Got it!

It so happened – it had to happen so – that my mobile phone went dead, and the internet at the hotel was down, and for a moment I thought I was completely isolated, until I realized that there still existed such antediluvian things as stationary telephones, so I called home and told my husband I was alive. In the morning I decided that the only reasonable thing to do was to go to London (not to look at the queen, but maybe visit the V&A or some other favourite place). My flight was in the evening, and there seemed no point staying in Cambridge. I checked out and went back to my room to get the luggage when the phone – stationary – rang. I was so sure it was my husband that I am afraid I answered in a rather intimate tone, but it was Morag who wondered whether I had any news. I explained that the committee was to meet later that day and asked if she had time to meet me for a cup of coffee. Instead, we arranged to have lunch at noon, and I said I was going out for a walk. “No, you are not!” said my wonderful friend resolutely. “You are going to sit right by the phone and wait”. I said that no one had enquired where I was staying. I didn’t tell her, but I was not going to sit and wait by the phone, I’d go crazy. Instead, I left my luggage at the reception, and as I was going through the front door the lady at the reception called after me. Someone was on the phone. Head of Faculty.

Well, if you have applied for a job and gone through purgatory, and someone is calling you a quarter to nine in the morning it is unlikely he is calling to tell you that you have not got the job. So it was enough to hear the voice. For a second I wondered how the h-l did he know where I was staying, which was of course elementary, my dear Watson. While he was leisurely wishing me good morning and asking about how I was, I kept mumbling: “Come on, say it, say it!” And he did. Thunder and lightning! “I am calling to offer you a chair”. What do you reply? An offer you cannot refuse. I assume I said that I was happy to accept it, but I don’t quite remember. I was grinning like a Cheshire cheese. I wanted to hug the receptionist. I had to tell someone, and my mobile was dead. Once again I remembered the stone-age communication means and called my husband from a phone in the lobby. “Got it”. I have no memory of his answer. I ran over to the faculty, still grinning and not quite believing that it had happened, therefore not yet panicking about all the consequences. I realized that when Morag called me she knew already. Bless the country where committees meet at eight in the morning.

Job interview

Some days after the application deadline I received an email inviting me to an interview. I have only had two permanent jobs, and I can't remember being interviewed for those, but for two other jobs I didn't get. Great start! The invitation listed a long row of events during the interview day - yes, a whole day long interview, meeting lots of people in different constellations. The message contained words like "briefing" which I have never understood. Audio-visual equipment was offered for my self-presentation. My, this was serious!

I flew to London the day before, reasonably early in the morning, and went to the Museum of Childhood. I had been there, but this was before I developed a passionate interest for doll houses (see my doll house on the web). I spent three hours at the museum, taking notes and drawing sketches, which was very relaxing and kept my mind from all thoughts - this is incidentally why I started building a doll house. Then I took the familiar train to Cambridge and taxi to the hotel I had found on the web. Remember, if you don't want to pay fortunes for a hotel in Cambridge, it's worth while spending an hour on the web. Then you can treat yourself to a nice meal instead. Which I didn't. Instead, I paced the room rehearsing my self-presentation. "You must give me the job because I am the best" is not a good argument. I had decided against AV since it felt silly.

How did it go? Frankly, I don't remember. I remember a row of faces to which I tried frantically to attach names from the Faculty webpage; I remember that I was asked questions, but have no idea what those were, yet obviously I answered them to everybody's satisfaction. I remember getting in too late after lunch, escorted by someone, to whom I was too shy to remark that we were late. I know I was pleased with myself; I had prepared good answers for every tricky question, and there were no questions I had not expected. The day was over quickly, and Morag and I celebrated in an excellent local pub that I can warmly recommend.

Next day I flew home and pretended it had never happened. But I had already been summoned to the next interview.

How it developed

When I got home I sent Morag my CV and forgot all about it. Well, not really: deep inside I hoped that is hadn't been a joke over a glass of wine and that Cambridge had really appeared vaguely at the end of the tunnel. My life went on as usual, and the C-word was banned at home until in mid-December there came an email from Morag confirming that the position would be announced soon and that I should make sure I applied.

From today's perspective, I certainly didn't know what I was doing. Burning your ships and all other pretty metaphors didn't stop me. Cambridge was so attractive that it was worth any sacrifice. I didn't think about the dimensions of the sacrifice. Beside, there was a good chance that I wouldn't get it, and I am not a person who worries in advance.

It so happened - it had to happen so, as one of my favourite writers, Kurt Vonnegut, says - that I was taking one of my grandsons to London as a birthday present. He is ten years old and his image of London was limited to Madame Tussaud and London Eye, but he is curious and enthusiastic and we had a wonderful trip. But before that I contacted Morag and asked whether it made sense for me to make a detour to Cambridge. It did, and the following day a lecture by the famous Stockholm professor etc etc was announced. It was more than I had bargained for, and I was also invited to Formal Hall, an event as grand as meals at Hogwart - I'll come back to it. Anyway, I had a chance to look around before applying for a job. I still didn't know what I was doing.

The position was announced in the end of January, the application date was February 15, and it was specified that the final decision would be made on April10. Now, in Sweden, a professorial appointment takes three years (just a slight hyperbole), what with approaching prospective committee members who take weeks to respond, the sending out of applicants' collected works that take months for the poor committee members to read and write reports on, meetings, interviews and the usual academic procrastinations. Three cheers for Cambridge! When I submited the application, I knew that within less than two months I would know the outcome, whatever that might be.