Celebrating Terrorists And The People Who Die to Protect Us From Them

Hello and Good Morrow, 

Once I was finished playing dress up and wearing scary make-up in last weeks Post I decided that a little less was definitely more - Except when it comes to my social life. And after hanging up the Little Red Riding Hood, I started to make plans for the rest of the year. 

Now in England, as well as the other United Kingdom occupants we here celebrate the night of Guy Fawkes on (Remember, Remember) the fifth of November, every year. Guy Fawkes, to give you a bit of background was some bloke who in 1605 (After the Battle of Hastings where some dude called Harold II lost an eye, and before Jack The Ripper - that other dude that liked to cut women) tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in Westminster, London. All because of some beef that he had with the current King of England, James I. 

Turns out that the disagreement leading to the hopeful demise of King James I and all his kings men on November the 5th 1605 was actually we can all relate to in modern day society. So - Bringing it back down to street level - The thirty-five year old Fawkesy (Not an actual name, I just made that shit up for the LOLs) had decided that after growing up in a government whereby Queen Elizabeth I was going around making all these laws about being a Catholic and all Guy had enough. But luck would have it though as James I comes into power and everything would change for the better. But this was not the case and the laws that were introduced by Q.Lizzie No. 1 were now being held up and even added too by that Jammy James the first. 

In a way probably very similar to that of the 2010 manifesto that was drawn up by Mr. Nick Clegg, leader of the Liberal Democrats Party stating that he would make it his duty as part of a coalition government with David Cameron (Current PM) of the Conservative Party that Student Tuition fees would not increase. But oh, what was that, not even twelve-months later our little Cleggy broke that promise after being bum-raped by Cameron into raising them to over £9,000.00 a year in some cases much, much more, sending students across the country into meltdown after not only increasing fees, but pricing those on the brink of being able to afford going to Uni right out of the market. I was one of the last years that could have gone to University, but instead of putting in the hard work needed at college I opted into creating a life with my future husband-to-be, Mr. Workaholic. That ended but the anger towards the Lib Dems has not and still ensues to this day, reminding me of the one of the biggest regrets in my life. 

Anyhoo, Back to the Story. What did the little Guy do (see what I did there)? Did he write a strongly worded letter? Did he protest with flaming bags of shite? No. Well Sort of. Except the shit was actually thirty-six barrels full to the brim with Gun Powder, Something Mr. Fawkes had learned how to handle well and became somewhat of a connoisseur throughout Europe. And so with only hours to spare, England's most Infamous (and probably the first) Terrorist was caught in the act. I would like to think that Guy was just down the local having a couple of bevvies with his posse waiting for things to start 'Poppin' outside when the Feds came to arrest him. 

After the event was foiled, Guy Fawkes was tortured in good old fashioned style using The Rack as well as other instruments of immense pain and suffering. And 'eh, well done to the lad as he lasted two days on that thing before he uttered a word, something King James I was very impressed by. Eventually he 'fessed up and was sentenced to the highest punishment - To be hung, drawn and quartered! Unfortunately for the King and his Hitman, Guy was a little savvier than they were and as the noose was place around his neck, he jumped thus committing suicide instead and ending what would otherwise be a long and drawn out death. 

And that is the story of Guy Fawkes, a terrorist in his own making. But as we left the fireworks and bonfires behind on Saturday, celebrating them with Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in Luton, I donned a bright red Poppy for a celebration of a different kind on Sunday, thinking of our fallen soldiers on Remembrance Day. Standing in the crowds, my Daddy behind me on his Motorbike, riding as part of the Royal British Legions Poppy Appeal I stood as proud then as I was in all the times I stood alone whilst he was either at war or with comrades delivering Poppy Wreaths to the cenotaph along Bedford's beautiful embankment. 

I was reflective on how so many men, as well as women and children had died in the World Wars there had been, but moreso in the fact that since that moment we as a country had never really been out of war and at peace. Afghanistan, Bosnia, Northern Ireland, Falklands, Iraq and the Gulf. All wars that I, as a twenty-four-year-old second-generation military daughter had seen in my lifetime alone. Too much and yet for Politicians, still not enough? 

