in Glasgow.

Last night was long and frustrating, climaxing in me missing the night's final train to Dublin. I had already given up my bed in the swamp, the hostel's twelve person room, as I was planning on being in Dubs, so I moved into a six person, retiring early and finding four beds empty and the last overbooked; with two french people occupying. But all was calm, and I climbed into my bunk, and picked up a book rather than extinguish the light they had left on.

One chubby frenchman, clad only in blue undies, hopped out of bed.

"Jeff, light off now? -- Oh you read, sorry."

"Nono, that's alright. I'd rather sleep."

The light went out, but sleep I did not. French whispers kept me up awhile, and his getting out of her bed and moving to his own woke me later, as well as her subsequent crying... It was a long night. Always the punctual one, 7AM didn't show up late, and this time I didn't either, and made the train. Three hours train to Dublin, 45 minute bus to the airport, 45 minute plane to Glasgow Prestwick airport, one hour rail to the city center, and I'm finally in Glasgow.

The weather is brisk but clear. The city is abuzz, and it smells a bit like Christmas. People in the streets apologize if they bump into you. Now it's time to find a hostel and meet up with my friend Conor. We see the Foo Fighters tonight.

Frank, one of the hostel managers, left a note beside my bed for me to find this morning: (use Babelfish to translate.)

Pour tout ce que tu m'as jail endurer. Amuses toi bien et bonne nuit.