I was a bit worried about how I would cope with ten 10-hour day shifts in a row, but in the end I managed all right. Having to neglect the Net wasn’t all that frustrating, and I was rather surprised that on most of the nights I even found the time for a proper dinner. (All the same, at the end of it I was exhausted – not physically, but by the routine of it.)
And several glimpses of those days remain in my memory, both related and unrelated to the actual job:
Noticing that the Speirs Wharf footbridge had finally been opened (and actually walking across it a couple of days later).
Going out to do something in the town during a tea time like a true Briton: without taking off the hi-viz vest.
Receiving a letter from the Sheriff Court. What could I have done? Quite on the contrary, I had been selected for “Potential Jury Service”. I don’t know whether with my auditory verbal agnosia I would make a good one; anyway, I had to inform them I hadn’t been in the country long enough to qualify.
And finally overhearing somebody call my city [ˈglɛzgə] rather than [ˈglɑːzgo:]…