They seemed nice enough. I warned them of how crap the breakfast was here and went downstairs to get mine. Again, crap coffee and cornflakes. I asked at the desk if I could check into my flight on their computer, since they didn’t have communal computers. They happily let me do so. I checked in and the plane was almost full by now, around 24 hours before the flight. I managed to get seat 15A, again on an Embraer 190, so I was right above the wing. I printed off my boarding pass and checked out of the hostel.

I headed back to the tram stop to get the number 9 into town again. Back at Dam Square I found a place to sit next to some bike racks (of which there are frankly too many in Amsterdam) and sat there for a while. I then walked to the RLD, curious as to what it looked like at 9am on a Saturday morning, after the drunk English tourists had retreated to bed.

Possibly the worst busker in Amsterdam. There were many of these people, according to Tom they usually occupy Dam Sqaure but as there was a funfair there they had been displaced to the Damrak.

The streets of the RLD were covered in discarded cigarette packets, cans of Heineken and vomit. There are also a number of public urinals there which smelled awful. There was a small group of old ladies carrying their shopping. It’s hard to remember at night that people actually live in Amsterdam’s famous red light district, and carry out their day-to-day activities there.

Surprisingly for 9am, there were actually women working the windows, though fewer than the night before.

I took some pictures of my walk.

Literally worse than Hitler. These were allover the place.

I saw this cool post-it note art in a window.

Get out of there bus! You are a bus! You belong on land!

The "Our Lord in the Attic" museum, presumably an Anne Frank worship house.

Novelty condom shop. Unfortunately they were closed or I would've bought some.

I was sat next to the canal with a pint of Grolsch.

Then I decided to buy some beer and head to a park. I took the number 9 tram two stops further than my hostel which took me to a lovely park.

A lovely view. There was a scent of cannabis everywhere here.

A Godsend: A public urinal...

I sat here for a while - here's the beginning of the sunset.

With the odd walk inbetween it was now about 7pm so I headed back into town, deciding I would walk some more (!) and then head to Schipol airport at about 11pm.

I'm a huge fan of Asynchronous JavaScript and XML...

Twilight falls over the canals of Amsterdam.

A cool looking bird.

Time for some food.

The RLD on a Saturday night.

Back on the Damrak.

By now it was about 10pm so I headed back to Centraal Station to catch a train to Schipol. I went and bought a ticket for 4,60 Euros, but the man didn’t tell me that there had been a train crash and that all the trains to Schipol were cancelled. My feet were incredibly sore, having been on them since early that morning, and I was incredibly tired. I was close to breaking down and crying after there had been no trains to Schipol for an hour. Then two hours. Then I finally worked up the courage to go and ask. The same man who had sold me the ticket told me there was a shuttle bus instead, and that I could get it outside of the station.

Amsterdam Centraal by night.

Sitting on the ground as there are no benches here, or even inside the station.

I couldn’t find my bus but a helpful man in a high vis vest directed me towards an unmarked coach. I was too tired to find out if this was even the right coach, or if my ticket was still valid for it, but I got on anyway.

Alone, thousands of miles from home, on a strange coach that could end up in Belgium.

Luckily, though, the coach did end up at Schipol airport.

A welcome sight indeed.

My bags were incredibly heavy as they were full of beer an Chocomel. I had forgotten that baggage trolleys existed and when I remembered it was like I had just discovered gravity. Eureka!

The baggage trolleys at Schipol are free, but they produce a lot of static electricity which kept shocking me. Their brakes are also quite uncomfortable, as you’ve got to hold them off to push them, whereas the ones at Glasgow airport are the opposite.

Schipol Plaza at around 1am.

I wanted a coffee so I went to Starbucks. It was awful.

This mouse kept me company at Starbucks.

I needed to rub my feet so I headed back outside and took my shoes off, as I didn’t want to stink out the whole plaza.

My swolen, smelly feet.

My flight wasn’t for another 6 hours or so so I explored the plaza a bit.

KLM engine.

This was attached to a KLM shop, which was closed sadly, as I would quite like to buy a model Embraer 190.

Schipol ATC tower is tall.

I went to find the KLM baggage drop, which was approximately a 50 mile walk away, and didn’t open until 5am. I found a nice seat next to it and it opened at about 4:30, which was nice. My boarding pass wouldn’t scan so she printed me a new one.