I remember getting angry at the 2004 attempts at Christmas number one - A classic rendition of Bob Geldof and Midge Ure's Do they know its Christmas? One of the lines I remember vividly sang out "War is Over" and I remember thinking that "No, No its not. War is not over and I know this as fact as my father will not be spending Christmas with us that year" and as a small person it infuriated me the fact that some jumped up little hairy homeless-looking man and his Pop Princes and Princesses were trying to convey tat everything was OK and no-one was getting hurt when in reality many were dying every day. 

But as I came back from the one minute silence, brought back into the room with the heart-wrenching Last Post, I caught myself pondering - When will it end? In truth, I don't think it will ever end. Politicians are too greedy now (although I doubt that even when Guy Fawkes was alive they were hardly humble-giver-backers). And then it suddenly dawned on me ... In the same weekend I had celebrated both Terrorism and Remembering those who died in conflict trying to stop it. Interesting concept I thought I would share with you all this week. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Shitty Stick!

Afternoon All, 

So after last weeks slight rant over religion and the tales of God and his holy tales of Easter, this week has been slightly more back to norm. Settling fully back into work and life after returning from Las Vegas and the Easter break I decided to get back in contact with some old Pals from my crazy days as a student in college. 

Dropping a few texts, a couple of WhatsApp messages and a few short hours later I was not only on time, but early to meet my dear friend Miss Chocolate. As I sipped on a Martini Espresso topped with some sort of creamy loveliness I noted all my office and life stresses melting away, thinking about how much my friend had changed in the months that we had not spoken. 

Flicking through a magazine, noting all the different trends for Spring/Summer'15 and wondering where I shall be holidaying this year I was tapped on the shoulder by a familiar face, that of Miss Chocolate's. Miss Tatt's was meant to be joining us but I think had to work late so send her best wishes and recommended the menu. As we were seated for our table at TGI Friday's we both couldn't contain our excitement, twittering on about life as we both knew it and of all the things that had happened over the past year or so. First of all there was the explanation about how fabulous Vegas was and secondly was the long, interesting and the somewhat repeated tale of my latest boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse. 

You see it's not that I don't like telling people how Mr. Warehouse and I met, I do (Besides "met at work" sounds a lot better than "met on Tinder") its just sometimes I wonder, and I am sure that Miss Chocolate and the Tweedles will vouch for me when I say this - I have never really been single. Not properly anyhow. All I seem to do is skip from one relationship to another. I mean it went from being in school where I had nobody interested in dating me to suddenly not being able to shake them off. It all started with the lovely and sweet Mr. Ginge in Sixth Form. Within a year, then along came along the heartbreakingly perfect Mr. Workaholic. After a couple of months it was the intermediate episode with Mr. Coffee. Six-months later, along came the tragically lost Mr. Cheese and exactly forty-eight hours after ending things with Mr. Cheese I finally came up to speed with the wonderfully simple Mr. Warehouse. Yes, I can safely say I don't think I have been single for more than a few months. What can I say, beating them off with a shitty stick! I think I am very bi-polar in my relationships with men and how I acted at school has pretty much replicated itself in life as a fully fledged adult, falling in love easily and getting my heart broken even easier. 

But as I sat talking away to Miss Chocolate about my new-ish addition to my life as a twenty-something I watched as she tried to twist the story making smiles and asking questions about whether he is the one or not? Babies? Or not? Four-bed detached house in Surrey somewhere with white picket fencing, a red Volvo and a Labrador called Fifi? Or not? this round of question and answer always is the same from Miss Chocolate, maybe because she knows how important it is, or maybe because she has not had a one-hundred-percent definitive answer from me since 2010 when she asked me the same interview-esk questions about Mr. Workaholic. My reaction however is always the same since then too. I have never been true to myself in saying that this probably wont work out. There is always a maybe or a hopefully. Never a certified "Yes". 

I think that Miss Chocolate is much like me, in anticipation for the day again where we will both have that conversation and once more I will be safe in the knowledge that there is a good chance my current boyfriend is going to be my husband. Maybe my search stops with Mr. Warehouse, or maybe it carries on and he becomes another Mister in a long parade of failed relationships. Who knows?

As our conversation progressed we chatted about work, friends, family, college days and future crazy nights out to come. And as I boarded the night bus back home I hoped that the night out we had planned for a few weeks time would come about as I was, and still am in a severe need for a good old messy night out with some banging banter, popping tunes and a dance-floor that has been freshly polished. Oh and a pole - Always need a pole!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx