I got to arrange all the planning for this trip, partly because I enjoy doing it although the most likely reason is because I'd just tell Tasha to change everything anyway.
I booked us an 11:30am train from Manchester to London, which seemed like a great idea because I HATE early mornings.

6:30am. I'm awake, I'm dressed for the day and my bag is packed and I've just counted out all my dollars again. I've even tried my new coat on to see what it's like with my bag on because I'm cool like that.
Now I'm torn between making non-stop phone calls to Tasha to wake her up or trying on my whole wardrobe to find a new outfit. What a stupid thought though, I don't really care about which clothes I put on the first time so I'm not really going to do it seven more times and Tasha's bad moods are worse than mine! A caffeine free, sleep deprived Tasha would just suck the fun out of my hilarious phone call so I'll just send a text.

10:45am. We have just seen Anthony Cotton in Piccadilly Station. Tasha was stood behind him in the queue in WH Smiths. He must be going to work, I'm pretty sure that's the only time people ever look that miserable.

12:00pm. We made it to the train, obviously. I decided to keep a diary of this trip because I know it's going to be awesome so I've brought my favourite pen and leather travel journal with me. We found our seats, dumped the bags and sat down. Then my pen fell out of my pocket and is wedged behind my seat, lost for all eternity. I'm sad now and I love that pen. I feel like I should be compensated for this.

So I have to write a "blog" now instead.

There's a strange man sat nearby. He looks very nervous. Tasha thinks he's just watching his bags, I think he's an odd person who should be photographed.

We have another 2 hours before we arrive into London and Tasha is asking stupid questions.
"What's the plural for more than one moose? Mooses, meese or just moose?"
Headphones in.

6:00pm. I never thought going to McDonald's in Leicester Square would be a highlight of my day. A Polish employee has just asked Tasha if she can speak English! Maybe it's because we're in a fast food place and she's trying to order a salad, I don't know.

8:30pm. Our hostel is above a bar so it would be rude not to visit. The staff here seem very nice. I ordered a drink. Tasha 'whispered' "f***ing hell £4 for a Smirnoff Ice!" Now the staff don't speak to us.
It's Saturday night, the bar is getting quite busy. Everyone is out to have a good night and dressed to impress, meanwhile we have found somewhere to sit, on seats so high I can't touch the ground and I have a towel under my arm that I've borrowed from Reception. I am so cool.

No smoking is allowed outside the bar, only in designated areas.
"Can you move to the side please. There's no smoking here". "Where am I allowed to go?". "Just over there, near the wall". "Next to that No Smoking Sign?". "Yes". "Oh".