I am writing to you all from my new stance this week situated at the front of my new flat that is both grander and more superior than the one directly two flights above me in which I was calling home not only three weeks ago. Settling into my new flat has been relatively easy and fun and even better when you end up sourcing a bargain like the desk I am tapping away on right now, instead of my couch as usual. Yes I thought I would make the effort as a fairly established writer (I jest) to invest in a desk for such an occasion. My desk I am at now is made of heavy wood and looks very office-y, more than just a family home type. Drawers and Cupboards either side of me I feel prepared and ready to start with whatever errands and home office duties that may befall me. And it was all for free. The guy even dropped it off and carried it indoors for me. Not. A. Penny. Where I hear you 'Holla'?! The Freecycle Network - A community based group in any city, town or village that advertises stuff for free. A fabulous find for someone whose life is always on some sort of budget. And for free you can hardly complain.
Another thing I got for free this weekend was far from satisfactory, and I could have very much done without when accepting my newly found desk was a thumping headache and maybe a slight hangover! Yes since it was my birthday I decided to make a right weekend of it, much to the dismay of Mr. Warehouse whom I think by Sunday afternoon was sick to death with the phrase "It's my birthday - I can say/do/be/have what I want". But its OK because in eleven months he can do the same. Turning twenty-four is so not cool. And if you haven't noticed over the years that the older you get the less people seem to care that it is your birthday. I (and anyone else for that matter) should be a princess (or prince) on their birthday. It is the one and the only day you get to be a complete diva and pretty much no-one can tell you off. Unless its the police. Or your boss. Who conveniently was not in for the majority of my birthday day spent at work.
But firstly we should probably start with the first 'classified' day of my birthday weekend. After work on Thursday I finished and made my way through town with a top on that was probably inappropriate for dinner in a nice restaurant, and most definitely inappropriate for the work place to meet Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. I chose to keep dinner local to me in Bedford as Milton Keynes and surrounding areas albeit would have been nice and maybe more commercial choice, I knew Bedford had choice-a-plenty and such variety too, not to mention being minutes from my bed. Stepping into Mimo's Steak and Grill I was perplexed as to why, on a Thursday evening it would be so empty. Sitting down we were handed menu's and after reviewing them online for the past week or so I knew what I would be ordering. And so between idle chitter-chatter of work, weather and upcoming plans for the rest of the year we tucked into tasty Mediterranean dishes including Calamari, Halloumi and Whitebait to start, Home-made Burgers and Lamb Kebabs for mains and silky smooth Creme Brulee (my new favourite desert) for pudding. Making it home, all four of us stuffed following our £103 meal I was put through the same saga as I am every year. Like a child I sat eagerly awaiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee to come and join me and my boyfriend in the front room for some food-comatose natter before home-time. But alas they had other plans and whilst I knew what they were doing in my new and improved kitchen, I never anticipated a Reeses Peanut Butter Krispy Kreme Donut as a replacement birthday cake! I thought it was wonderful and truly a fantastic idea. No cutting, no fannying around with plates and cutlery. Just an individual donut for me and three. Rounding off the evening with presents that included tickets to see the real life Magic Mike at The Dreamboy's Show in Bedford's Corn Exchange from Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Gig tickets to see one of the first Bands I ever saw live as a teenager - Fall Out Boy supported by none other than Professor Green at Wembley as well as amongst other things such as a carrier bags worth of Reeses Peanut Butter sweets and chocolate including Reeses Peanut Butter Peices, Peanut Butter M&M's and Peanut Butter Hot Chocolate! This was only to be added to over the next few days as copious amounts of more chocolate were added. To bed though myself and Mr. Warehouse went for the next morning was my actual real-life birthday.
Waking in the morn I was ready to start the day, even if it was half-five in the morning. Yes I had to be in work early to do invoicing, but at least I finished early which in turn meant I could have a little cat-nap before getting ready for the nights activities. Opening my presents in my pyjamas and on my bed with Mr. Warehouse by my side was intimate and magical, especially since most of the presents were stuff I loved and didn't have to pretend I liked. "This one's a keeper" I thought as I opened some silver feather hair-clips he had bought me on holiday in Lyon, now my only reminder after loosing my rings last Saturday. Hair Chalks and bath bombs followed all with their little clues on the tags. Then I was handed a box. On the label it said "You are my world ... " and as I opened it I wondered what it could be. On opening the white box with Pandora on the box lid I peered inside to see a sliver and jewel encrusted globe of the world, engraving swirling it saying 'Around the world'. Another few more and I was done. Covered in wrapping paper and glitter I was happy to get my day off to such a good start. As I read Mr. Warehouse's card I started to well-up inside, overcome with joy and happiness and love. He wrote:
Yes, today is your birthday - But I am the one who has the gift.
The gift of you being in my life for another year.
Finishing off my invoicing around ten-past nine I got away with pottering around looking busy, which was both hard and boring. Nevertheless home-time soon came and as I met my wonderful Beau downstairs in reception we alighted for a quick snooze and getting ready for what was to be a much anticipated messy night out.
Throwing on a pair of heels and donning a sexy but classy plum mini-dress, Mr. Warehouse and I headed into town. Soon the Smirnoff Ice turned into singles and then they evolved into doubles finally culminating in shots of Sambuca to toast any old thing of celebratory value! Heading to the next venue and the next the drinks kept coming and the dance moves kept grooving. Some good pictures were to be had that night, including one of the whole team on what we disclosed as a thoroughly good team building exercise. Although I did nearly end up in a bit of bother with some lad on the dance-floor. I mean does he not know who I am. This, today of holy day's was my actual birth day and I am having a photo taken of me (obviously) with my work colleagues and here he is, this chav from the back end of no-where special trying to encroach on my happy-snappy. Suffice to say as soon as I barged the little tosser out of the frame we took a good shot. But that didn't stop him squaring up to me in my seven-inch-platforms and trying to have a go. I mean really? Mr. Warehouse, whilst I know is a soft cuddle-bug inside, he is built like a brick shit house and to start anything with me is certain to involve him. I am his Princess. His Queen and anyone to intrude on my thrown, or selfie as it so happens, will suffer the wrath of "Lui et Moi"! With the dance-floor waning, people drifting off to the taxi rank and some stragglers left kanoodling I looked over to Mr. Warehouse from my prime position on the dance-stage and knew by his little tired face that it was time to call it a night. Heading for a standard drunken Subway and home to bed I knew that whilst still relatively early - 0200am to be precise, it was appropriate clocking out time for a lady of my age now.
Raising my heavy head the next morning, Mr. Warehouse and I agreed that it was about time we did something more sophisticated that getting pissed every pay-day. I was twenty-four (and one day) now. I should be investing in a good, possibly antique dining table and inviting people over for dinner parties rather than being known as the girl who doesn't just go to the bar for one drink but for two. Getting up and lounging around I made the flat look presentable for Mr. Warehouse's mother who was coming over before Dunch (A Dinner Lunch). Seemingly pleased that her son had found a self-sufficient girlfriend who was able to look after not only herself but several pot plants was clearly something she was both happy and proud of. Nattering away over posh coffee and Saturday afternoon telly before going out for a very late-lunch otherwise now nicknamed by me as Dunch. A spicy handmade pizza and glass of milk went down a treat, I even had some to take home with me for supper later on.
Sunday was somewhat a day of rest before heading over to my grandparents house for a family get-together of sorts and time to share in all the gorey details from the past few days. Yes, my nana does like to hear about my escapades of a night on the tiles. But as I sat in the sunshine, blinded by the afternoon rays I sat and wondered what the next year will bring for me. Yes. I need to think out my life for turning twenty-five will definitely be worse than twenty-four for sure.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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