mental Health Act came up, and while New Zealand has equivalent laws, the specifics differ enough to trip you up in a multiple-choice setting.

I ended up studying for about six weeks, using a combination of NMC-recommended resources and a paid online test bank. It was manageable, but it required focused effort, and I was grateful I hadn’t tried to wing it.

The OSCE – A Practical Exam With UK-Specific Expectations

The OSCE was another story entirely. This is a practical, station-based exam where you rotate through timed clinical scenarios – patient assessment, medicine administration, care planning, clinical procedures – all observed and marked against strict criteria. It’s intense, and the time pressure makes everything feel about three times harder than it would on a normal shift.

What surprised me most was how much the expected communication frameworks shaped the marking. In New Zealand, I’d been trained to communicate well with patients and colleagues, but the OSCE expected specific structures like SBAR – Situation, Background, Assessment, Recommendation – to be used almost verbatim. If you didn’t frame your handover in that format, you lost marks, even if the clinical content was perfectly sound.

Medication administration was another area where I had to retrain my habits. The steps are broadly similar, but the checking process and documentation standards expected in the UK didn’t match what I’d been doing in New Zealand. I practised the OSCE stations over and over at a preparation course in London, and I’m not sure I’d have passed without that structured practice. On the day itself, my hands were shaking at the first station, but I settled into it. I made a small error on one station – I forgot to check the patient’s allergy band before a simulated drug round, a step I’d never have missed on a real ward – but I corrected it quickly enough that it didn’t fail me.

I passed on my first attempt, which I’m proud of, but I know plenty of excellent nurses who needed a second go. It doesn’t reflect on your competence as a nurse – it reflects on how unfamiliar the testing format can feel when you’ve trained in a different system.

The Paperwork, the Waiting, and the Cost

Beyond the exams, the sheer logistics deserve a mention. Between NMC application fees, the CBT exam fee, the OSCE exam fee, and the cost of a week-long OSCE preparation course, I spent well over fifteen hundred pounds – and that’s before you factor in living costs during the months when I couldn’t work as a nurse. I picked up some hospitality shifts to keep myself afloat, which was humbling after years of professional nursing, but it kept the rent paid.

The waiting was arguably worse than the cost. There were long gaps between stages where I was just refreshing my email, hoping for an update. The whole process – from initial application to receiving my NMC PIN – took about five months. I’ve heard of others taking longer.

Getting Support – Agencies, Employers, and Community

I wouldn’t have made it through without support. I used a recruitment agency that specialised in placing internationally trained nurses in NHS roles, and while they took a hands-off approach to the registration process itself, they were helpful in lining up employment for once I’d qualified. Some agencies and employers offer more direct support – sponsoring visa costs, subsidising OSCE courses, or providing structured preparation programmes – so it’s worth shopping around before committing.

The biggest lifeline, though, was a Facebook group for internationally trained nurses preparing for NMC registration. It was a mix of nurses from all over the world sharing study tips, OSCE experiences, and moral support. There’s something deeply reassuring about reading a post from someone who failed their first OSCE attempt, dusted themselves off, and passed the second time. It reminded me that struggling with this process didn’t mean I was a bad nurse – it meant the process was hard.

What I Wish I’d Known Before I Left New Zealand

If I could go back and talk to the version of me packing boxes in Christchurch, I’d tell her a few things. Start the NMC application process at least three to four months before you plan to leave – gather your documents, request your transcripts, and get everything certified while you’re still in the country where those institutions are based. Budget realistically, not just for fees but for a period of reduced income while you’re in limbo. Study the UK-specific content properly, because clinical knowledge alone isn’t enough. And be kind to yourself, because there will be moments when it feels pointless and demoralising and you’ll wonder why you didn’t just stay put.

But here’s the other thing I’d tell her: it’s absolutely worth it. The process is frustrating, but it’s finite. It ends. And on the other side of it is a career in a health system that’s challenging, rewarding, and full of opportunities. London has pushed me professionally in ways Christchurch never could, and I’ve met some of the best nurses and best people of my life here.

If you’re a Kiwi nurse thinking about the move, go for it. Just go in with your eyes open and your paperwork sorted. And if you want to chat about any of it, my inbox is always open.

Moving to the UK as a travelling nurse can be both an exciting and daunting experience. The journey is filled with challenges, from navigating a new healthcare system to adapting to cultural differences.

The rewards—professional growth and personal development—are equally significant. I’ll share my experiences, the hurdles I faced, and the invaluable lessons I learned while adjusting to life in the UK.

