This summer, I met one of my oldest friends, Hawwa, for the first time. We had a very aesthetically-pleasing day in Shoreditch wandering around looking for good graffiti and interesting buildings, cameras constantly in or out of our bags as we battled against the rain. You can read about that here. And a few weeks later, we met up again, this time in Manchester...
Before I show you my photos, though, I'm going to tell you a story because if you're new to this blog and you don't know how tragic I am, you need to know how tragic I am. So a few weeks ago, I tried to do a favour for a friend and drove her to Peterborough... except I didn't realise I'd missed a turning, accidentally ended up on a motorway which was terrifying and NEVER AGAIN, and didn't realise anything had gone wrong until the signs for Peterborough were replaced with horrific signs like 'THE NORTH' and 'Kettering'. Where even is Kettering? I don't know. I don't care. In the end, we realised we were in fact near Nottingham and I cried a lot and it was horrible and my step-dad had to rescue us by finding us on very limited information and letting me follow him home. Genuinely traumatic. Anyway, that's just setting the scene for my actual story, which is: when I got on the train to Huddersfield... I didn't actually check what train I was getting on. I just saw that it was a Virgin train and hopped on. I was distracted by my quickly-cooling McDonald's, okay? I was in Doncaster before I realised that I shouldn't actually be in Doncaster. And later, when I had to catch another train, I just... didn't get on. It was right in front of me for several minutes and I had no idea because I was on Snapchat being hilarious. Then it disappeared off the departures board and the penny dropped.
WHY. AM. I. LIKE. THIS.
So then I had to wait an hour. In the cold. Alone. Hungry. *slides tiny violin from tiny case*
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