X-cellent Christmas

Ho Ho Ho - Merry Christmas, 

Waking on Christmas morning as I normally do in my old room at my Dad's Girlfriend's House. Cold winter sun peeking through the window I awoke with the sound of Mr. Warehouse's pooch running up the stairs and wagging her tail furiously against the door. Letting her in we had a cuddle before I realised just what day it was ... IIITS CHRIIIISTMAAAS!!!

Heading down stairs I was greeted, not by the Santa ambush I had always anticipated as a child, but by the mountain of presents sat in a pile all for me. Sitting on the floor yet more doggy cuddles ensued and Mr. Warehouse and I took some time before my Dad and his Girlfriend came down to join us. I soon realised that our Kanine's stocking had more presents in it that some of the gift bags for close, human family members. Nevertheless our Pup seemed to enjoy her biscuits, treats, dog chocolate, toys, squeaky things and tit-bit's. Even the Christmas jumper was a hit and she stayed in it all day comfortably. 

Seeing the gifts my Dad, his partner and Mr. Warehouse had bought me I was more than happy to get started. After settling down with the "adults" and a cup of coffee, I started to unwrap the beautifully glittered and shiny paper. Hair accessories, beauty gifts, make-up, nail varnish and pamper treats I was certainly in no way going to run out of things and ways to pretty myself. Mr. Warehouse's car smellies (AKA air fresheners), sewing kit, clothes and my main pressie was a beautiful, new Lenovo Tablet/Laptop. I can hardly believe how spoilt I was by everyone as well as my Dad and other family members. More gifts included gift vouchers for different restaurants so Mr. Warehouse and I can have dinner somewhere nice, Candles ... Yankee of course, copious amounts of chocolate and biscuits. 

Now was the big time though, for it was Mr. Warehouse's time to unwrap his final few gifts. He started with some flat box shaped presents. Unwrapping them I apologised for the format, knowing full well what was to come. 
"I thought it was for Xbox 360 love, sorry. I will have to take them back to the store next week and get the right ones. So sorry Hunny." I said sympathetically. Looking at Mr. Warehouse's little face though I was just buzzing for the next few minutes to pass by. This had been over a year in the making. I had wanted to buy Mr. Warehouse an Xbox One (The new Microsoft game console) last Christmas in 2015, although by the time it came out I had already purchased the flight tickets to Dublin, and although I had really given it some serious thought into selling them and buying the console I decided against it. We obviously had a fantastic time, and I pondered that it would probably be cheaper come his birthday in August. The difference being is that in April, Mr. Warehouse left his job and had a few of his fingers in different pies for a while, some of which never worked out and as a result finances were very, very tight as I kept our little family afloat throughout the summer. As Autumn came and the leaves began to fall I started to pay more attention to the prices of the consoles and games, even more-so than I had before. But passing my driving test, buying a car and a career move I thought would have taken a toll on my bank balance but in fact has had the slight opposite effect. In spite of this, come Black Friday I awoke earlier than Christmas morning and logged online to see the deals that were about. Finding a corker I nailed it down, purchasing a Xbox One S with Fifa 17. In the following weeks I bought some bits here and bobs there as well as two further games. 

But now came the moment that my loving boyfriend was sat in PJ's with a furrowed brow wondering if I am just that stupid to buy the wrong formatted games or if I have been playing him for months. Opening the large box found down the side of the arm chair he was sat in, his face sunk. 
"This is a cruel joke. This is horrible. You haven't?! You couldn't have!?" Mr. Warehouse exclaimed, excited yet dubious. Opening the box, still not sure if it was just something heavy weighing it down rather than the actual real-deal. However after disguarding the remaining packaging there was nothing left but a white Xbox One S and Fifa 17. There was no hiding now. It was true and the dream had come true. 

Still in shock throughout the rest of the day we muddled through Christmas Dinner, more presents, visits to friends and family, wine, arguments and unimaginable amounts of food. Even now as we sit in Momma Warehouse's Boyfriends house in the Cambridgeshire countryside I don't think he really believes it, that is until we get home tomorrow and have a good play on all our toys. Jokingly I said I wouldn't see him until June 2017, but now I am not so sure that it is wrong. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Infectious Zombie Disease That Became A Reality!

Hello-Hello, 

So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!

It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party. 

The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved. 

A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol. 

But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness. 

Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid. 

Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

How Can You Be Sorry For A Loss You Never Really Had?!