Reasons for Moving to the UK

Moving to the UK can change your life, especially if you’re a Kiwi nurse looking for new career opportunities and a chance to immerse yourself in a new culture.

You might find the UK’s healthcare system—particularly the NHS—quite appealing, as it allows you to utilise your nursing qualifications while navigating the immigration process and managing living expenses.

Additionally, getting involved in the community and making new connections can significantly enhance your experience as an expatriate.

Challenges I Faced as a Foreign Nurse

As a New Zealand nurse in the UK, you will encounter a few challenges requiring serious adjustments. From figuring out the ins and outs of professional registration to tackling cultural differences that impact your nursing practice, it can feel like a lot.

The transition often seems overwhelming, especially when faced with language barriers and adapting to the unique healthcare challenges in the UK.

Differences in Healthcare System

One of the most striking differences you might notice as a nurse in the UK is the structure of the healthcare system, especially the NHS. It operates on principles that differ from what you are used to back home. Understanding UK healthcare practices and regulations is critical to providing effective patient care and smoothly integrating into the new system.

This is particularly important when considering the shared responsibility model within the NHS, where care flows through various service tiers, unlike New Zealand’s more centralised approach. For example, in the UK, patients navigate a complex web of General Practitioners (GPs) and specialists, often requiring referrals that can delay treatment access.

The UK nursing qualifications also come with varying levels of training and specialisation, which contrasts with the more streamlined pathways in New Zealand. These differences highlight how crucial it is to adapt your nursing practices to improve patient outcomes while adhering to the local regulations that govern care delivery.

Cultural Differences and Adjustments

Cultural differences can be both enlightening and challenging. As you settle into life in the UK, you will quickly realise how important it is to adapt to British culture and local customs. From social etiquette to navigating cultural shock, these adjustments are essential to social integration and emotional resilience.

Navigating the intricacies of everyday interactions is not always easy. For example, you might notice that the British value politeness and subtlety, which can be confusing if you are used to being more direct in your communication.

And then there is the unique experience of queuing—a seemingly simple act that can teach you a great deal about patience and respect. One memorable moment might be attending a traditional tea ceremony where you will discover that brewing and serving tea is more than just about flavour; it is a meaningful ritual.

These experiences broaden your perspective and gently encourage you to embrace these cultural nuances, making your transition smoother and more enjoyable.

Lessons Learned and Coping Strategies

Throughout your journey as a travelling nurse in the UK, you will discover invaluable lessons about resilience and the crucial role of coping strategies in navigating the challenges of relocating.

Engaging with community resources and building a peer support network can improve one’s emotional well-being and mental health.

Adapting to New Environment

Adapting to a new environment can feel overwhelming, but effective adaptation strategies can help you settle into life in the UK. By embracing lifestyle changes and community involvement, you can build new friendships and feel more at home.

One of the most rewarding things you might do is join a local book club. It will allow you to dive into your love for literature and give you a fantastic chance to connect with others who share your interests. During those discussions, you’ll discover more about the local culture and traditions, deepening your appreciation for the community. Additionally, attending neighbourhood festivals and workshops opens up great opportunities for meaningful interactions, helping acquaintances become lasting friendships.

By actively seeking out these opportunities, you’ll likely find that navigating the initial discomfort of moving becomes easier, and you’ll gradually foster a sense of belonging in your new surroundings.

Overcoming Homesickness

Homesickness can be tough, especially when moving to a different country. By building relationships and relying on family support, you can develop the emotional resilience needed to navigate those feelings of isolation and longing for home.

This experience often brings a rollercoaster of emotions that can swing from sadness to anxiety, but knowing that these feelings are perfectly normal can be comforting. Staying connected with your loved ones back home helps ease that sense of displacement. Those little gestures can make a significant difference, Whether through regular video calls or just sending simple messages.

Engaging with the local community can also help bridge the gap between your old life and your new one. Taking part in social activities, discovering new interests, and making new friends are key strategies for tackling homesickness.

Throughout this journey, the warmth of family support is invaluable. It reminds you that you’re not alone in your struggles and fosters a sense of belonging and resilience as you face all the changes ahead.

Benefits of Working in the UK as a Nurse

Working as a nurse in the UK comes with a host of perks. You’ll find plenty of opportunities for professional growth and career advancement, plus the chance to immerse yourself in a rich cultural experience.

The UK’s healthcare system provides access to ongoing education and professional development that can enhance your nursing qualifications.