Then it was time to find security and my gate. I was told that the entrance to Departures 2 wouldn’t open until 6am, but you can get in through Departures 3 which had already opened. Again a 50 mile walk away. I went through border control, confused as to why this was before security. I then tried to find a sandwich, which was impossible.

I took the lift.

So I found a group of benches and sat down.

Departures lounge in Schipol airport.

By this time I was so tired I started hallucinating. Which sucked. I knew that I had to get to gate D6 which opened at 6am so I stayed nearby. It opened at 6:15, and then I went through security. They had one of the naked scanner things which was followed by a good old fashioned groping. Too tired to care. I then found out that Gate D6 had a further 6 gates in it, and had to get to Gate D6-D.

My plane started boarding at 7:00, and would depart at 7:15. I got on the bus to the plane, boarded, and took my seat. I was asleep before we started taxiing. I woke up in Glasgow to the air hostess giving me a sandwich.

Border control on the UK side was quick enough, and my bag came onto the carousel within about 10 minutes.

It truly is.

I then got the bus home, arriving at my door at about 9:10am, 25 hours after leaving the hostel. Exhausted.

I had some time to kill so I went for another walk. Here are some pictures from that walk…

A raven from King's Landing!

I fucking LOVE Tarrus Riley. So sad I'm not in Amsterdam on April 26th...

This fun fair had been erected overnight on Dam Square. It was 5 euros to go on the tall spinny thing. I didn't go on it since I will be going to Alton Towers in May which is better anyway.

By now it was 11:30 so I still had some time to kill. I went and got lunch, a 2-piece original recipe chicken meal from KFC, reluctantly gave them 0,50 Euros to let me poop and then caught the number 5 tram to Museumplein, which wasn’t where I would be meeting Tom but I had been told by my roommates that there was an I Amsterdam sign, which was like the hollywood sign buy for Amsterdam. So I went there.

I Am Sterdam, and so's my wife!

Also nearby was the House of Bols. I've only ever had Blue Bols.

By the time I’d wandered around some more it was time to catch the tram back to Damrak, then catch the number 24 tram to the Heineken Experience to meet Tom!

I’ve known Tom for about 7 or 8 years now, but we’ve never met in real life. I had a vague idea of what he looked like but I think I stand out so he would likely have no problems finding me in a crowd.

You spelled "Brewery" wrong, bro.

Welcome to the world of Heimlich Himmler.

There was a German man wearing a Megadeth T-Shirt and he saw my Alestorm shirt and gave me the devil horns which was cool. He came over and asked what kind of music Alestorm were, asked if he could take a picture of my shirt, so he would remember to look them up, took the picture, made some small talk, a joke about how Heineken is shit compared to German beer, then he made his way into the brewery.

Tom was 15 minutes late in meeting me. [EDIT: According to him he was not, I'm still pretty sure he was though] He approached and said “Mr Barnes?” I replied “Mr Loth?” and we shook hands and made our way inside. It turned out he had already bought 2 tickets for the tour, but I had already bought one too! He asked at the desk in Dutch if he could return his, at least I think that’s what he was asking but he could have been calling me a Scottish bellend for all I know. The man said Nee. So Tom found some German (I think!) tourists and sold his ticket to them.

The tour was quite cool. We learned about the history of the company, I talked to Tom about the Dutch Royal family, got to taste some of Heineken’s wort (which is beer pre-fermentation). There was a short ride thing which you stood on and from the perspective of the beer itself you saw the brewing process. It was quite cheesy buy fun. The floor moved, you got splashed with water when falling into the copper mash tun, bubbles were blown at you and there were heaters during pasturisation. It was quite cool, really.

The rest of the tour seemed like an extended Heineken advert that you paid to see. After the tour was done you went through a bar and got a couple of free beers, which I liked. We were instructed to make our way to the Heineken Brandshop to pick up a free gift. The brandshop was on Muntplein, about a 15-20 minute walk away.

Our free gift was a lanyard with a bottle opener on it. I’m sure I’ll make use of it.

Then it was time to make our way back into town to meet Kasper! Again, I’ve known Kasper for years now but we’ve never met. I knew what he looked like though so finding him wasn’t a problem, and Tom had met him before.

We met Kasper at about 3pm on Damrak, just across from the casino. A homeless man approached us and asked us for 0,10 Euros, and Kasper offered to buy him some food but settled on just giving him some loose change. I am kind of an arsehole so I wouldn’t have given him anything. We had planned on doing a canal boattrip so we went to the docks on Damrak.

