I extended my stay here at the Safestay Hostel, and for some reason this involved me shifting rooms.
I’m not convinced that their system is actually that good at keeping track of available rooms & bookings and so on – There were beds available when I asked, but it took a managerial type to intervene and force the system to allow said beds to be booked.
My new room?
The old room, with Pukey Van Der McGee, who was still there, though in a top bunk.

I hope the old mattress got cleaned, or replaced, or something, and they didn’t just flip it or something.
Assuming they even knew – He might not have told them, and half of the night staff didn’t seem too interested during the incident in question.

One of the great things about the Scots accent, I feel, is how well it lends itself to being caustic.
For example, you can look at the “Witnesses Reported A Controlled Detonation” situation below, and comment that its a damn fine thing that ye’re the only one in the room, otherwise leaving all of yer shite everywhere might come across as a wee bit self-centred and inconsiderate. Hypothetically.

On the plus side, the cleaners are enjoying a well-earned holiday – We got a postcard from Ibiza, and from the sound of it, they’re having a grand time.

There is a positive side to all of this.
Well, alternatively negative, shall we say?

I got back to the room today (moved in yesterday) to find that the owner of the Controlled Detonation Situation† was trying to work out why Pukey’s bed was stripped of sheets and duvet, and unusually tidy. The news that I’d seen the aforementioned Mr. Van Der McGee in the bar downstairs a few hours earlier, with all of his stuff, did not fall on pleased ears.
Turns out Pukey owned him money.
Pukey also wasn’t answering his cellphone.

Given that this was also The Guy In Bed 8 from The Ballad Of Pukey Van Der McGee, I … Had a hard time caring.

The job-hunt continues.
I have a very good conversation with a recruiter yesterday, who seemed both keen on my chances and perfectly OK with me calling back to check up on things. Trying not to get my hopes up too much, but it seemed worth trying on the pieces of interview clothing I’d bought, to make sure it all more or less worked.