Professional Growth and Opportunities

The professional development opportunities available to you as a nurse in the UK are plentiful, allowing you to expand your skills and explore a variety of career paths. From networking events to specialised training programmes, the UK has a vibrant environment for nurses looking to advance.

You can connect with colleagues and industry leaders who can share valuable insights and mentorship by attending networking events. Specialised training programmes can help you enhance your clinical skills and leadership abilities, making you even more competitive in the job market.

Additionally, the skills you gain through diverse experiences—such as patient care or healthcare management—make it easier for you to transition into different roles, whether that’s in education, policy-making, or advanced practice.

All these options not only open up more job opportunities for you but can also lead to greater job satisfaction and career fulfilment.

Cultural Enrichment and Personal Development

Living and working in the UK as a nurse isn’t just about sharpening your professional skills; it’s also a fantastic opportunity for cultural enrichment and personal development. You’ll discover profound personal growth by engaging in community involvement and volunteering.

This experience envelops you in a vibrant mix of cultures and perspectives, helping you understand diverse backgrounds that enhance your personal and professional relationships. Working alongside colleagues from different origins boosts your communication skills and broadens your worldview.

When you volunteer in local communities, you open the door to meaningful interactions. You contribute positively while gaining insights into the unique challenges others face. These experiences help you cultivate empathy and adaptability, which are essential in nursing and life. Volunteering encourages you to take a well-rounded approach to your journey and how you contribute to the community.

London has become an increasingly popular destination for New Zealand nurses seeking new adventures and career opportunities. This vibrant city offers a unique blend of professional growth and cultural exploration. Kiwi nurses’ journey to the UK healthcare system involves key differences and challenges. Daily life in London includes typical shifts, responsibilities, and cultural nuances that shape their experience.

Living and working in this bustling metropolis has rewarding benefits and challenges, including tips for managing homesickness. Whether considering the move or curious about their experiences, this article provides insights into life as a nurse in London.

Why London is a Popular Destination for New Zealand Travelling Nurses

London has become a buzzing hub for Kiwi nurses looking to explore new opportunities in their nursing careers. With its rich history, cultural diversity, and robust healthcare system, the city offers many unique experiences, making it a fantastic spot for those wanting to expand their horizons.

Imagine hopping on an iconic double-decker bus—life in London is packed with anything but ordinary adventures. Moreover, working alongside healthcare professionals from all backgrounds enhances your professional relationships and promotes personal growth.

Adjusting to the UK Healthcare System

Adjusting to the UK healthcare system can be quite a shift for travelling nurses, especially with the differences in healthcare standards and practices. To provide effective patient care, you must understand how the UK model works, particularly its emphasis on public health and community services.

As you navigate this new landscape, getting to know the local health policies and emergency services will make it much easier for you to tackle any nursing challenges that come your way.

Key Differences and Challenges

Navigating the key differences and challenges in the UK healthcare system can feel overwhelming for Kiwi nurses, especially in clinical settings where things might not be what you are used to. The cultural differences in patient interactions and communication styles mean you will need solid cross-cultural communication skills to fit in and thrive in this new healthcare environment.

You might face disparities in nursing ethics and practice standards that could throw a spanner in your daily routines and decision-making processes. As you adapt to new medical practices, you might feel pressured to adopt the latest healthcare technologies emerging in the UK, such as telemedicine and electronic health records, all of which aim to improve patient care.

Continuing education and professional development opportunities are crucial to tackling these challenges head-on. They will help you become familiar with local practices and give you the power to make a real difference in patient outcomes through innovative approaches.

Daily Life as a Nurse in London

As an Kiwi nurse in London, your daily life consists of diverse shifts that change based on your nursing speciality and the hustle and bustle of city life. With the city’s efficient public transport system, hopping on a double-decker bus or the Underground for your commute can become an adventure. This way, you get to soak in the vibrant energy of the city while still maintaining a healthy work-life balance.

Typical Shifts and Duties

The typical shifts and duties of a nurse in London vary depending on where you work and what speciality you choose. Whether you provide emergency care at a busy hospital or patient care in community health, each role has its responsibilities that play a significant part in keeping patients healthy.

Knowing the different types of shifts—day, night, and weekend—can seriously impact your work-life balance. Each schedule comes with its unique challenges and perks. Day shifts usually align with regular hours, which is excellent for family time. On the other hand, night shifts might offer a higher salary but can disrupt your sleep. And then there are the weekend shifts, which might not be everyone’s favourite, but they can boost your earnings.