For 8,50 Euros each we boarded a small crampt uncomfortable boat and sat down. Kasper and Tom are quite a bit taller than me so their knees were getting crushed. The trip lasted about an hour. Seemed like decent enough value for money but I wouldn’t do it again. The tour was in Dutch, followed by English, so sometimes Tom and Kasper would be laughing at something but I wouldn’t understand until 3 minutes later. There was a pink birds nest that I wish I had taken a picture of. Kasper remarked that even the birds are gay in Amsterdam.

Then we wandered around the red light district and found a nice bar terrace by the canal to have a beer and a smoke. It was pleasant enough, though at 3,80 Euros for a pint of Grolsch it was quite expensive. We noticed a group of “choir balls” which is like a fraternity of rich people who were doing some kind of stupid initiation ceremony. We wanted them to drown in the canal.

It was about 6 or 7pm. Tom and Kasper recommended I try at Kroket which was lovely. Then we found a cash machine and went into Albert Heijn to, on Tom’s recommendation, buy some Chocomel which is like chocolate milk but better.

We decided to go for dinner and found an Argentinian steakhouse which was a bit crap. I got spare ribs, chips and a cola. The cola came in a glass Coca-Cola bottle but I’m fairly sure it wasn’t Coca-Cola.

We continued to explore the RLD a bit more before heading back to Centraal so that Kasper and Tom could get their trains back home. I had a lovely time with them and Tom showed me some graffiti.

Tom looking awkward in front of some graffiti.

Then I wandered around a bit more and returned to the hostel at about 11pm, to find my new roommates were asleep. I had a shower and went to bed.

So there I was in Centraal Station in Amsterdam. I don’t much care for Centraal Station in Amsterdam, it’s an ugly station and compared to Munich’s Hauptbahnhoff it lacks a lot of things like places to buy beer.

Here's a picture I took of Centraal Station!

As you can see, on the outside it’s quite attractive but on the inside it’s horrible. Trains are cool though, I got a double decker from Schipol to Centraal.

Now it was time to find a bite to eat and some coffee, since the one on the plane had left me completely unsatisfied. I walked down Damtrak, one of the main streets linking Centraal to Dam Square, and eventually settled on going to McDonald’s. Boring, I know, but it’s something I recognise and I wasn’t ready to be adventurous yet. I ordered a big mac and a black coffee. The big mac tasted just like home, as one would expect, but there was something odd about the coffee. I’ve fairly recently gotten into coffee, my favourite being Taylor’s “Hot Java Lava”, which is rated 6 out of 5 on their darkness scale, and is noted for its high caffeine content. I’ve had coffee from McDonald’s in the UK before, and while not great, it’s also not terrible. This stuff, though, was fucking piss. I was to discover that the Dutch just cannot do a decent black coffee. I tried many places, from a Dutch chain place to Starbucks to some local Amsterdam Coffeeshops. I must’ve looked rather silly just ordering a coffee in a coffeeshop in Amsterdam, drinking it, and leaving, but that’s just how I roll.

Anyway, the urge to use the toilet built up again. I went to the McDonald’s toiler and the cheeky fuckers charged me 0,50 Euros to use them. I don’t know if this is just a scam for tourists, but I’ve certainly never heard of a McDonald’s that charges for use of their toilets. Fuckers.

Then I went for a long walk, without a map, and got rather lost. Amsterdam is a beautiful city, real talk. The tall skinny buildings that lean in, the canals, the boats, the odd things you find in back alleys, all of it was fantastic.

I must’ve walked for a good 4 or 5 hours around the place, and the one thing I truly, absolutely hated was this: I am quite an overweight gentleman. My feet tire easily, and due to my profession I sit down for 8+ hours a day at work. Sometimes, a guy’s just gotta sit and watch the world go by. But with the exception of some occupied seats on Damrak, there wasn’t a single fucking bench that I found. This troubled me.

By this time I was ready to check into my hostel, so I walked back to Centraal Station to buy a tram ticket. In Amsterdam, there’s a 1, 2, 3, or 4 day “chipcard” that you buy. I went to the ticketshop and started queueing. I didn’t immediately understand the queueing system, but being that I am British I didn’t want to ask anyone and look like a bellend. After about 6 minutes I noticed that people were going to a computer and it was printing out numbered tickets. I went and got one, having been there already for a while. Fucking bellend. I got the 3 day chipcard since I wouldn’t be needing it on Sunday, and it came to 16,00 Euros.

I knew I needed to get the number 9 tram from Centraal to Artis Amsterdam Zoo. The trams are lovely there, I wish Glasgow still had trams. I liked the way that you “checked in” with you card at the beginning of your journey by scanning it on an RFID reader (don’t even need to take it out of your wallet!) and then again when you leave. I also liked when the tram kept saying “When leaving the tram, don’t forget, to check out, with your public transport chipcard” in English in a frankly adorable Dutch accent.

The number 9 tram that I got from Centraal. Took about 10 minutes.

These pictures were actually taken on Saturday morning, after it had finished raining.

When I arrived at the hostel at about 5pm my bed wasn’t ready yet. My booking said I could check in from 2pm, so I said I could come back, but they said I could wait in their communal area. Unfortunately I didn’t take a picture of said area, because it was fucking tiny. This was also the place where the 51 guests would have breakfast every morning. It was roughly 2m by 3m in size.

When I was handed my door key pass thing 5 minutes later I headed upstairs. If you can call them stairs. From what I can tell this is an Amsterdam thing, but the stairs were more like ladders. I was in room 8 which was 3 “flights” of “stairs” up. I went into my room, not expecting anyone to be there yet. There was a guy from London in there getting stuff out of his locker. His name was Dami. He was a lovely guy, and I was to meet his friends later.

I had the bottom bunk. The room was tiny but the bed was really comfy. This picture was actually taken shortly before I checked out on Saturday morning.

I dumped the bags that I had been carrying all day in my locker, which I had set the combination to be 13370A, and went back out for another wee walk. Again I got onto the number 9 tram. Again I was told not to forget to check out with my public transport chipcard, which I would love to have an MP3 recording of so I could listen to it on repeat on my iPod.

This time I didn’t go straight to Centraal Station, I got off at a square which had a lovely church (?) on it, as I had been told to do by the hostel staff, and headed to the nearest branch of Albert Heijn, which again, I was told to go to by my hostel staff. Albert Heijn, as far as I can tell, is the only supermarket in the Netherlands. I purchased some beer, stroopwafels, and some Speculoos, which is like a biscuit paste that one of my colleagues had told me I should try while in Amsterdam. I love how cheap beer in Europe is, and the choices are great too. I got some Westmalle Trippel, Westmalle Dubbel and a bottle of La Trappe Quadruppel. We don’t really have Belgian Trappist beer in Scotland, so having it readily available and at such an attractive price definitely appeals to me. I noticed that the place didn’t sell any spirits though. Maybe it was behind the cigarette counter or something.

Anyway, I got back on the tram to Centraal to continue my walk. I went to the sex museum on Damrak which I could only describe as the house of a man who owned lots of porn and died, but they couldn’t be bothered removing the porn, so instead they charge 4 Euros to see all the porn. A bit shit, really. Also on the Damrak, though I didn’t go, was the Torture History and Vodka museum (not separate museums, literally the Torture History and Vodka museum).

Armed this time with a map that I had taken from the hostel I headed for the red light district, as I was curious as to how much it loved up to its stereotypes. It definitely does. At this time it was still light, and I wouldn’t exactly describe any of the prostitutes as “attractive”, but I watched as man after man bought their wares. It was genuinely quite interesting, if a little depressing. Most of the clientelle seemed to be middle-aged to old men. I happened to walk into a sex shop which sold a lot of porn and also had 3 booths where you could pay to watch porn and have a wank. I don’t want to live on this planet anymore.

One of the main streets in the RLD by day.

Also I saw some tits...

I walked around some more (I’m starting to notice a theme here!) and saw some stuff, eventually it turned dark. Back into the red light district I went.

This time it was packed to the brim with drunk and/or stoned English tourists. They were either leering at the prostitutes, who were decidedly more stunningly attractive this time round, or egging eachother on into hiring one. I also noticed, which I didn’t the first time round, that there were quite a few “live sex” shows, which could be a “banana show”, a “couples show”, a “dildo show”, or a “gaysex show”. I was kind of curious to see the banana show, since it sounded fucking hilarious, but I wasn’t willing to spend 35 Euros for the privilege.

