The first day
Day one was hectic, naturally, and basically revolved around me running around Partick buying things and getting laundry done. My careful plans were of course screwed up totally by the fact that I was expecting Andy to turn up with a half-empty van ready to pick up my carefully chose pile of “essential” items (basically clothes, guitar, laptop, portfolio, tools, passport), but with an hour before I had to leave for Prestwick there was still no Andy, no van, and no answer on the phone.
The only thing for it was to carefully work out what I really, absolutely could not do without (not a lot really), and take that with me. Arriving sweating like an overweight rapist at the airport (wild guesses going through my head about the amount of excess baggage I was carrying), I eventually reached the check in desk and held my breath. 45 kilogrammes, for a limit of 20. That’s more than half my body weight, and it clocked in at £100 on the fuck-you-for-travelling-on-a-budget-airlineometer. Get tae fuck, was all I could think, except of course for how I’d be well up for stabbing Andy in the eye with a shitty stick.
Luckily for him, however, I had calmed down quite a bit by the time I got off the plane at Schiphol and finally received a text from the boy. Suffice to say that the whole business is too long a story to go into here, involving numerous incomprehensible fuck-ups, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter. I certainly wasn’t up for spending my first few days in Amsterdam in a sulk, and so it seemed best to forget about it. Didn’t stop my stuff from still being in a pile in the middle of my room back in Glasgow though, but never mind.
Well, that was the first day, and by the end of it I was ready just to pass out on the floor (a mattress had been provided for this purpose by our thoughtful landlady). Out like a light.