If you work in specialities like paediatrics or geriatrics, you’ll find that specific tasks come with the territory, requiring you to adapt and collaborate with your colleagues. This teamwork is crucial because working efficiently can enhance patient outcomes and ensure everyone receives comprehensive care while managing busy schedules.

Cultural Differences and Similarities

Cultural differences and similarities between New Zealand and the UK can shape your experience as a travelling nurse in London. You’ll want to grasp British humour and adapt to local customs and social norms. Embracing these cultural nuances is critical to fitting in and finding personal satisfaction in this new environment.

Adapting to British Culture

Adapting to British culture means adapting to local customs and immersing yourself in cultural exchanges that can revitalize your social life. Joining community events and volunteering opportunities is a great way to have meaningful interactions that can help ease those homesick feelings and make you feel like you truly belong.

Exploring local traditions, such as celebrating unique UK holidays, can create shared experiences you will cherish with your peers. Do not overlook the rich culinary scene—sampling traditional dishes in pubs or trying various international cuisines can lead to fantastic conversations and connections with fellow food enthusiasts.

Building friendships with local Britons and other expatriates will provide a solid support network that enhances your social life and makes the adjustment process considerably smoother. Furthermore, getting involved in sports, cultural festivals, or hobby groups boosts your understanding of British culture and can spark friendships that last well beyond your time in London.

Benefits and Challenges of Working in London

Working in London brings benefits and challenges that can shape your career and personal life.

You’ll find plenty of opportunities for career advancement in the diverse job market, and those potential financial perks can boost your overall experience. However, you might also face some challenges, such as the high cost of living and the lifestyle changes that come with such a significant move.

Financial and Career Advantages

The financial and career perks of working as in London are quite impressive, especially with the high demand for nursing professionals who meet UK healthcare standards. This means plenty of job opportunities for you, which can lead to career advancement and the chance to develop essential professional skills.

In terms of salaries, newly qualified nurses can expect to earn between £25,000 and £35,000, and those with specialised skills or experience can earn even more. The financial incentives are hard to ignore. Plus, many healthcare organisations offer attractive benefits like flexible working hours, pension schemes, and opportunities for further training.

Obtaining UK nursing qualifications boosts your job prospects and opens the door to various nursing specialities. You can specialise in mental health, paediatrics, or gerontology, allowing you to shape your career to align with your passions and strengths.

Homesickness and Homesickness Coping Strategies

Feeling homesick is normal for making the big move to London, but there are some effective strategies to help you settle into this new chapter of your life. Building social networks, getting involved in the community, and forming new friendships help ease those homesick blues and make you feel more at home.

One excellent approach is to use technology to keep in touch with your loved ones back home. Video calls and messaging apps are fantastic ways to stay connected. You might also want to join local Kiwi expatriate communities—they can provide a sense of familiarity and belonging while giving you a space to share experiences and support one another.

Remember to explore cultural or recreational activities that resonate with your traditions; they can be a comforting reminder of home. Securing mentorship opportunities can be incredibly useful, too. They can offer guidance to tackle professional and personal challenges while helping you build a solid support network in this vibrant city.

Jetlag, jetlag! Everything’s topsy-turvy. I haven’t been in London long, and I’m still not sure what time of day it is. On a good day, or after a decent shot of coffee, I could tell you about circadian rhythms and body clocks and probably serotonin and melatonin and all the rest of it – I’m a trained nurse, after all – but right now, I barely know what day it is. I challenge you to be able to think clearly when you’ve done a trip halfway around the world – literally. Even the stopover in Hong Kong on the way over seems like a distant memory (I must dig out some of those clothes I bought there). If I could get hold of an IV, I’d put myself on a drip of coffee. If I could trust myself to find the right vein without my hands shaking, which I don’t. This is why my travel nurse agency has thoughtfully given me a week to acclimawhatsit… get accustomed… used to it before I start the refresher course (I will talk more about that later).

I’ve gone from one Bromley (in Christchurch, New Zealand) to another (the one in London). I’ve gone from the Southern Hemisphere to the Northern Hemisphere. I’ve gone from the Pacific to Europe. I’ve gone from spring to autumn without a summer in between. I’ve gone from GMT +12 or +13 to GMT 0. I’ve gone from Friday to Thursday… I think.

However, it could be worse. At least there’s not a problem with language. Working as a New Zealand nurse in the UK means that I won’t have to worry about learning a new language. This meant that I was able to find my way around the airport, have a reasonably coherent conversation with the person from the travel nurse agency who picked me up from the airport and could read the signs so I won’t get hopelessly lost. All the same, I’m sure there will be a lot to get used to.

How I Became A Travel Nurse In The UK

(Several coffees later – the bakery a little way down the road is pretty good, and I didn’t get actually lost on the way back. I only nearly got lost because having the sun to the south rather than the north in the middle of the day threw me when trying to use the map on my phone, but my GPS location soon put me right – thank goodness for modern technology!)

I decided to work as a travel nurse in the UK after having worked as a fully qualified New Zealand nurse for quite a few years. Now that all the Covid-19 restrictions have eased and the borders have opened for international travel again, I felt it was time to have a little bit of a look around the world and do the traditional Big OE. As I’ve still got my student loan to pay off – don’t we all? – I wanted to work while having a look at other parts of the world. Nursing is good like that – although some things differ from country to country, the human body is put together in the same way everywhere, temperatures and blood pressures need to be monitored, dressings need to be changed, and bedpans need to be emptied… and the same goes for a lot of the other work we do as nurses.

I’ve never been any good with languages at school, so I knew that I’d have to work in an English-speaking country, especially given how nurses interact with patients. I thought about Australia, but I’d been over there a few times when I was still living at home with Mum and Dad, so I wanted to look further afield. It looked like it would be difficult to get a working visa for the US, but then I found this really good agency that helped to organise nursing jobs in the UK for international nurses. New Zealand is a Commonwealth country – we had a day off and flags at half-mast for the death of Queen Elizabeth and everything – so this seemed like a very good idea. The agency also handles Australian nurses getting jobs in London as well as New Zealand nurses – so they’ve got tons of experience. The agency was brilliant at arranging my nursing visa for the UK (that was the first step), and now here I am, downing probably a bit too much coffee to cope with the jetlag on the other side of the world.

The Same But Different

One of the reasons I’m glad to come to London in the UK rather than, say, the US is that there’s an odd blend of familiar and foreign at the same time. For example, I’m going to have a nursing job in London, in Bromley, to be specific. However, when I was doing my initial nursing training back in New Zealand, I flatted in the suburb of Bromley in Christchurch. Now I’m over in London, I keep seeing some very familiar names: Beckenham, Sydenham and Bexley. Then I spot some that remind me that I’m in the UK, not New Zealand: Wimbledon, Orpington, Heathrow and quite a few places mentioning the Thames.

During my walk back from the bakery, I went past a small park. At that moment, I could have been either back in New Zealand or in London. I closed my eyes, and as well as the sound of traffic, I could hear the songs of starlings, blackbirds and thrushes. The trees in the park looked like poplars and planes and oaks and others I remember from parks in New Zealand, but something seemed to be missing until I realised that I had been half expecting to see New Zealand native cabbage trees and pittosporums as well. I walked a bit further down the road and crossed the street (feeling very grateful that they drive on the left-hand side of the road here as well), and I came across a set of houses that seemed really close together – and they weren’t even terraced houses. There were a lot more brick houses and brick walls than back home – but what with the Christchurch earthquakes 10 or so years ago, I guess that isn’t surprising. My uncle says that a lot of the brick houses built the UK way in Christchurch were taken out by the earthquake (something they don’t have much of in the UK – that’s going to be something less to worry about; it was bad enough 10 years ago, even though I was still at school at the time).

Some road signs looked familiar – I guess that they’re the same around the world – but there were some I didn’t recognise. I think they’re the ones for public transport. That’s going to be another thing to get used to here – public transport seems to be a much bitter thing. I thought about getting an international driver’s license to drive in the UK, but the people at the agency said that London’s public transport system meant that I probably wouldn’t need to drive. Even if I wanted to explore during my days off, trains were an option. So that’s another adventure awaiting me.

Speaking of that bakery, I had another little surprise. Yes, there were some yummy baked goodies on offer (which I’ll have to enjoy another time; at the moment, my body clock is so out of whack that my appetite is non-existent) and a good selection of coffees to go, but it took me a few moments to remember that flat whites are a New Zealand thing, so I went with a latte instead. It was also a pleasant surprise to find that this bakery, which I guess is typical – had fresh-baked bread for sale as well as all the usual cakes and pies and biscuits.

Actually, I now regret not having picked up that bread, as it would have been good for breakfast tomorrow morning. Just don’t ask me when tomorrow morning will be.