Taylor Swift: Horrors rural Scottish fans fought to reach the Edinburgh Eras Tour

The Gang and I hail from some of the most rural corners of Scotland, infamous for unreliable or non-existent public transport. Ask anyone from Ullapool, Clachtoll or Lochinver – they’ll let you know.

Between The Gang and I, we were getting about fifteen different buses just to get to Edinburgh for the biggest and most eagerly anticipated concerts in Scottish history. I am referring, of course, to Taylor Swift’s three-night stand at Murrayfield.

So I decided to create The Spreadsheet, which may sound over-the-top (which it definitely was), but I’ve found the only way to calm my General Anxiety Disorder is to plan everything down to the minute.

It’s bit embarrassing that as a youth who “should be” carefree I feel the need to make documents detailing our plans – but I would also argue that my spreadsheet-making skills was a major factor in even managing to battle TicketMaster for tickets in the first place. Obviously mental illness is no fun and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy — however being in a constant state of flight or fight mode does have its benefits once in a blue moon.

The Gang were on our buses only an hour away from Edinburgh, with everything running to schedule (thanks to The Spreadsheet), when we realised our Airbnb host wasn’t answering his phone and hadn’t told us how to get into the accommodation.

In an attempt to be organised, we booked our Airbnb a year prior on the same day we secured our Eras Tour tickets. Great planning — it should have been a breeze.

Oh how wrong we were.

I sat on the bus; legs jittering, biting fingernails. Backup plans raced through my mind: Where won’t be fully booked during Scotland’s biggest concert of all time? How far in debt will booking a hotel make us? Should I beg my cousin in Glasgow to take us in for the night?

Just as I picked up my phone to begin scrounging for youth hostels, a message appeared on The Gang group chat.

“HE ANSWERED HE SOUNDED SO OLD AND SWEET ON THE PHONE”.

I breathe for the first time in the last half hour.

With that, we delight in the views from our M90 bus, on track to arrive in the capital in about 30 minutes’ time, the blue sky peeking through the clouds and Sabrina Carpenter’s Espresso happily playing through my mind.

But then another message — the Airbnb host says he did not receive our booking, and is already hosting someone else.

Naturally, the only fitting response to such a message is five screaming/crying emojis.

The Gang group chat is soon filled with many a vulgar insult directed at Airbnb.

But I’m already blasted into Survival Mode — although it is the bane of my existence, being in a constant state of fight or flight has its uses.

Within a few beats, I’m deep within the search engine of booking.com, but the only rooms available soar over £1000, some as much as £2000 — which for a skint gaggle of Taylor Swift fans, isn’t going to happen.

But then, as if our fairy godmother Taylor had made it happen, a hostel in Waverley pops up (£600 for two nights).

“Go! Go! GO!”

Within seconds we are inputting card details like our lives depend on it, and we get it booked.

I can breathe again.

With our limited sense of sanity, floral dresses and platform Dr Martens, The Gang and I conclude that we would make an excellent team for The Hunger Games — if it ever came to it.

We glide from Edinburgh Bus Station to the Waverley youth hostel — only to find there was definitely a reason why the room was cheap. Picture a window glued open without any curtains, bunkbeds containing someone else’s hair, a shared shower that throws you from the icy tundra to the fiery pits of hell every four seconds, all while hearing intimate sounds from the toilets cubicles beside you.

Yes. There was definitely a reason it was cheap — in fact, it was a rip-off.

But, of course, it was all worth it to see Miss Americana herself.

Days later I’m still recovering from the concert — it can only be described as a full body experience, exorcism of demons and an all-out celebration of girlhood.

Taylor, if you’re reading this, I just hope you know the horrors we fought to see The Eras Tour — and that it was all worth it.

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