It was now about 11pm, and I was really tired, so I headed back to Damrak to catch my tram to the hostel.

When I got into my room, all but one of my roommates were there. They were 4 young guys from London who had just eaten a considerable amount of psychedelic mushroom truffles. They were watching Fantasia on Dami’s laptop (who was now asleep, having eaten 10g of the stuff and smoked a lot of cannabis), which I thought was a bit fucking stupid but whatever, it’s their trip.

We introduced ourselves and got on pretty well. I started drinking a beer and they complained about not having any visuals. So I, being the responsible adult, suggested they go for a joint, knowing it would likely make them trip balls. So they did, I joined them outside and we came back in.

They changed the movie to Super, which if you’ve never seen it is quite a dark movie. An excellent one though. Within about 5 minutes they started, as I predicted, to trip balls. One of them, Byron, said he was hungry so I gave him a stroopwafel. He ate it quickly and stared at a wall for around an hour. After an hour of silence he said simply “I need to get some of these stroopwafels”. We all burst out laughing, except Byron, who was deadly serious about his need of stroopwafels.

We finished watching Super and started looking on Dami’s hard disk for another movie to watch. We decided to watch Rat Race, but I was quite drunk so I fell asleep during it.

I woke up at about 9am and was far too hot. Apparently, the radiator that was RIGHT FUCKING NEXT TO my bed turned on during the night and was ferociously hot.

I went downstairs to borrow a towel and took a shower in our private bathroom which was amazing. Literally the best shower I’ve ever had.

Then my roommates all had to checkout to catch their bus back to London, which was a 10 hour journey through Belgium.

That’s it for my first day’s trip report, stay tuned for day 2 in which I meet Tom and Kasper!

I had been to Amsterdam once in the past, with my mother and grandmother when I was about 8 or 9 years old, so this was likely to be a very different kind of holiday.

Looking for flights it seemed I had two choices from Glasgow International Airport, either Easyjet or KLM. For flights on the dates I wanted would’ve cost around £80 return including fees on Easyjet and £98 on KLM so I decided on KLM as (a) I’ve never flown with them before and wanted to try something new and (b) the free checked luggage would be nice.

Unfortunately the only flights at that price range were at 08:35 for GLA-AMS and at 07:15 for AMS-GLA, but I didn’t think that would be a problem at the time. More on this in day 3/4′s report!

So with my flights booked, I had to make some plans on what to do during my stay. I contacted a couple of Dutch friends that I have who were happy to come to Amsterdam to meet me. More on this in day 2′s report!

I booked two nights in the Centraal Hostel which seemed fairly close to Centraal Station where I would arrive from the train from Schipol Airport. It was around 25 Euros per night and had moderately decent reviews. I thought that since my return flight was so early on the Sunday morning I wouldn’t need a bed to stay in on the Saturday night. Again, more on this awful mistake in day 3/4′s report…

Flights and accommodation ready, my project at worked released to the world, the day finally came to go. I had set my alarm for 4:45 on Thursday morning to make it to Glasgow Airport at 6:30 in time for my baggage drop to open. I had also made plans with a friend who was flying to Turkey the same day to have a few pints in a bar after security. I checked into my flight on KLM’s website exactly 30 hours before my flight, securing my seat in 06F (since I would be flying south and it was an early flight, I wanted a window seat on the west side so that the sun wouldn’t bother me) on flight KL1472 from GLA to AMS in an Embraer 190 aeroplane.

I went to bed at around 10pm and woke up naturally at 3:45.

When I got out of bed it was really cold. I had a shower and got dressed. Made sure that my bag had everything I needed: passport; check. Euros; check. Clothes; check. Irn-Bru and tablet for Dutch friends; check. I was ready. It was still only 4am.

Raring to go, I went to the cash machine on my street to get money for the taxi to the airport. I noticed that there would be a number 38 bus at 05:24 and, since I get a free SPT Zonecart through my work decided I’d just take the bus to Cathedral Street. I knew that there would be a Glasgow Airport Shuttlebus from Buchannan Street Bus Station at 06:00 which would get me to the airport at about 06:20 and would cost £5. Cheaper than a taxi, certainly.

The nice thing about the Glasgow Airport Shuttle is that it has very comfortable seats and a dedicated luggage rack. I got to the airport at about 06:20, and found that there were two KLM checkin desks, and even though they weren’t open, I would almost definitely need to go to one of them so I waited there until check in opened about 3 minutes late. I was furious!

I was in the business class/luggage drop queue, and the woman in front of me took about 15 minutes arguing with the lady, before walking away with all her luggage not checked in. She was a KLM FlyingBlue elite member, and looked like a total bitch. I dropped my luggage off and headed for security which was about a 4 minute walk away and took about 5 minutes to get through. It was already 06:55! My friend’s flight to LHR where he would transfer to a flight to Istanbul would be boarding in about 15 minutes! There’s no time for a pint! Oh the humanity!

I needed to drown my sorrows. Luckily there was a Tennents bar right next to my gate! And they sell beer! At 7am! I bought a rather pricey pint (£3.80 for a pint o’ Tennents!) and whipped out my Amazon Kindle. I was sat right next to the plane that I’d be taking.

KLM Embraer 190. My Embraer 190!

The boarding call was made at 08:15 and I was first in line, excluding the SkyTeam priority and business class flyers who were in a separate queue. I needed, quite desperately, to pee.

Upon boarding the first thing I noticed was that the Embraer 190 was quite a bit smaller than I’d thought. The smallest plane I’ve flown in previously was an Airbus A320, so the 2-2 seating layout was nice. I threw my luggage in the overhead, bumped my head on the overhead and sat in my seat. A man sat down next to me and closed his eyes as if to sleep. Oh no! How will I pee if he sleeps through the whole flight! My bladder will explode due to the altitude!

Woe is me.

20 minutes later we were in the air. Shortly after that the seatbelt sign went off. The man was still asleep! I decided “screw it” and tapped him on the shoulder. He reluctantly moved and let me pee. Crisis averted. Could’ve been the worst accident in aviation history right there.

It was a fairly uneventful flight. I got a sandwich, a small orange and chocolate bread thing and a black coffee. The coffee was awful, the sandwich had too little meat, and the orange thing was too small. The cabin crew seemed lovely though.

We landed at 10:45 local time after a one hour and fifteen minute flight. Schipol is a huge airport so taxiing to our gate took around half an hour. Followed by a short bus journey to the terminal, it was on to border control. I passed through quickly, being one of the first off the bus and made my way to collect my belongings. They arrived in about 15 minutes, which I find to be incredible considering the sheer number of planes that go through Schipol’s luggage handlers every day.

I left the arrivals lounge and made my way to Schipol Plaza where I could buy a train ticket. I was impressed by the plaza but didn’t stay long as I would have much more time to explore on Sunday morning. 4,60 Euros lighter, I was on my train to Amsterdam Centraal Station.

Stay tuned for Day 1 Part 2 of my trip report, coming soon!

So when I moved back to Perth and May I started looking for a job. I first looked to my previous employer, B&Q, since I had a good time there last year, and although it was minimum wage, the work’s alright and it would allow me to clear my student debts eventually, before making the move to Glasgow. They weren’t hiring so I started applying to pretty much everything on S1Jobs. I’ve sent my CV to everything from Tech Support for a second-hand car company to selling bikes at Halfords, even getting a telephone interview from a call centre. After sending out probably upwards of 100 CVs I was nearly ready to sign onto Jobseekers until I find a cleaner job or some bollocks. I know it’s only been perhaps 8 weeks since I got back to Perth, and many people have been seeking jobs for months and years, but I was getting really rather depressed.

That was until last Thursday when I was awoken by my telephone.

“Hi, it’s <redacted> from <redacted> in Glasgow, is that Ruairidh Barnes?”

“Yes, speaking…”

“Hi, we’d like to invite you to an interview”

My face lit up. Glasgow!

“Excellent, would Wednesday be okay?”

“Yes, Wednesday at 1pm? I’ll send you an email with details”

I said thanks and we hung up. Excellent.

I was going to be in Glasgow on Wednesday anyway due to seeing Iron Maiden, so that made for a long day. I spent the week reading everything I could about the company, and the man who was interviewing me. He went to the same uni as me, he was a research fellow in the department with which I was a member. Perhaps the fact that I left would stand against me? I was pretty nervous. I’m not really qualified on paper for a Graduate Software Engineer job, I think. Although I was as confident as I could be given the circumstances, nobody I think truly believed I had a chance.

So I got me a shirt and a tie and had a shave and left for Glasgow. Then I got on the bus to the company offices. I was 10 minutes early because I roll like that.

“Hi, I’m <redacted>, you’re Ruairidh Barnes?”

We shook hands and he led me into the interview room. This is unlike any interview room I’ve seen on TV, I thought. 3 very comfy lounge chairs and a whiteboard. The man wasn’t even wearing a tie! This is my kind of interview. He asked me what I knew about the company, I told him, standard stuff. Then we got onto the technical questions.

“Please explain polymorphism”

I know this. I use it all the time in personal projects. And yet my mind drew a blank. That’s it, I thought, interview’s over. I’ve fucked up. Oh well. Waste of a tie.

I started babbling some bullshit. He was clearly unimpressed, but asked me to write out some code on paper, using polymorphism. I did so since it was simple enough and he seemed happy enough.

“Right, well, I’d be delighted to offer you the job!”

Wait, what?

“If you had a degree, we’d pay you <more>, but we’ll start you off on <excellent for no degree>, you understand, right?”

Wait, what?

Like, seriously, what?

“You’ll start on the 1st of August, 2 weeks of training then straight onto projects, depending on what we have”

He gave me a tour of the office, and with a promise of receiving the contract in the mail, I left. I was expecting some catch, but it simply didn’t come. I am literally the best person ever.

I start my career on the 1st of August. I’m excited.

I grew bored of that fairly quickly. I doubt anyone really listened to the stuff I posted anyway, and most of the days are pretty boring. There’s a couple that I’d still like to do, though.

Day 13: A song that is a guilty pleasure

I would only call this a guilty pleasure because of the lyrics. They’re truly hurtful and disgusting, however I love the music itself. It’s quite sad really.

Day 14: A song that no one would expect you to love

I’m a metalhead, and as such people seem to be surprised if I’m listening to something that’s not metal or by a metal band. One of my favourite live bands are The Decemberists.

Here’s one of their songs I recently enjoyed live.

Day 20: A song that you listen to when you’re angry

When I’m angry, for some reason I don’t want to calm down. I want to listen to angry music. A lot of the music I listen to would be considered by most to be “angry”, due to guttural vocals, a high BPM, shredding guitars and so on. That’s not angry music. That said, though, it’s fantastic to listen to when you are angry.

Here is a song.

Day 21: A song that you listen to when you’re happy

Day 21: A song that you listen to when you’re sad

Day 24: A song that you want to play at your funeral

I want my funeral to be a happy thing. Not because I’m dead, but because the attendees are not. I’ve only been to one funeral in my life, and it was a truly awful thing. From the bullshit religion to the bullshit people telling you it’s okay to be sad and cry. Y’think? Fuck you.

So, I’d donate my body to science and have no real funeral as such. I’d much rather people went to the pub and had a few too many drinks and had fun. Listen to music, tell stories. Start bar brawls. Be awesome.

And because I’m fucking dead, I couldn’t give the tiniest shit about what music is played. I couldn’t actually give the tiniest shit about what people do, being dead. So I won’t choose a song for this day, because when I’m dead, I’d rather you did.

Day 29: A song from your childhood

Along the same lines as Murray, musically my childhood was dominated by Meat Load and Bon Jovi. I don’t much remember hearing the good Meat Loaf stuff, mostly his awful 1980s stuff. Still, this song stands particularly strongly in my nostalgia banks. It’s because it used the word “shit” and I thought I was all rebellious and badass if I sang along.

I recently saw this band live at the O2 ABC. The lineup was excellent that evening, Ensiferum and Amon Amarth supporting Children of Bodom. Bodom, as expected were a bit shit. Ensiferum lacked stage presence unfortunately, but were musically excellent. Amon Amarth though, whoah. They were, for lack of a better word, brutal. They sounded amazing and got the crowd going mental. The pits were intense, the 12 year olds who were there for Bodom got mauled. It was glorious.

Here’s a song of theirs that they played and I really enjoyed.

And here’s the original power metal version:

I like to sing this song when no one can hear me. It’s a good song.

Day 6: A song that reminds you of somewhere.

I used to play quite a bit of World of War

craft, I’m not ashamed to admit. I never was one for listening to the sound track of the game, as good as it is, while playing, so I would always listen to my own music. Usually, when levelling through a particular zone, I would listen to one artist, or album at a time. Whenever I hear this song I think of the old Darkshore. Killing those imps and Naga and Bears. Good times.

Day 7: A song that reminds you of a certain event