Good Evening you lovely people! 

So since last week I have had many a moment to self gloat, internally of course, about my successes as a bring-of-sleep-to-children, despite being told that only a few hours after Mr. Warehouse and myself left, the little monster awoke, undoing all my hard work. Nevertheless I am sure there will be more opportunities to send babies and small children off into slumber for my womb has yet to be rented out. 

This weekend in the UK we celebrated mothers day, showering our Mummies dearest with chocolates, flowers and gifts galore with some effort being made by more than others. However, with all its nice sentiments and all is just another day for me. However, I never really gave a thought to it all until there I was, sitting in my old local Wetherspoons in Dunstable, ready to have a proper catch-up with my Tweedles, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, that I really understood why I get funny looks around this time of year. Asking about cookery and what Miss Tweedle-Dee should cook for her family and beautiful Mommy for mothers day, I reeled off a few ideas I would have for myself if I was cooking for a few. At the end of the reeling, both Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb lay quiet. A few moments later after looking at them both over my sweet latte, Miss Tweedle-Dumb apologizes for me not having a mother. Now yes, essentially it is very selfish and somewhat childish of me to cut her entirely out of my life (my mother that is, not my dear Miss Tweedle-Dumb), but in the grand old scheme of things, having her taking up even a single percentage of my time is a waste of it, and quite frankly the older I get, the more I realise that we don't have much left. The less drama, hoo-haa and bi-polar split-personality bullshit from someone I should be calling mother is easier to let go than trying to cling onto. 

But scrolling through my Facebook news feed this morning on the commute into the office I relived some painful moments of my childhood. Status' and Tweets, one after another about how amazing and instrumental this one woman is in their lives. Pictures detailing the Afternoon Teas, Spa Days and dinners out as well as all the other fun that comes with having a mother in your life can be. Now I don't doubt that there has been some blows in their lives together, not pictured in the huggy-Selfie in Nandos. But none as big as mine, I'm certain to bet on it. In my head, pre-children obviously, I cannot see any reasonable explanation for what she put me through, both before and after throwing me out onto the streets with nothing but torn bin-bags of belongings and ripped hopes for the future. Pregnancy, Drugs and Drink. No matter what it was I would always try my best as a parent, regardless of of anyone or anything else - My children would come first. Every. Time. 

I recall now on the countless number of times I had made breakfast in bed or bought flowers and chocolates as a child, when they were being given to someone with a heart that was as black as storm clouds and as cold as the icy winds of winter. Detailed last year in 2015, my somewhat harrowing writings aptly entitled "A Mothers Love: Part I" & "A Mothers Love: Part II" shows just how much we never really had a bond, and learning from long standing family friends, family and people who knew of my mother well, they are foretelling that her personality was fully enabled of wrecking lives and endangering people even as far back as childhood. Sadly it seems that the festering dislike for me and all I stood for had to come to a close somehow and in a way, I suppose I am the same as the others in my news feed, for I wouldn't be the person who I am today without her. That doesn't mean to say though that I forgive her for what she has done to me and my fragmented family. No, now that is something unforgivable. 

Sometimes it seems though that as I get older, and possibly wiser, I realise all the times that as a girl or as a women, you will need and want your mother by your side are forever long. From getting your nails done for your Sweet Sixteen to scouring the High Street for Prom Shoes and consoling you over a crappy boyfriend who has just dumped you, all things I have had to deal with myself, not to mention my parents divorce and the wedge it has driven between myself and my little brother. In the future I suppose I shall have to let go to the fact that I shall never pick out my dream white dress for my wedding with her, nor shall I experience her hardiness during childbirth or of her teaching my children how to bake and play. All these things I shall never experience but in a way never would have even if she was in my life. 

Never one to dwell on these things though I shall be spending my week looking forward as usual to the weekend for I shall be spending it with some very special people in a very special way! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

How To Plan, Prep and Pull Through The Office Christmas Party!

Hi There, 

Since last week surviving the life or death scenario of the London Underground (and an evening with friends), slowly but surely I have been taken over by a headache-infusing, runny-nose-bringing, achey-skin-feeling winter bug! I suppose I could say that in a way Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Boyfriend of many, many moons did bring me back a present from Rome - A Cold! In a way you could say that I my body has been invaded by a foreign object (of influenza)! 

And so - I am ill! Just what I need before our annual works Christmas Party whereby we all get absolutely sloshed on overpriced wine, watch the boss dance some very odd Elvis inspired moves and end up having a row with your other half in the middle of the street in the town centre after he turned from Gorgeous Gent to Grumpy Granddad in under 2.4 seconds. Ahh yes the annual 'Do! Something everyone looks forward to and hardly anyone really remembers past the first round of Jager Bombs at 6.30pm, just before the starters arrive. 

Last year's Blog post was entitled "The Argument That Was Not An Argument!" and was, and still is, one of my most popular reads. If you haven't already I urge you to read along as there are a few choice phrases and interesting pieces that make me realise that even a year on I love my cuddly grumpy cat! 

But what men, including Mr. Warehouse and the other Mister's that came before him, did not seem to grasp is how much I personally and together with all women kind, enjoy getting ready for such a social occasion. The hair, the make-up, the outfit, the shoes, the bag, the schedule, the conversation starters!? Its like going on multiple first dates, only with your work colleagues AKA people you have spent more time with than your own parents! Its stressful. 

Now first of all the dress, what I deem to be one of the most important dresses you will all year. Apart from maybe if you got married. Or Graduated. Or something else important like walking for Chanel or Prada. But anyway, I digress. Last year I wore a just-above-the-knee, muted Grey Lipsy dress with thin straps and skater style skirt. I loved it to pieces and had many a compliment on the night however, I feel as though now I need to up my game a little this year. It was sparkle and sequins galore and I am still on the hunt (with yes, less than four days to go) for a dress that is as equally, if not more sequiny and glitzy and shiny as last year. 2014 was the year of the twinkle. 2015 however will be the year of possibly the very-deep-V-neck, bra-less number. 2016? Not so sure yet although with upcoming New Year Resolutions coming about I may well have to set myself the unmanageable goal of slipping into a size 12 for next years Office Christmas Party which will unfortunately end on the fourth of January when I rediscover the leftover box of Celebrations left under my desk from Christmas Eve. 

Next is the hair and make-up. You don't want something too complicated as by the end of the night it will be all falling out of place and probably have more than a few cocktail sticks hanging out, especially if my workplace has anything to do with it?! Yes, simple, yet elegant. Soft curls are always a good start and for make-up; Wide faux eyelash-ed eyes with a classic red lip always works a treat. But always remember the key is making yourself look better that you do when you are just plain old Margaret from Finance sitting at your desk but not to make yourself look like you just walked out of the Crayola Factory and been to have your hair cut by Edward Scissorhands. 

Now yes I understand that there are some females that will find this time of year horrendous as wearing make-up and dresses in the force to look pretty and girlie is totally not them, and I get it. Trust me when I say that I am sitting here right now in my Cookie Monster Dressing Gown and not much else, sipping on Baileys and enjoying the fact I am still wearing my UGG boots from work, feeling sorry for myself as I am sick with a cold. There is nothing more I love more than curling up and watching some trash TV ideally with a pet of some kind and pigging out on junk food and take-away's. But I cannot deny that I do love a party. And The Office Christmas Party is no exception ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Greek Odyssey Like No Other

Chairete (Greek for Hello),

There is something unnatural about human-beings waking up at 3am whilst it is still dark outside and especially on a Sunday. I mean it just feels so odd. I suppose if you work at night-times you would not see much daylight but for me, the dark times of the day is for doing stuff naughty and very inappropriate for the daylight hours. Oh and sleeping. But yes I was up at this crazed hour. Why you ask? I was going on yet another holiday. Number three to be precise. And so I curled my hair, donned my airport threads and headed out the door of the family home Miss Tweedle-Dumb shares with her parent’s. But not before Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I caught Miss Tweedle-Dumb’s sister and her boyfriend in the kitchen with trousers round their ankles and blushed faces.

Hitching a lift from Miss Tweedle-Dee’s Mom we headed to the airport and after a quick cigarette whizzed through baggage and airport security, much to The Tweedles dismay that they were not frisked. Early mornings such as this, and in fact any occasion whereby an airport is involved should include a trip to Starbs. But on arrival to my fave coffee outlet of all time I was very much angry to find out that there was not a hot bit of food being served. This in turn lead to a rather disappointing and slightly stale Skinny Blueberry Muffin and large Caramel Macchiato. With minutes to spare and being almost the last few to board the plane Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took our seats and awaited the last few moments in Blightly. On take-off though I felt an odd sense of emotion. Mr. Warehouse was working that Sunday so we spoke for a little whilst taxing on the runway but I felt slightly more at a loss than I did when I went to Las Vegas in March. I soon had my mind taken off of the subject as My Tweedles were catching up on some Zzz.

Landing in Corfu we were thrust straight through security whose attitude seemed as though if you had a brown book the same size as that of a passport you were through. Nevertheless I then allocated myself of the baggage collector which sounds much more important than it probably was. Soon enough our luggage was coming round and I was soon carried away with said bag and along the carousel, continuously knocking into people before someone helped me from the moving conveyor belt of death. “One down, four more to go” I thought as I tried in vain not to take out small children close to the moving river of colourful bags and boxes. As we approached the exit of the airport and boarded the transfer bus we soon had a moment to soak in the holiday for what it was. A relaxing holiday on the Greek island of Corfu. But as the bus set off and we looked at one another we soon realised that maybe our 2-star, self-catering holiday in the sunny out-of-season resort of Kavos which was far from any civilisation known to GoogleMaps was far from our normal 3-star budget break.

Trundling across the bumpy roads boarding the Ionian Sea all we witnessed from the windows was dilapidated house after desolated villa with the odd run-down corner shop and B&B. I had known that from watching the news and current affairs that the Greek economy was worse than ours back home in the UK but this was something else. I could have been looking out the window into a third world country somewhere off the coast of India or Africa. But it wasn’t. This was Greece, or an island of at least – Rich with culture, historic value and a food haven. The scenes I was being broadcast from the back of the bus was not what I anticipated even for outside the standard holiday season. Time passed and the more we passed the less optimistic my friends were being coming. I too was becoming worried.

Soon our coach stopped. We were on a dirt track. There was nothing around us but unloved buildings and homes with overgrown gardens. The Greek coach driver that spoke little or no English ushered us off the safety of the bus and instructed us down yet another dusty concrete road.

“Are you sure we are at the right place?” Miss Tweedle-Dee asked, a worried look crossing her face. The man smiled and nodded as he unloaded our bags and hoofed us in the direction he was asking us to go. And like a scene from many a Hollywood flick we stood back from the main road, if you could even call it that, and watched as our only link to life as we knew it disappeared into the distance. Mustering up all the strength we had left, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I made our way towards what we would now call home for the next seven days.

Stepping into our apartment we were pleasantly surprised. It was tidy and livable. It was not as clean as I would have liked but given the state of my flat when I left, it was probably cleaner. The pool was a very short walk and so was the bar where Jagerbombs and Cocktails were two for a fiver. Sun-loungers were aplenty and not a German in site to nab them in the morning. In fact there was barely anyone there, a handful of elderly Brits looking for a budget break in the sun in a bid to tan their wrinkles. Bathroom was acceptable and kitchen was standard, so after we had unpacked our cases Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took to the pool for a cocktail and a sun-bathing sesh in the late-afternoon sun.

So far our holiday has been a relaxing medley of food, chilly pool dips and lazy sun snoozes on the loungers, featuring the odd trip to the beach which is far from substandard. It reminds me very much of the odd bit of sand that you find on the edge of a lake or river bank and can hardly be called a beach at all really but still, our hotel backs onto the ‘Beach’ which is more than most of our holidays previously. And so my Greek adventure begins. Tomorrow I shall join my friends whilst we indulge in more top-up-tanning by the pool as we gaze out across the shore at mainland Greece which is closer than I expected. Holiday so far has been better than anticipated and I look forward to seeing more of what the island has to offer. Shopping and exploring as well as a few excursions is on the cards and I am excited for writing to you all next week to tell of all my comings and goings in Corfu.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Baby Brain!

Hallo there!

I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon. 

This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years. 

I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?

All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops. 

I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job. 

I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own. 

All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo!

Morning there one and all, 

Still the saga continues with my energy company, British Gas (See post - 'An Electrifying Discovery'), but after a very much exhausting but mildly luxurious mini-break and wedding weekend away in Wisbech, it was time to leave behind the peace and tranquillity of the green and rather flat countryside of Cambridgeshire for it was finally time for the Annual Awards Ceremony with work ... And boy was it about to get messy!

Dressed in a long gown, lace gloves and perspex shoes in tacked and with my hair primped and preened within an inch of its life I was finally ready for the ball and ready to make my entrance as Cinderella . But as I approached the venue, noticing poodle skirt after poodle skirt with the odd tuxedo mixed in for good measure too I wondered to myself secretly, as I always do when I make a big effort in my outfit, as to whether this was A - Appropriate and B - If it was wholly relevant to the 1950's theme we had been tasked with. Asking myself these questions my cocky-self butted in and said to stop being ridiculous I looked fabulous and should not care for others opinions. Cinderella was created and born in the 1950's by Walt Disney himself and so I should be thrilled to be one of the most memorable characters from that decade. 

I certainly looked the part and as I sashed past the vintage bright pink cars and Teddy Boys I was greeted by my fellow colleagues, consisting of two Woody Woodpeckers, A Bowling Alley Guy, Cat in the Hat, a Geek, a Prep and some sort of Elvis. Ahh yes we were all ready to get funky and down to some Rat Pack beats, but not before we sat down to our three course meal and sat through the awards ceremony. As I chopped and changed between whether to continue drinking the god awful White wine that was on the table or the nicer bottle of Red I caught the rambling of my Big-Big Boss. 

Scheduler? Significant impact to the company? Help in the start up and running of the business over the past year? Suddenly my name was called out. I had won an award. Me! Abbey Louise in receipt of an acknowledgement for hard work! An award! I was chuffed and as I made my way through the crowded tables; cheers, whoops and holla's all the way and high-fiving my sales rep on the way passed I knew that I had finally found somewhere to belong. A company that treasured its employees and rewarded hard work and growth. I was also awarded with a substantial sum of high street vouchers and look forward to utilising them very, very soon. 

Making my way back to my table, slightly bewildered and a little shocked I had won something after only being with the company just over a year I saw some familiar faces that I would speak to regularly but never saw face to face. They all congratulated me on my award and cooed over my dress, although I think one women got confused as she kept singing "Let it go" to me from Disneys Frozen. Elsa. Cinderella . Well I suppose they both wore a blue dress and were somewhere along the line princesses so I can see the correlation, especially for the drunken sole that she was. 

As the night continued Mr. Warehouse and company joined me on the dance-floor where some serious shapes were being thrown, especially from that nice, award-giving man, my Big-Big Boss. And when it all got a little too hot and steamy, which for some guests it obviously did, there was the patio areas in the surrounding grounds that we were able to smoke and catch our breath. In between mingling, dancing, spilling red wine down everyone I was impressed that there was so many attractive young men in the company, many of whom seemed single and up for more than a mingle. A couple of sweet lads in particular I had a chat with and they had complimented my outfit of choice as I did theirs (a smashingly dashing suit to be visual to you all). Tall, dark and handsome I soon was at ease with the attractive man, although I knew that eyes were burning at me from across the room so tamed my flirting and took it down a notch or two from my usual. 

But that didn't stop a second bachelorette trying his luck. Slightly shorter than I was, probably would have been equal if I had taken off my two-inch jelly shoes, he approached me from across the floor and as we said our initial greetings I revelled in the fact that there was a common ground already in the sense that we were all from the same company just different sections of the UK. I could see now why there was such an appeal at these kinds of events just to cop=off with someone and know that certainly for a year at least you wont have to see them or even speak to them, by which point they might forget what a horrible snorer you are and sleep with you a second time. Nevertheless we chatted for a bit before I went in search for more Red wine, which for those that know me personally, know I most certainly never, ever drink Red but for some odd reason, maybe it was free I don't know, it tasted much better than the White and so down the hatch it went! 

As the night drew to a close and the party goers slipped off to their bedrooms, some revellers still going headed to the second hotel bar but instead I decided to call it a night, put the glass of Merlot down and hit the sack, Mr Warehouse not far behind me. 

Abruptly awoken the next morning by the fucking bin lorries for the wanking rubbish I finally knew a little bit what everyone kept saying about a wine headache! Yes I think I had a slight hangover and as my phone bleeped full from messages from drunken colleague the night before and requests to meet downstairs for breakfast I rolled over and prodded my very, very grumpy boyfriend. With a few grunts and grumbles we finally made it to reception where we found a few stragglers from the night before, but from under my sunglasses I could see they were still just as pissed as I was. Like a bear with a sore head Mr. Warehouse and I made our way to breakfast and after stomaching a few items and a whole lot of juice we awaited our car-sharers to drive us all back home. 

Pulling out the Sofa-bed it didn't take me long to fall asleep and in the comfort of my own home dreamt of the next Annual Awards Ceremony with work in 2016 - Bring. It. On!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx