Heyy,
Alas stepping onto the scales last week, a mere pound away from losing my first stone and 1.5lbs from seeing a new stone-zone I was silently disappointed. Can hardly remember the last time I was in the 17-Stone range?! Nevertheless, I had a good week, eating out three times and snacking most of Saturday night so can hardly be surprised. Unfortunately, the Saturday to follow was all about sore heads, and not the good kind!
My Nephew, or should I say, future Nephew (at least for the next few months) had a big birthday this weekend and as the birthday boy wanted to do Ice Skating, Mr Warehouse and I joined his brother and his young family and a few friends on the ice at our local ice hockey stadium to shred it in our blades.
Now when the kids asked me if I had skated before, I didn't exactly lie to them, maybe just bent the truth. Honestly, I had only been skating a handful of times, and I mean a handful. I think the last time was with Mr Workaholic and his family in Hemel Hempstead, and even then I needed one of those kiddie penguin things. Nevertheless, I was older now, more mature and Dancing on Ice was a thing. So whilst I acknowledged I would not be doing a Disney On Ice recreation of pirouette's and jumps, I was hoping I may be able to do without Percy Penguin this time.
Donning my skates, I was anxious as I watched on as each person carefully stepped onto the slippery ice. one by one they all skated off, gliding over the frozen water like fucking pro's. I was envious, to say the least as I knew, stepping out and sliding along a little I was not going to be as graceful. In fact, it took only a few tugs along the side of the rink before I lost my balance. Down I went. The only problem being is that despite my weight loss so far, all of me came crashing down. The first thing to make contact? My head. With the corner of the rink itself. Smacking my head heavy off the corner of the entrance I was dazed a little but knew I had to get up, for fear of embarrassment if nothing else.
Suffice to say, Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard. But, with my British stiff upper lip I (attempted) to keep calm and carry on. Slowly but surely my aching legs and arms pulled me around the rink, three times in fact, although not without my fair share of slipping, sliding and splitting (literally doing the splits like an X-Rated version of fecking Bambi). Yes, I fell over, but so did others, although I don't think that they were approached by two very concerned 14-year-olds asking if I needed help getting up like some geriatric old fart. After falling over several times and being overtaken by several children younger than myself I found a polar bear (not a real one) and continued to go round a couple more times with him aiding and supporting me. I had no shame. None whatsoever. I was Darcey Bussell. No-one could stop me. Apart from the ice. The ice stopped me a few times.
"I thought these things were meant to stabilise you and stop you from slipping over?!" I exclaimed in my head as I headed towards Mr Warehouse and Co. on the other side of the Ice Rink. Needing a rest I stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything. It's hard to relax any sort of leg muscle when your feet are strapped in tighter than a fat man on a rollercoaster and your only contact with the ground was a thin shiny metal blade.
Sitting down, exhausted, Mr Warehouse made a comment about how I didn't look well. Truthfully I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right.
"How hard did you hit your head?" Mr Warehouse said jokingly as he went to reach up to my head. And there it was searing hot pain spread across my skull. OWWW! Mr Warehouse face changed as it went from jovial fun on the ice to a serious and scared fiance. Reaching up to feel my head I could see why he was concerned. A huge lump had arisen. At the size of an orange, I knew that I had done some damage. I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason. I felt like I had been drinking for weeks and stopped, all of a sudden on some sort of come-down. I felt weird. This was weird. This wasn't right and I am not OK.
I decided that as much as I wanted to I couldn't risk going back out on the ice, plus some little fuck had stolen my polar bear so probably for the best. I took off my skates as did everyone else and headed back to the car, a dull ache starting to set in. Everything hurt. Every step I took was going straight to my inflamed head. After a quiet car journey and a stop off at some shops for a drink and some painkillers, we headed (excuse the pun) back to my future In-Laws for cake and presents. I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday.
After an hour or so I obviously wasn't looking right so Mr Warehouse made our excuses and left. After a little telly, I hit the pillow for an early night and struggled to wake the next morning, still with sore head and body littered with bruises. I was aching and I was tired but with a risk of concussion, Mr Warehouse refused to let me sleep any longer and instead we headed out to meet my Dad and his wife for tea and cake. That afternoon though I got my wish as I lazed on the couch most the afternoon snoozing in between pokes from my fiance just to make sure I was alive still. Even the weekly traditional roast dinner didn't sort me out and still even today at my desk colleagues referred to me as looking peaky and "not well". I spoke to HR who advised to go home, to which I replied that if I was paid to be off with sickness then I would, but I have a mortgage and can't afford time off.
As I looked online at the NHS Website and their advice on Minor Head Injuries and Concussion, I knew that things are not good when on day two you still have symptoms. Now to be fair, it does state that if you have been knocked out but have now woken up, been vomiting or have been drinking alcohol then I should go to Accident and Emergency, but I haven't so it's OK right? The Website continues to states that it's normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks.
NHS guidelines go on to say that to bring down any swelling holding an ice pack (or a bag of frozen peas in a tea towel) to the injury regularly for short periods in the first few days is helpful. Resting up and avoid stress is also advisable and to take paracetamol or ibuprofen to relieve pain or a headache but not aspirin as it could cause the injury to bleed. And whilst I have been at work today, it is probably not a good thing as further advise states that patients suffering from minor head injuries should not go back to work or school until feeling better and should not drive until fully recovered.
At the moment I still feel sick and having to concentrate today at work was hard. The screens didn't help and where I was normally focused and on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. I will have to wait and see how I feel tomorrow, but if I am not getting paid then I won't have much choice, concussion or not.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Accident. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Accident. Show all posts
Monday, 9 March 2020
Monday, 1 July 2019
Swollen and Sun Burnt!
Ola,
Hearing Mr Warehouse tinkering around in the background of the holiday apartment I knew it was still dark outside. It was the day we returned to the UK and as sad as we were after burning severely on Tuesday and hobbling round Gibraltar on our day excursion my Fiance and I was certainly going to be glad of our home comforts and a few friendly faces.
Getting up and shuffling to the bathroom, face, legs and back stinging from the waves of hot and cold, I braced myself for my morning pee. That was up until that point relaxing. Until Mr Warehouse broke the morning silence with not a 'Good morning my sweetness' or 'Wakey Wakey my little Paella princess'. No, I was confronted by an awful shriek.
"You probably shouldn't but you should look in the mirror" Mr Warehouse said, cautiously looking at my face. I was sun burnt I got it. I suppose he thought it would be funny for me to see my red Larry lobster face and how bad I had it, especially since Mr Warehouse's sunburn had come up in blisters and breaking skin around his ankles.
But as I got up from my seat on the Spanish "throne" I was met by my own gasp of horror. My face was so swollen I could barely see out of my right eye. I tried to open it, try and try as I might it was swollen shut. My whole face had swelled to nearly three times what it normally was for a fat cow like me. Panicked I went to Mr Warehouse, now pottering in the kitchenette, packing things into the suitcase as and when he found them.
Bursting into tears I crumbled into his arms as I thought about how I would get home.
"They're not going to let me through passport control!" I wailed, Mr Warehouse consoling me with his big lovable embrace. "I look like Elephant man"
Pulling myself together and calming down I did what I could, took a pill (Paracetamol) and smothered myself in aftersun and Aloe Vera before packing my things up and sorting shit out. We left the apartment in good time to get to the bus stop, but with only a few moments to spare, parking our trip to the 'Farmacia' and I had to settle with a wet muslin cloth and sunglasses to hid my hideous appearance from the locals.
"I'll be lynched like a beastly mountain leper" I whimpered to Mr Warehouse as we boarded the bus to the airport.
Arriving at security it was a long line and very busy. Our flight wasn't until midday and already the airport looked rammed to the point of breaking with families, kids and adults with copious amounts of luggage, bags and cases. My face was throbbing and tight from being so inflamed so after getting through to the other side out first port of call was the Pharmacy or somewhere that would sell aftersun, Ibuprofen or anything containing any Aloe or Vera. Nadda. Two Pharmacies and both were before security. Suffering we boarded the plane, nearly an hour late. Landing nearly an hour and thirty minutes late into Luton all I wanted to do was go home. Catching a cab in rush hour over to my Grandparents house we avoided most of the school traffic and after a brief pop in to say hello we headed home, arriving just before dinner time and spending an hour or so with Momma Warehouse, thanking her once again for looking after our pups who we missed dearly before heading to bed, face still swollen.
The following morning I woke to something much worse. I now could not see out of my right eye at all. My face, still swollen, was worse from my left eyebrow across my forehead and around my eye, all over my cheek and was even impeding my speech now. I was terrified. This was serious. Calling through to the village doctors was about as much help as propping my eye open with a razor blade. I called our emergency number in the UK, the NHS 111 service. NHS 111 can help if you have an urgent medical problem and you’re not sure what to do and is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After my assessment I was, along with Mr Warehouse and his severely burnt legs and ankles, were told to report to the Accident and Emergency.
After waiting for an hour we were seen by a Triage nurse who not only briefly assessed us and looked over our complaints with little empathy but then went on to berate us entirely, telling us off and scolding my Fiance and I for not wearing sunscreen, branding us almost stupid and idiotic, as if we didn't need telling.
"You're both fair. Your should have been wearing sun cream" She laid into us. Yeah because spending several hours in A&E, wearing sunglasses the whole time and with a face the size of North Africa yeah really how I would choose to spend the morning following a holiday in the sunshine. Leaving in tears it was several more hours before we saw a doctor. I was seen first and after an assessment on my skin, facial swelling and eyesight I was sent away and told that the tightness and swell should subside in five-seven days! I return to work in three! Mr Warehouse was the same diagnosis and told to carry on taking a cocktail of Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and the odd Antihistamine to take down the swelling and carry on with the moisturising with Aloe Vera and aftersun.
It has now been nearly a week since the sunburn and I would say I have nearly fully recovered and my face is still swollen and very much so in the morning when I first wake up, but is getting better, as it Mr Warehouse's legs and ankles. Safe to say that might b our last holiday for a while ...
Hearing Mr Warehouse tinkering around in the background of the holiday apartment I knew it was still dark outside. It was the day we returned to the UK and as sad as we were after burning severely on Tuesday and hobbling round Gibraltar on our day excursion my Fiance and I was certainly going to be glad of our home comforts and a few friendly faces.
Getting up and shuffling to the bathroom, face, legs and back stinging from the waves of hot and cold, I braced myself for my morning pee. That was up until that point relaxing. Until Mr Warehouse broke the morning silence with not a 'Good morning my sweetness' or 'Wakey Wakey my little Paella princess'. No, I was confronted by an awful shriek.
"You probably shouldn't but you should look in the mirror" Mr Warehouse said, cautiously looking at my face. I was sun burnt I got it. I suppose he thought it would be funny for me to see my red Larry lobster face and how bad I had it, especially since Mr Warehouse's sunburn had come up in blisters and breaking skin around his ankles.
But as I got up from my seat on the Spanish "throne" I was met by my own gasp of horror. My face was so swollen I could barely see out of my right eye. I tried to open it, try and try as I might it was swollen shut. My whole face had swelled to nearly three times what it normally was for a fat cow like me. Panicked I went to Mr Warehouse, now pottering in the kitchenette, packing things into the suitcase as and when he found them.
Bursting into tears I crumbled into his arms as I thought about how I would get home.
"They're not going to let me through passport control!" I wailed, Mr Warehouse consoling me with his big lovable embrace. "I look like Elephant man"
Pulling myself together and calming down I did what I could, took a pill (Paracetamol) and smothered myself in aftersun and Aloe Vera before packing my things up and sorting shit out. We left the apartment in good time to get to the bus stop, but with only a few moments to spare, parking our trip to the 'Farmacia' and I had to settle with a wet muslin cloth and sunglasses to hid my hideous appearance from the locals.
"I'll be lynched like a beastly mountain leper" I whimpered to Mr Warehouse as we boarded the bus to the airport.
Arriving at security it was a long line and very busy. Our flight wasn't until midday and already the airport looked rammed to the point of breaking with families, kids and adults with copious amounts of luggage, bags and cases. My face was throbbing and tight from being so inflamed so after getting through to the other side out first port of call was the Pharmacy or somewhere that would sell aftersun, Ibuprofen or anything containing any Aloe or Vera. Nadda. Two Pharmacies and both were before security. Suffering we boarded the plane, nearly an hour late. Landing nearly an hour and thirty minutes late into Luton all I wanted to do was go home. Catching a cab in rush hour over to my Grandparents house we avoided most of the school traffic and after a brief pop in to say hello we headed home, arriving just before dinner time and spending an hour or so with Momma Warehouse, thanking her once again for looking after our pups who we missed dearly before heading to bed, face still swollen.
The following morning I woke to something much worse. I now could not see out of my right eye at all. My face, still swollen, was worse from my left eyebrow across my forehead and around my eye, all over my cheek and was even impeding my speech now. I was terrified. This was serious. Calling through to the village doctors was about as much help as propping my eye open with a razor blade. I called our emergency number in the UK, the NHS 111 service. NHS 111 can help if you have an urgent medical problem and you’re not sure what to do and is available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. After my assessment I was, along with Mr Warehouse and his severely burnt legs and ankles, were told to report to the Accident and Emergency.
After waiting for an hour we were seen by a Triage nurse who not only briefly assessed us and looked over our complaints with little empathy but then went on to berate us entirely, telling us off and scolding my Fiance and I for not wearing sunscreen, branding us almost stupid and idiotic, as if we didn't need telling.
"You're both fair. Your should have been wearing sun cream" She laid into us. Yeah because spending several hours in A&E, wearing sunglasses the whole time and with a face the size of North Africa yeah really how I would choose to spend the morning following a holiday in the sunshine. Leaving in tears it was several more hours before we saw a doctor. I was seen first and after an assessment on my skin, facial swelling and eyesight I was sent away and told that the tightness and swell should subside in five-seven days! I return to work in three! Mr Warehouse was the same diagnosis and told to carry on taking a cocktail of Paracetamol, Ibuprofen and the odd Antihistamine to take down the swelling and carry on with the moisturising with Aloe Vera and aftersun.
It has now been nearly a week since the sunburn and I would say I have nearly fully recovered and my face is still swollen and very much so in the morning when I first wake up, but is getting better, as it Mr Warehouse's legs and ankles. Safe to say that might b our last holiday for a while ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 13 May 2019
A present from Santa and delivered by Cupid!
Evening,
"I am being serious. We're leaving in five minutes and were taking one of the girls so which one do you want?" Suddenly everything seemed real and I focused my twilight mind from puppies and cute faces on a screen. Like a child to her parents, I turned to my beloved fiance and pleaded with him to let me get one. After a few pushes, he seemed to give in reluctantly knowing I would probably do whatever I would want regardless of what he had to say.
"I can't make a decision like that I am afraid, as much as I would like to," I said to my excited mother-in-law-to-be. Reluctantly I ended the call and Mr. Warehouse shook his head. We needed to talk about it and I needed to make sure it was the best decision for the family as a whole, not just me and my selfish dreams of being a dog momma to a baby puppy. Talking it over that night and the following day, we called Momma Warehouse back. After further talks, we discovered that it was a friend of a friend who used to breed toy poodles who gave it up to look after her sick husband at home who was rapidly deteriorating into dementia. Unfortunately one night back in early December the Husband had let the breeding stud in with the family pet, a Jack Russell terrier and she fell pregnant. several months later and around Valentine's day a surprise, or nine, were delivered. The lady herself knew nothing about it as she had been so busy with Christmas, New Year and looking after her husband and home she had neglected to notice her dog's belly growing.
With the unexpected litter now twelve-weeks old they were already a month passed being legally allowed to leave their mother and so she took the decision to find them homes. One of the first questions I asked my future mother-in-law was how much. Bearing in mind that the Toy Poodle / Jack Russell mix would already be a popular choice for families as they are intelligent, active little things, small enough to be around kids and hypoallergenic so great for allergy sufferers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The reason being is that not only was it a terrible accident because her poorly husband had not known that they no longer bred dogs, but also that as a result of this expenses had already been stretched by extra food and what not. The added vaccinations, chipping, insurance and everything else that normally comes with a new puppy would have financially not been possible for the poor lady and her husband and so she wanted to give them away to families that would love and care for them as she had, making sure they were their forever homes.
Which leads us up to the moment I started with. Opening the door I stood patiently at the front door with the rest of the family, like a mother ready to accept her newborn. Ushering me over to the van I peered in and saw the sweetest little bundle of tuft. Black and tan, with a white belly I scooped him up and took him into his new home. Welcome home our little Frankenstein - An homage to my love of all things spooky, Halloween and macabre. That but also the fact he was made by mistake and pieced together from two different breeds of dog.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
To think that this time last week as I wrote to you all and told of how upsetting and worrying it was about Pooch's aural haematoma (similar to a blood blister in humans) which has now thank goodness, cleared up to almost all gone, I had no idea of what would come.
Luckily unlike most dogs and cats that have an aural haematoma Pup has recovered well and not suffered or been left with a cauliflower ear, crumpled and disfigured from the trauma. However should this happen again, I think that surgery is going to be the only option. However, all that worry seemed to melt away as I waited patiently.
Gazing out of the window at the setting sun I had been waiting all day for this moment. Truth be told, I had been waiting for this moment for pretty much my whole life since being a toddler. Seeing the blue rickety old van pull into the street I came running down the stairs, the pit of my stomach flipping nervously as it filled with anxiety and anticipation at what was to come.
"They're here! They're here!" I squeaked excitedly at Mr. Warehouse as he too peered out the window at the arriving vehicle.
You see this all started on Tuesday evening, as Mr. Warehouse and I had prepared ourselves for bed with Pooch as we normally did, turning off the telly, closing down the lights and going into lockdown making sure all doors and windows were shut. It was about quarter to ten at night when the phone rang. I looked at Mr. Warehouse as I showed him the caller ID. It was his Mom, my future mother-in-law. Worried I answered and before she even had a chance to explain I promptly told her that this was about the time that people call in the night when someone has died.
"Do you want to see some puppies?" she said simply and calmly like some sort of child molester. I mean, of course I did. Immediately hitting redial to facetime her. No sooner had she accepted the call I saw a bundle of fluffiness. A little white girl with patches of brown and black splodging her body, another smooth black and tan puppy and a third wirey black and tan fur baby. Instantly I start freaking out.
"I thought someone had died or had an accident. I thought that you had got engaged or something. God Damn women you scared me half to death" I said. After showing Mr Warehouse and getting close-ups of all the cuteness it was time for some seriousness. Luckily unlike most dogs and cats that have an aural haematoma Pup has recovered well and not suffered or been left with a cauliflower ear, crumpled and disfigured from the trauma. However should this happen again, I think that surgery is going to be the only option. However, all that worry seemed to melt away as I waited patiently.
Gazing out of the window at the setting sun I had been waiting all day for this moment. Truth be told, I had been waiting for this moment for pretty much my whole life since being a toddler. Seeing the blue rickety old van pull into the street I came running down the stairs, the pit of my stomach flipping nervously as it filled with anxiety and anticipation at what was to come.
"They're here! They're here!" I squeaked excitedly at Mr. Warehouse as he too peered out the window at the arriving vehicle.
You see this all started on Tuesday evening, as Mr. Warehouse and I had prepared ourselves for bed with Pooch as we normally did, turning off the telly, closing down the lights and going into lockdown making sure all doors and windows were shut. It was about quarter to ten at night when the phone rang. I looked at Mr. Warehouse as I showed him the caller ID. It was his Mom, my future mother-in-law. Worried I answered and before she even had a chance to explain I promptly told her that this was about the time that people call in the night when someone has died.
"Do you want to see some puppies?" she said simply and calmly like some sort of child molester. I mean, of course I did. Immediately hitting redial to facetime her. No sooner had she accepted the call I saw a bundle of fluffiness. A little white girl with patches of brown and black splodging her body, another smooth black and tan puppy and a third wirey black and tan fur baby. Instantly I start freaking out.
"I am being serious. We're leaving in five minutes and were taking one of the girls so which one do you want?" Suddenly everything seemed real and I focused my twilight mind from puppies and cute faces on a screen. Like a child to her parents, I turned to my beloved fiance and pleaded with him to let me get one. After a few pushes, he seemed to give in reluctantly knowing I would probably do whatever I would want regardless of what he had to say.
"I can't make a decision like that I am afraid, as much as I would like to," I said to my excited mother-in-law-to-be. Reluctantly I ended the call and Mr. Warehouse shook his head. We needed to talk about it and I needed to make sure it was the best decision for the family as a whole, not just me and my selfish dreams of being a dog momma to a baby puppy. Talking it over that night and the following day, we called Momma Warehouse back. After further talks, we discovered that it was a friend of a friend who used to breed toy poodles who gave it up to look after her sick husband at home who was rapidly deteriorating into dementia. Unfortunately one night back in early December the Husband had let the breeding stud in with the family pet, a Jack Russell terrier and she fell pregnant. several months later and around Valentine's day a surprise, or nine, were delivered. The lady herself knew nothing about it as she had been so busy with Christmas, New Year and looking after her husband and home she had neglected to notice her dog's belly growing.
With the unexpected litter now twelve-weeks old they were already a month passed being legally allowed to leave their mother and so she took the decision to find them homes. One of the first questions I asked my future mother-in-law was how much. Bearing in mind that the Toy Poodle / Jack Russell mix would already be a popular choice for families as they are intelligent, active little things, small enough to be around kids and hypoallergenic so great for allergy sufferers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The reason being is that not only was it a terrible accident because her poorly husband had not known that they no longer bred dogs, but also that as a result of this expenses had already been stretched by extra food and what not. The added vaccinations, chipping, insurance and everything else that normally comes with a new puppy would have financially not been possible for the poor lady and her husband and so she wanted to give them away to families that would love and care for them as she had, making sure they were their forever homes.
Which leads us up to the moment I started with. Opening the door I stood patiently at the front door with the rest of the family, like a mother ready to accept her newborn. Ushering me over to the van I peered in and saw the sweetest little bundle of tuft. Black and tan, with a white belly I scooped him up and took him into his new home. Welcome home our little Frankenstein - An homage to my love of all things spooky, Halloween and macabre. That but also the fact he was made by mistake and pieced together from two different breeds of dog.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 25 March 2019
Sleep tight in car heaven my orange amigo!
Good Evening,
Today is a sad day. Today I have lost a good friend of mine and one that I think I will never forget. My first. My one and only. My beautiful Vivienne.
Back in the throes of my youth in the warm weather of 2016's October, I met my Vivienne at a local reputable dealership. Taking public transport to a dealership I had my heart set on the 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta. A five-door hatchback with a 1.4L engine was everything I had ever hoped and dreamt for in my first car and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors she was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I was financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor at the time, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. And so my little tangerine-coloured car was named Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out that the Ford Fiesta orange hue does not come as standard and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv has. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I was certainly eager to collect her and after a few weeks, our Vivienne was settling into her new home just right. The following few months lots of changes in my life including a brand new job and a serious amount of Adulting!
Over the coming months that turned into years and my beloved Vivienne took many road trips; York where we drove for nearly five and a half hours because I didn't quite realise that the speed limit was 70mph and I was pootling along at 60mph. Then there was The Peak District where we struggled up hills and a crossed snowy mountains. The multiple trips to the seaside with our puppy and even facilitating us to take our poor puppy to the vets on the odd occasion. Countless shopping trips and visiting new places or seeing friends and family. It was on one of these occasions a few weeks ago where I was visiting Mrs Tweedle-Dumb at her family pad in our hometown of Houghton Regis near Dunstable. After a good few weeks of catching-up, constant laughs and seeing each other pretty much every other day it was time for her to go back to America and her husband. With her departure also came her parents move too as they too were moving out of the family home and away to the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales.
Parking as I usually had, I didn't think twice about parking my car outside the family home, and I didn't think anything strange when I returned to my car much later on that evening for the drive home. It was not until the following morning when I went out to the car during my day off in order to get something when I noticed a huge grey and white stripe down the front passenger's side of the vehicle. The paint job itself was extremely noticeable, however, it was the huge dent to the door itself and the caved-in handle that gave me a shock. I was fuming. Not knowing what to do I called Mr Warehouse and hoped that he would have some advice for me that would be worthwhile.
That evening after he arrived home from work we cleaned the car and inspected the overall damage. It was certainly not going to be a cheap job by any means as there were multiple scratches, scuffs and paintwork damage to the car and its bodywork, not to mention the fact that the window made a horrid scraping and scratching noise as it was wound down. Mr Warehouse could even that squeeze his fat sausage digits in between the window and the car door meaning that it was a security risk leaving it. As soon as I could I took her to a bodywork specialist in Bedford who explained that the work was very expensive and would far outweigh my £200 excess. Opting for going through the insurance I followed procedure and took Vivienne to another dealership which was approved.
Checking her over, the Mechanic told of a very bleak and dark future for my little pumpkin. Explaining that the total damage to the car door and paintwork as well as some extras that needed to be done on the bumper, lights and bonnet to restore the condition of the car would reach well in excess of £3,000. I suppose unfortunately this means that poor Vivienne was on the cusp of being written off as a total loss which would mean my car would be scrapped or stripped down entirely, naked to her shell, her parts sold on. The kind car doctor informed me that the diagnosis would be more likely than not a write-off and that I should hurry home to check that I have purchased the all-important gap insurance. Gap insurance means that whatever the insurance company pays out for my poor old Vivienne, my gap insurance will cover the rest to what I have left to pay on my finance deal. This means that inadvertently I would walk away without a car and with the debt cleared meaning I can go out to find a new car or alternatively get a loan to cover the balance on a new car.
This evening after finishing work, I noticed I had a text from the car mechanic who diagnosed Vivienne explaining that my vehicle was now a total loss and that my insurance company will be in contact with me soon. With this, I thought that it would be better if I called the insurance company this evening so I could get the ball rolling, although after a lengthy conversation and many, many questions later the call handler finally revealed to me that my car was no longer insured under my policy and that as of the moment I get home and park her on my drive she will be classed as a category-N write-off meaning I would not be able to drive her ever again.
Rolling her gently onto my driveway, solely dedicated to her and only her, I bid my 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta goodbye as I emptied her insides. Vivienne will be collected in the next few days and after that I should expect to hear what she is worth. To me, however, my first ever car is and always will be priceless. We have cried together, sang together, stressed together and even screamed and shouted together at times. All the selfies. All the memories. I literally thought I would bring my future babies home from the hospital in my Vivienne, car seats and all. Alas, you were beaten up by an unscrupulous driver and thus our adventures will continue no more! You have served me well dear Viv. Miss you already ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Today is a sad day. Today I have lost a good friend of mine and one that I think I will never forget. My first. My one and only. My beautiful Vivienne.
Back in the throes of my youth in the warm weather of 2016's October, I met my Vivienne at a local reputable dealership. Taking public transport to a dealership I had my heart set on the 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta. A five-door hatchback with a 1.4L engine was everything I had ever hoped and dreamt for in my first car and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors she was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I was financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor at the time, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. And so my little tangerine-coloured car was named Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out that the Ford Fiesta orange hue does not come as standard and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv has. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I was certainly eager to collect her and after a few weeks, our Vivienne was settling into her new home just right. The following few months lots of changes in my life including a brand new job and a serious amount of Adulting!
Over the coming months that turned into years and my beloved Vivienne took many road trips; York where we drove for nearly five and a half hours because I didn't quite realise that the speed limit was 70mph and I was pootling along at 60mph. Then there was The Peak District where we struggled up hills and a crossed snowy mountains. The multiple trips to the seaside with our puppy and even facilitating us to take our poor puppy to the vets on the odd occasion. Countless shopping trips and visiting new places or seeing friends and family. It was on one of these occasions a few weeks ago where I was visiting Mrs Tweedle-Dumb at her family pad in our hometown of Houghton Regis near Dunstable. After a good few weeks of catching-up, constant laughs and seeing each other pretty much every other day it was time for her to go back to America and her husband. With her departure also came her parents move too as they too were moving out of the family home and away to the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales.
Parking as I usually had, I didn't think twice about parking my car outside the family home, and I didn't think anything strange when I returned to my car much later on that evening for the drive home. It was not until the following morning when I went out to the car during my day off in order to get something when I noticed a huge grey and white stripe down the front passenger's side of the vehicle. The paint job itself was extremely noticeable, however, it was the huge dent to the door itself and the caved-in handle that gave me a shock. I was fuming. Not knowing what to do I called Mr Warehouse and hoped that he would have some advice for me that would be worthwhile.
That evening after he arrived home from work we cleaned the car and inspected the overall damage. It was certainly not going to be a cheap job by any means as there were multiple scratches, scuffs and paintwork damage to the car and its bodywork, not to mention the fact that the window made a horrid scraping and scratching noise as it was wound down. Mr Warehouse could even that squeeze his fat sausage digits in between the window and the car door meaning that it was a security risk leaving it. As soon as I could I took her to a bodywork specialist in Bedford who explained that the work was very expensive and would far outweigh my £200 excess. Opting for going through the insurance I followed procedure and took Vivienne to another dealership which was approved.
Checking her over, the Mechanic told of a very bleak and dark future for my little pumpkin. Explaining that the total damage to the car door and paintwork as well as some extras that needed to be done on the bumper, lights and bonnet to restore the condition of the car would reach well in excess of £3,000. I suppose unfortunately this means that poor Vivienne was on the cusp of being written off as a total loss which would mean my car would be scrapped or stripped down entirely, naked to her shell, her parts sold on. The kind car doctor informed me that the diagnosis would be more likely than not a write-off and that I should hurry home to check that I have purchased the all-important gap insurance. Gap insurance means that whatever the insurance company pays out for my poor old Vivienne, my gap insurance will cover the rest to what I have left to pay on my finance deal. This means that inadvertently I would walk away without a car and with the debt cleared meaning I can go out to find a new car or alternatively get a loan to cover the balance on a new car.
This evening after finishing work, I noticed I had a text from the car mechanic who diagnosed Vivienne explaining that my vehicle was now a total loss and that my insurance company will be in contact with me soon. With this, I thought that it would be better if I called the insurance company this evening so I could get the ball rolling, although after a lengthy conversation and many, many questions later the call handler finally revealed to me that my car was no longer insured under my policy and that as of the moment I get home and park her on my drive she will be classed as a category-N write-off meaning I would not be able to drive her ever again.
Rolling her gently onto my driveway, solely dedicated to her and only her, I bid my 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta goodbye as I emptied her insides. Vivienne will be collected in the next few days and after that I should expect to hear what she is worth. To me, however, my first ever car is and always will be priceless. We have cried together, sang together, stressed together and even screamed and shouted together at times. All the selfies. All the memories. I literally thought I would bring my future babies home from the hospital in my Vivienne, car seats and all. Alas, you were beaten up by an unscrupulous driver and thus our adventures will continue no more! You have served me well dear Viv. Miss you already ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 26 November 2018
Do Not Look Back, You're Not Going That Way ...
Heyy,
Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it.
Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident.
Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help.
"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.
Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK.
Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me.
After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon.
Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive.
A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it.
Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident.
Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help.
"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.
Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK.
Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me.
After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon.
Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive.
A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK.
Monday, 14 May 2018
More Missing Minutes of a Different Kind
Hello,
So it's got to that point of the year again where I am constantly bombarded by people telling me about their holidays or their upcoming beach bargain breaks. To say that I am jealous would be a major understatement. Tenerife, Majorca, Lanzarote and Bulgaria the list goes on. I know in my heart of hearts that the four-hundred quid sat in my savings account should really be used towards our house fund, deposit or redecorating and not a holiday. Ugggh but its so hard! When everyone else is choosing which flip-flops to pack or which bikini will go with which Snapchat filter, here I am trying to work out how many stick-on tiles I can buy for under a tenner to do the kitchen and why Ronseal is so expensive. And after the last few weeks of collecting bits and pieces for the house and redecorating I was ready to start. No Weddings. No Funerals. Well, nearly ...
Relaxing on a Friday evening, I was having one of those rare moments to myself. Mr. Warehouse had gone to visit his brother in a small village outside of Bedford after work and was staying there to play a few games of pool before coming home. I didn't think anything of the phone call I've picked up whilst putting the TV on pause. I expected some sorry reason as to why he was going to be late home or maybe even the fact that he wanted me to picking up as he had been drinking. No. None of the above. The words 'Don't Panic' are never a good phrase to start off with when you ride a motorbike and were expected home ten minutes ago. To be honest I had been awaiting this moment for a while now. I thought that I would have been much more in a panic or a bit of a flap about it all, but an odd sense of calm came over me and I just thought "Oh for goodness sake what have you done now?"
After leaving his brothers around about 7.30pm and with plenty of time to get home before it was dark, Mr Warehouse whizzed off down the road from Village to Village as he normally did and had done many a time before. Only this time was different. Coming round a bend and over a humped railway bridge, Mr. Warehouse lost control of the motorbike beneath him, skidding and crashing into a road sign. Successfully taking that out my boyfriend flew for a further twenty or thirty meters before hitting a tree. Knocked unconscious, Mr. Warehouse only came round when he heard the sound of a cars engine, a door slamming shut and a women running towards him, asking if he was OK. "No love, just thought I would have a little nap face down in a pile of stinging nettles with my bike on its side and still running" was what my gorgeous boy wanted to tell her, but Mr. Warehouse said to me that he just thanked her for her time and for stopping, but said that he would be OK in a few moments and not to call for anyone.
Accepting by this point that he was on his feet and seemingly talking OK, the woman left the scene in a rush to wherever she was heading. About five minutes later I received the dreaded phone call. I knew that it was Mr Warehouse as soon as he spoke and this relieved me a little bit that he was clearly well enough to talk and it wasn't a police officer or paramedic. I think I would have freaked more. Calmly and as collectively as possible I continued to keep him talking asking all manner of questions about what had happened and where he was in relation to his surroundings. But being a typical man he brushed it all off, dusted himself down, got back on the bike and drove home.
After the phone call ended I called his brother immediately asking him to whizz round the corner a couple of minutes and see if he was still there. Unfortunately he wasn't and by that time Mr Warehouse had driven off leaving a few chunks of plastic and debris in his wake. I promised to update Big-Brother Warehouse about how he was when he got in and to check if we need to go to accident and emergency. About twenty minutes later and with the sun now setting I heard a bike rolling through the quiet streets. Undressing my boyfriend and making sure that he was OK I could see that he was well within the grips of shock. Tongue was white as a ghost and he was waiting up and down the front room checking every inch of his body for scratches or bruising.
Sitting him down I make sure to contact his family including his brothers and his mother, and all whilst I made sure he missed a good strong and sugary cup of tea. Us British eh?! Thankfully he was alright in terms of no cuts or bruising just a couple of light cat scratches from bushes and a couple of rashers from where he woke up in some stinging nettles. I was probably more concerned at the fact that he was now shaking and saying that he was cold, not to mention a large headache as well as pain in his hand, wrist and lower back. Yet again I said to him that we should probably go to A&E as he had been involved in a major bike accident not only that but he has fuzzy memory about what exactly happened and thinks he may have been knocked unconscious. Mr. Warehouse wasn't having any of it though.
After a brief heated discussion and a talk with his mother, Mr Warehouse and I came to a compromise that we would call the 111 service setup for the NHS. After going through numerous questions and answering yes, no and explaining what had happened in general the operator had decided with her superiors that a ambulance should be sent on its way just to be sure. Ambulance arriving it couldn't have been quicker or at a more convenient time as Mr Warehouse was going into full blown shock mode, suffering from chills and hot sweats as well as feeling nauseous. But disaster was not over yet as I had to get the dog out of the way of the paramedics in order for them to do their job. As I went to go and grab Pooch's collar, she told hard and I felt harder which only meant one thing for my nail that was holding on as tightly as possible. SNAP!
Crying out in agony on the inside I tossed the dog into the bedroom and shut the door behind her cussing at her under my breath. Mary mother of God did it hurt and oh my goodness I thought that I was actually going to be pissing blood from my finger it thumped so hard. As the paramedics did their job well running tests and checking Mr warehouses Obs I was standing there feeling like a lemon and wondering whether I should inform the medical team that I myself had also had an injury - A broken nail. I didn't and after a brief conversation about how to try and stay safe on the road the wonderful medicine Angels left. I suppose that I just have to be thankful that the equipment that Mr. Warehouse was wearing did it's job and potentially saved him from otherwise more serious injuries or potentially even worse. God only knows what the outcome would have been should he have not been wearing his protective jacket, trousers and helmet. So many times across so many different continents and countries I am sure that you all will have seen that idiot on a motorbike driving down the road with nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of shorts on! It just doesn't bare thinking about what could have happened.
And so Mr Warehouse has spent most of the weekend recovering either on the sofa or in bed. We had a look at the motorcycle itself and it seems as though most of the damage is simply plastic and could easily be replaced or repaired. I think my main concern is whether it drives OK as the alignment seems slightly off and when Mr. Warehouse drove it home he was obviously battling a shock as well as adrenaline coursing through his veins. Hopefully nothing is too expensive as I would ideally like to try and get some things done sooner rather than later in the flat. Who knows maybe it will be this weekend that we finally get round to doing some DIY!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So it's got to that point of the year again where I am constantly bombarded by people telling me about their holidays or their upcoming beach bargain breaks. To say that I am jealous would be a major understatement. Tenerife, Majorca, Lanzarote and Bulgaria the list goes on. I know in my heart of hearts that the four-hundred quid sat in my savings account should really be used towards our house fund, deposit or redecorating and not a holiday. Ugggh but its so hard! When everyone else is choosing which flip-flops to pack or which bikini will go with which Snapchat filter, here I am trying to work out how many stick-on tiles I can buy for under a tenner to do the kitchen and why Ronseal is so expensive. And after the last few weeks of collecting bits and pieces for the house and redecorating I was ready to start. No Weddings. No Funerals. Well, nearly ...
Relaxing on a Friday evening, I was having one of those rare moments to myself. Mr. Warehouse had gone to visit his brother in a small village outside of Bedford after work and was staying there to play a few games of pool before coming home. I didn't think anything of the phone call I've picked up whilst putting the TV on pause. I expected some sorry reason as to why he was going to be late home or maybe even the fact that he wanted me to picking up as he had been drinking. No. None of the above. The words 'Don't Panic' are never a good phrase to start off with when you ride a motorbike and were expected home ten minutes ago. To be honest I had been awaiting this moment for a while now. I thought that I would have been much more in a panic or a bit of a flap about it all, but an odd sense of calm came over me and I just thought "Oh for goodness sake what have you done now?"
After leaving his brothers around about 7.30pm and with plenty of time to get home before it was dark, Mr Warehouse whizzed off down the road from Village to Village as he normally did and had done many a time before. Only this time was different. Coming round a bend and over a humped railway bridge, Mr. Warehouse lost control of the motorbike beneath him, skidding and crashing into a road sign. Successfully taking that out my boyfriend flew for a further twenty or thirty meters before hitting a tree. Knocked unconscious, Mr. Warehouse only came round when he heard the sound of a cars engine, a door slamming shut and a women running towards him, asking if he was OK. "No love, just thought I would have a little nap face down in a pile of stinging nettles with my bike on its side and still running" was what my gorgeous boy wanted to tell her, but Mr. Warehouse said to me that he just thanked her for her time and for stopping, but said that he would be OK in a few moments and not to call for anyone.
Accepting by this point that he was on his feet and seemingly talking OK, the woman left the scene in a rush to wherever she was heading. About five minutes later I received the dreaded phone call. I knew that it was Mr Warehouse as soon as he spoke and this relieved me a little bit that he was clearly well enough to talk and it wasn't a police officer or paramedic. I think I would have freaked more. Calmly and as collectively as possible I continued to keep him talking asking all manner of questions about what had happened and where he was in relation to his surroundings. But being a typical man he brushed it all off, dusted himself down, got back on the bike and drove home.
After the phone call ended I called his brother immediately asking him to whizz round the corner a couple of minutes and see if he was still there. Unfortunately he wasn't and by that time Mr Warehouse had driven off leaving a few chunks of plastic and debris in his wake. I promised to update Big-Brother Warehouse about how he was when he got in and to check if we need to go to accident and emergency. About twenty minutes later and with the sun now setting I heard a bike rolling through the quiet streets. Undressing my boyfriend and making sure that he was OK I could see that he was well within the grips of shock. Tongue was white as a ghost and he was waiting up and down the front room checking every inch of his body for scratches or bruising.
Sitting him down I make sure to contact his family including his brothers and his mother, and all whilst I made sure he missed a good strong and sugary cup of tea. Us British eh?! Thankfully he was alright in terms of no cuts or bruising just a couple of light cat scratches from bushes and a couple of rashers from where he woke up in some stinging nettles. I was probably more concerned at the fact that he was now shaking and saying that he was cold, not to mention a large headache as well as pain in his hand, wrist and lower back. Yet again I said to him that we should probably go to A&E as he had been involved in a major bike accident not only that but he has fuzzy memory about what exactly happened and thinks he may have been knocked unconscious. Mr. Warehouse wasn't having any of it though.
After a brief heated discussion and a talk with his mother, Mr Warehouse and I came to a compromise that we would call the 111 service setup for the NHS. After going through numerous questions and answering yes, no and explaining what had happened in general the operator had decided with her superiors that a ambulance should be sent on its way just to be sure. Ambulance arriving it couldn't have been quicker or at a more convenient time as Mr Warehouse was going into full blown shock mode, suffering from chills and hot sweats as well as feeling nauseous. But disaster was not over yet as I had to get the dog out of the way of the paramedics in order for them to do their job. As I went to go and grab Pooch's collar, she told hard and I felt harder which only meant one thing for my nail that was holding on as tightly as possible. SNAP!
Crying out in agony on the inside I tossed the dog into the bedroom and shut the door behind her cussing at her under my breath. Mary mother of God did it hurt and oh my goodness I thought that I was actually going to be pissing blood from my finger it thumped so hard. As the paramedics did their job well running tests and checking Mr warehouses Obs I was standing there feeling like a lemon and wondering whether I should inform the medical team that I myself had also had an injury - A broken nail. I didn't and after a brief conversation about how to try and stay safe on the road the wonderful medicine Angels left. I suppose that I just have to be thankful that the equipment that Mr. Warehouse was wearing did it's job and potentially saved him from otherwise more serious injuries or potentially even worse. God only knows what the outcome would have been should he have not been wearing his protective jacket, trousers and helmet. So many times across so many different continents and countries I am sure that you all will have seen that idiot on a motorbike driving down the road with nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of shorts on! It just doesn't bare thinking about what could have happened.
And so Mr Warehouse has spent most of the weekend recovering either on the sofa or in bed. We had a look at the motorcycle itself and it seems as though most of the damage is simply plastic and could easily be replaced or repaired. I think my main concern is whether it drives OK as the alignment seems slightly off and when Mr. Warehouse drove it home he was obviously battling a shock as well as adrenaline coursing through his veins. Hopefully nothing is too expensive as I would ideally like to try and get some things done sooner rather than later in the flat. Who knows maybe it will be this weekend that we finally get round to doing some DIY!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 6 January 2014
Decision Time!
Well Hello There,
How are we all doing, hope your fully recovered from your new years eve celebrations wherever in the world you may be! Hope you are having a good first few days into 2014 and enjoying what it has to bring. As for my life so far this year there have been some big changes, I have resumed working as a Credit Controller and am enjoying my first few days back. I am getting out and about viewing flats and new abodes I can begin writing to you from. But truth be told, the long dark days, horrid weather and general January blues are really taking its toll. Although there is a good reason why I should be so glum as things are a little different than when we last spoke.
Now, New Years Eve was something I wanted to celebrate with all those I loved around me but as circumstances have it I ended up spending it in a west London pub, tears falling over my cheeks and soaked in wine. Allow me to explain. So for the past few months I have been asking The Tweedles - AKA Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb what their plans were for the New Year and what we were all going to do to celebrate it. After much deliberation there was still no conclusion and so instead of being stuck somewhere come midnight and not having anywhere to stay I decided to spend the evening with Mr. Cheese, despite the upset caused to certain individuals. After the struggles over Christmas, trying to figure out where this whole thing with Mr. Cheese is going I knew that the elephant in the room had to be confronted; And soon.
Journeying down to London on the train I was optimistic about the evening and day that followed. I was hoping that Mr. Cheese and I would venture into the City on New Years Day and potter around a museum or something. Hopping onto the tube I made my way to Soho to meet Mr. Cheese, but as I was waiting in the rain outside in the busy streets my mood started to droop. I wasn't feeling very happy or excited. I just felt overwhelmed with the decision I would soon have to make. I knew in my heart though that whatever I was feeling right there would be melted away like snow as soon as the brilliance of the Fromage arrived. And true, it did. but kissing in the rain didn't feel as special as it should have. It should have felt better! Making our way back to the tube I was hoping that Mr. Cheese would help my mood lift.
Upon arrival back to Mr. Cheese's west London flat, more wet and bedraggled than before we set about tidying up before settling down on the sofa for a cosy night in, softly whispering to each other how we have several hours to go until midnight. I felt for a moment and mentioned this to my date that maybe we were too old and just to go to bed to which I already knew the reply would be a stern "No." And so after feasting on restaurant take-out and wine we began to talk about memories of years gone by. I reminisced about the Tweedles and some of our first encounters of boys together and a few of the drunken teenage laughs we all had. I hoped in the back of my head they were having a good time too. Before we knew it the food had gone and our glasses were empty. Mr. Cheese and I had forty minutes of the year left and decided to join his flat mate and her boyfriend down the road in the pub for some drinks to celebrate it properly.
Entering the hot, stuffy bar I suddenly felt very under dressed in my flat moccasins, jeans and jumper combo. "I should have brought heels" I thought, silently begrudging myself for being ill-equipped. Even still I got some attention, although not always from the right people. Glancing at the clock as I was poured a glass of wine by the flatmate I pondered across the year before and the year ahead. Last year was very different and the year ahead, well, what will it entail? Who knows. As the clock passed midnight no-one noticed, including the DJ and so we ended up welcoming in the new year five minutes later like a bunch of unprepared school children on photo-day. Welcoming in New year I stood around, smile on my face watching everyone else kissing. For once I didn't know what to do. I know what I wanted to do. I know what I wanted to happen. But I doubted that was enough floor space for Mr. Cheese to spin me around and kiss me passionately in front of the whole pub. Eventually our eyes met and we kisses, holding each other tight as the festivities engulfed us.
Soon the smooching subsided, I got talking to the flatmates boyfriend. I had only met him a few times, but from our encounters I had established that he was a pretty boy from up-north with a thick accent and a head to match but a lovely chap nonetheless. Not wanting to distract my attention from Mr. Cheese too much I turned back to face him. But as I slowly opened my eyes and twisted my body to meet his I felt a cold splash and a stinging sensation in my eyes. Yes. I had my first glass of wine thrown over me. Was it the angry ex-girlfriend whom apparently lives only a few blocks from the bar itself? No. Did I get caught up in an ugly fight? No. Had I been splashed by a runaway baby elephant that had sneaked into the venue and squirted his trunk at me (no pun intended). No, but close. As I had turned to face the dear Mr. Cheese he got excited about something his flatmate had said and unintentionally thrown my wine all over me. I know, and it wasn't even his. So as I stand there dazed and confused my eyes weeping with Blossom Hill and my jumper sodden I couldn't help but laugh. Mr. Cheese on the other hand was mortified. He quickly grabbed me and pulled me in close apologising for his clumsiness. I didn't care. It was an accident and I knew that, but for some odd reason I felt as if Mr. Cheese saw it as a horrible incident in which I would scream and shout at him for even attempting to make my mascara run. I didn't mind, I was just sad that my wine was being soaked up by my jumper rather than my blood-stream.
As the night wore on and we made small talk amongst ourselves and the people around us I couldn't help but notice a tune I recognised. A song from my past. Whilst it was not hugely significant, I had been to enough DJ set's to know that the song that usually follows would be fatal to my already sodden cheeks. I made an excuse and made a dash for the exit before my ears could pick up any more music. But as I leaned against the window outside in the fresh, chilly air of 2014 my mind couldn't help hoping that Mr. Cheese would follow me outside and keep me warm. But placing a cigarette to my lips and as predicted the first chords of the song Mr. Workaholic and I shared rang out from the speakers; winding its way through the crowds, seeping into the night, poisoning my ears once more. I couldn't hold it back. I tried but as I beat off thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and the life we built together only a few years before but they were too strong. This was the song we first danced too. This was the song I first sang to him, yelling it across the dance floor as we spinned around happy to have encountered one another. This was the song that we would have our first dance to - Played acoustically and softly as we swayed with a hundred eyes on us. It was the song that ironically depicted our relationship. Almost down to the very last beat. As hot tears began to smudge my dark make-up I headed back inside in search of comfort. Finally finding Mr. Cheese at the table we were sharing I clung onto his arm for dear life, praying he would take not of the sounds that were haunting me. He did not. I curled in closer taking refuge in his torso. It was only when I explained the semantics and reasons why I was crying that he pulled me in for a brief, sharp hug. It was at this point I knew I needed more.
Collecting our stuff after finishing another few bottles the four of us headed into the lit streets of London and made our way home. Laughing and giggling all the way Mr. Cheese and I highlighted the fact that the helium balloons I had "borrowed" from the bar should be put to good use, rather than letting them float away. Licking my lips and sucking hard I took in a deep breath. Holding it in until I was ready I spoke in a high-pitched squeaky voice. This was the first time I had tried helium. It made me light-headed after a while and for a moment I wasn't thinking about the roller-coaster evening I had. Entering once more into the flat, Mr. Cheese, his flatmate, her boyfriend and I all gathered round to watch the flatmate open her birthday presents. All were wonderful, but after all that excitement I was starting to reach my upper limit on the alcohol front and all I wanted was bed-time. Being slightly fragile both emotionally and drunkenly I felt that sex was maybe best left for the morning. Although come morning it was a very different story indeed.
Rolling over and checking the time I was alarmed to discover it was gone eleven in the morning. Gently waking Mr. Cheese from his slumber I mentioned this too him and how we had missed breakfast at our favourite cafe. I asked the simple question on what we were going to do with the rest of the day and after spending money I should be saving on a train fare to see him I was expecting to make it go a little further than just last night. Much to my disappointment that was not the case and a simple answer followed my simple question. Mr. Cheese replied by saying that he "just wanted to lounge about the flat and watch some football". It was clear his plans and mine for the first day into the New Year were very different. This got me thinking and for the next four hours I lounged in bed, mostly in silence, wondering if Mr. Cheese would ever make the move. Would he ever truly be all mine? The answer is no. Don't worry I asked. Straight-up asking him if he wanted me and only me, just us, together as boyfriend and girlfriend. His reply was the same as the first time we met - "I'm just not ready".
Upset, angry, confused, frustrated, hurt, annoyed. Many words could describe how I am feeling both then and still now. I don't understand. If your eating Jam, should it really matter if its blackberry or strawberry, its jam all the same right? OK, maybe not the best comparison there but my heads a bit of a mess as I am sure you can imagine. And so after a solemn last supper (i.e - late lunch) we departed. Not wanting to go but knowing I had to we made the pact that we would only communicate through text messages and email until the first weekend in February when we shall meet again and see where we are both at. Since that moment there has not been a second that doesn't pass without me thinking of my dearest Mr. Cheese. But I know I need to do this. I want him and he doesn't want me so I need to distance myself from him. In my head I suppose this will make the real end much less painful. I can see us being so good together, but obviously he doesn't see this yet and I am hoping that some time apart will make him question why we aren't already an item.
And so for the time being I shall try and keep my spirits high. Try not to worry too much about not having enough money to move. Try not to worry about work. Try not to worry about Mr. Cheese and his developing or dwindling feelings for me. I shall bounce back from this but right now I just wish that life would choose better moments than right now. Ugh! Roll on February!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
How are we all doing, hope your fully recovered from your new years eve celebrations wherever in the world you may be! Hope you are having a good first few days into 2014 and enjoying what it has to bring. As for my life so far this year there have been some big changes, I have resumed working as a Credit Controller and am enjoying my first few days back. I am getting out and about viewing flats and new abodes I can begin writing to you from. But truth be told, the long dark days, horrid weather and general January blues are really taking its toll. Although there is a good reason why I should be so glum as things are a little different than when we last spoke.
Now, New Years Eve was something I wanted to celebrate with all those I loved around me but as circumstances have it I ended up spending it in a west London pub, tears falling over my cheeks and soaked in wine. Allow me to explain. So for the past few months I have been asking The Tweedles - AKA Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb what their plans were for the New Year and what we were all going to do to celebrate it. After much deliberation there was still no conclusion and so instead of being stuck somewhere come midnight and not having anywhere to stay I decided to spend the evening with Mr. Cheese, despite the upset caused to certain individuals. After the struggles over Christmas, trying to figure out where this whole thing with Mr. Cheese is going I knew that the elephant in the room had to be confronted; And soon.
Journeying down to London on the train I was optimistic about the evening and day that followed. I was hoping that Mr. Cheese and I would venture into the City on New Years Day and potter around a museum or something. Hopping onto the tube I made my way to Soho to meet Mr. Cheese, but as I was waiting in the rain outside in the busy streets my mood started to droop. I wasn't feeling very happy or excited. I just felt overwhelmed with the decision I would soon have to make. I knew in my heart though that whatever I was feeling right there would be melted away like snow as soon as the brilliance of the Fromage arrived. And true, it did. but kissing in the rain didn't feel as special as it should have. It should have felt better! Making our way back to the tube I was hoping that Mr. Cheese would help my mood lift.
Upon arrival back to Mr. Cheese's west London flat, more wet and bedraggled than before we set about tidying up before settling down on the sofa for a cosy night in, softly whispering to each other how we have several hours to go until midnight. I felt for a moment and mentioned this to my date that maybe we were too old and just to go to bed to which I already knew the reply would be a stern "No." And so after feasting on restaurant take-out and wine we began to talk about memories of years gone by. I reminisced about the Tweedles and some of our first encounters of boys together and a few of the drunken teenage laughs we all had. I hoped in the back of my head they were having a good time too. Before we knew it the food had gone and our glasses were empty. Mr. Cheese and I had forty minutes of the year left and decided to join his flat mate and her boyfriend down the road in the pub for some drinks to celebrate it properly.
Entering the hot, stuffy bar I suddenly felt very under dressed in my flat moccasins, jeans and jumper combo. "I should have brought heels" I thought, silently begrudging myself for being ill-equipped. Even still I got some attention, although not always from the right people. Glancing at the clock as I was poured a glass of wine by the flatmate I pondered across the year before and the year ahead. Last year was very different and the year ahead, well, what will it entail? Who knows. As the clock passed midnight no-one noticed, including the DJ and so we ended up welcoming in the new year five minutes later like a bunch of unprepared school children on photo-day. Welcoming in New year I stood around, smile on my face watching everyone else kissing. For once I didn't know what to do. I know what I wanted to do. I know what I wanted to happen. But I doubted that was enough floor space for Mr. Cheese to spin me around and kiss me passionately in front of the whole pub. Eventually our eyes met and we kisses, holding each other tight as the festivities engulfed us.
Soon the smooching subsided, I got talking to the flatmates boyfriend. I had only met him a few times, but from our encounters I had established that he was a pretty boy from up-north with a thick accent and a head to match but a lovely chap nonetheless. Not wanting to distract my attention from Mr. Cheese too much I turned back to face him. But as I slowly opened my eyes and twisted my body to meet his I felt a cold splash and a stinging sensation in my eyes. Yes. I had my first glass of wine thrown over me. Was it the angry ex-girlfriend whom apparently lives only a few blocks from the bar itself? No. Did I get caught up in an ugly fight? No. Had I been splashed by a runaway baby elephant that had sneaked into the venue and squirted his trunk at me (no pun intended). No, but close. As I had turned to face the dear Mr. Cheese he got excited about something his flatmate had said and unintentionally thrown my wine all over me. I know, and it wasn't even his. So as I stand there dazed and confused my eyes weeping with Blossom Hill and my jumper sodden I couldn't help but laugh. Mr. Cheese on the other hand was mortified. He quickly grabbed me and pulled me in close apologising for his clumsiness. I didn't care. It was an accident and I knew that, but for some odd reason I felt as if Mr. Cheese saw it as a horrible incident in which I would scream and shout at him for even attempting to make my mascara run. I didn't mind, I was just sad that my wine was being soaked up by my jumper rather than my blood-stream.
As the night wore on and we made small talk amongst ourselves and the people around us I couldn't help but notice a tune I recognised. A song from my past. Whilst it was not hugely significant, I had been to enough DJ set's to know that the song that usually follows would be fatal to my already sodden cheeks. I made an excuse and made a dash for the exit before my ears could pick up any more music. But as I leaned against the window outside in the fresh, chilly air of 2014 my mind couldn't help hoping that Mr. Cheese would follow me outside and keep me warm. But placing a cigarette to my lips and as predicted the first chords of the song Mr. Workaholic and I shared rang out from the speakers; winding its way through the crowds, seeping into the night, poisoning my ears once more. I couldn't hold it back. I tried but as I beat off thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and the life we built together only a few years before but they were too strong. This was the song we first danced too. This was the song I first sang to him, yelling it across the dance floor as we spinned around happy to have encountered one another. This was the song that we would have our first dance to - Played acoustically and softly as we swayed with a hundred eyes on us. It was the song that ironically depicted our relationship. Almost down to the very last beat. As hot tears began to smudge my dark make-up I headed back inside in search of comfort. Finally finding Mr. Cheese at the table we were sharing I clung onto his arm for dear life, praying he would take not of the sounds that were haunting me. He did not. I curled in closer taking refuge in his torso. It was only when I explained the semantics and reasons why I was crying that he pulled me in for a brief, sharp hug. It was at this point I knew I needed more.
Collecting our stuff after finishing another few bottles the four of us headed into the lit streets of London and made our way home. Laughing and giggling all the way Mr. Cheese and I highlighted the fact that the helium balloons I had "borrowed" from the bar should be put to good use, rather than letting them float away. Licking my lips and sucking hard I took in a deep breath. Holding it in until I was ready I spoke in a high-pitched squeaky voice. This was the first time I had tried helium. It made me light-headed after a while and for a moment I wasn't thinking about the roller-coaster evening I had. Entering once more into the flat, Mr. Cheese, his flatmate, her boyfriend and I all gathered round to watch the flatmate open her birthday presents. All were wonderful, but after all that excitement I was starting to reach my upper limit on the alcohol front and all I wanted was bed-time. Being slightly fragile both emotionally and drunkenly I felt that sex was maybe best left for the morning. Although come morning it was a very different story indeed.
Rolling over and checking the time I was alarmed to discover it was gone eleven in the morning. Gently waking Mr. Cheese from his slumber I mentioned this too him and how we had missed breakfast at our favourite cafe. I asked the simple question on what we were going to do with the rest of the day and after spending money I should be saving on a train fare to see him I was expecting to make it go a little further than just last night. Much to my disappointment that was not the case and a simple answer followed my simple question. Mr. Cheese replied by saying that he "just wanted to lounge about the flat and watch some football". It was clear his plans and mine for the first day into the New Year were very different. This got me thinking and for the next four hours I lounged in bed, mostly in silence, wondering if Mr. Cheese would ever make the move. Would he ever truly be all mine? The answer is no. Don't worry I asked. Straight-up asking him if he wanted me and only me, just us, together as boyfriend and girlfriend. His reply was the same as the first time we met - "I'm just not ready".
Upset, angry, confused, frustrated, hurt, annoyed. Many words could describe how I am feeling both then and still now. I don't understand. If your eating Jam, should it really matter if its blackberry or strawberry, its jam all the same right? OK, maybe not the best comparison there but my heads a bit of a mess as I am sure you can imagine. And so after a solemn last supper (i.e - late lunch) we departed. Not wanting to go but knowing I had to we made the pact that we would only communicate through text messages and email until the first weekend in February when we shall meet again and see where we are both at. Since that moment there has not been a second that doesn't pass without me thinking of my dearest Mr. Cheese. But I know I need to do this. I want him and he doesn't want me so I need to distance myself from him. In my head I suppose this will make the real end much less painful. I can see us being so good together, but obviously he doesn't see this yet and I am hoping that some time apart will make him question why we aren't already an item.
And so for the time being I shall try and keep my spirits high. Try not to worry too much about not having enough money to move. Try not to worry about work. Try not to worry about Mr. Cheese and his developing or dwindling feelings for me. I shall bounce back from this but right now I just wish that life would choose better moments than right now. Ugh! Roll on February!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 15 October 2013
Silly Mouth!
Well Hello There,
So another week and yet more blissful romances have continued with my dear Mr. Cheese, that as until my ridiculous mouth said something it wasn't meant to...
I looked at the clock. It was nearly quarter-past four on a Friday afternoon and in a few moments it would finally be home time. As I shutdown and cleared down my desk for the weekend I knew that it wouldn't be long until I was rattling down the tracks to Mr. Cheese. Luckily enough I even ended up bagging a lift to the station from one of my work colleagues who lived nearby so grabbing my bag I jumped in the car and off we went. Its funny how I didn't seem to realise just how busy rush hour gets the closer you get to London on a Friday evening. Irrespective of this I still took up four seats on the train with my bags and coats and worldly possessions for the weekend ahead. Safe to say I don't travel light!
Arriving into King's Cross I speedily whizzed around looking for a less busy ticket kiosk but everywhere was manic with tourists and business people, families and general busy-bodies alike, all searching for a platform or information or like me, a ticket machine for the Underground. Finally I found one but oh wait; My card has decided to have a disagreement with the machine and so after spending a few years in the queue, several minutes reordering my tickets and annoying the forty-odd commuters and travellers behind me I went to go join another queue where a real person could help me. My card ironically worked and after an hour of wandering around looking for a ticket I eventually got one. Now for a coffee and boy did I need one!
As I skipped off to the Underground, coffee in hand I felt my stomach rumble for something more than just an expensive beverage. I was glad that Mr. Cheese was making me dinner, even if it was all alien to me. I mean Mr. Ginge helped me cook but never took the full reins and Mr. Workaholic, well, I can hardly count chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles is hardly a romantic meal is it? Arriving into West London once more I was greeted by a warm yet slightly damp Mr. Cheese. Typical British weather. It was raining. As we let ourselves in he informed me that we were having a feast of local butchers chicken breasts stuffed with Italian buffalo mozzarella wrapped in cured Parma ham with a side of homemade seasoned fries, carrots and broccoli all coated in a rustically prepared-from-scratch white wine jus. Impressive I know. Sounds like Michelin star dining when I put it like that. And as we sat down to eat at the shiny black glass dinner table in his kitchen I thought to myself whilst being poured another glass of wine by a gleaming, gorgeous Mr. Cheese "Wow, this one is a keeper!"
After dinner was the game. Of football. Now everyone will know I am no sports fan, as a matter of fact I am the furthest from a sports fan. London hosted the 2012 Olympics last year and the whole world watched as I avoided watching TV for fear of getting out of breath just looking at people doing sports. But somehow I have found that sports, football in particular can be very, very entertaining and by the end of the game I was holding my breath and getting excited just as much as Mr. Cheese was. I suppose what made it better was the build up of sexual tension as I unknowingly stroked Mr. Cheese's thighs and felt along his arms which were tightly wrapped around me as we cuddled watching in awe at 11 overly-paid men run around and kick a ball.
What followed was an evening of passion, one that is best kept under wraps. One thing is for sure though and that is after a few weeks of figuring out each others sexual excites and pleasures it seems that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was right. The sex does get better. Once all the anxiety is lost and the pressure is stripped away (no pun intended) there is just left two people that fancy some fun, and what better way than to get your rocks off with someone who fancies the pants off you ... quiet literally! Saturday morning again was 'orgasmic' in a way that I have never felt before up until then. Somehow Mr. Cheese has an uncanny ability to make me want him, even when he is getting dressed. After sectioning myself to the corner of the bedroom we were both finally dressed and ready to have breakfast out at a posh restaurant on the local high street near Mr. Cheese's flat. Smooth small talk and conversation bubbled across the breakfast table whilst we both gazed into each others eyes longingly although unbeknown to me something was brewing. Something big ...
Rushing, Mr. Cheese and I paced down the steps to London Victoria's Underground station. We both knew we might be a little late to our appointments that afternoon. As the two tubes stormed into the platforms we quickly hugged and said our goodbyes. It was at this point it spilled out.
I meant to say something nice and sweet and lovely, something that I say to Mr. Cheese all the time because there are no other words to say how I feel. And then. Out of no-where. Like a freight train it comes steaming out my chest and through my mouth but before I have a chance to cover my lips it escapes ... I Love You. Fuck! Everything slows down and for a few seconds I wonder what just happened. He turns to walk away and I pray to God that he didn't hear that profanity. I had promised myself I wouldn't say it. Not until I'm ready. Not until the moment is right. 'And Victoria Tube Station was not the right time mouth!' I scolded myself. As I stepped inside the closing doors of the tube I wondered how I may tell my children about 'Love' one day.
"Mommy, How do you know when to say I Love You?" my children will ask me. And what shall I tell them - "Well my child. When your in a stuffy, crowded Underground station in the middle of London. When your cooking alive because your wearing seven layers plus a coat, scarf and gloves. When your standing across from the man you have been nurturing feelings for ever since you went to the wrong damn bridge on your first date. When both of you are finally ready to depart one anothers company and there is seconds to spare before the tube doors shut and your left stranded on the station. That's when my dear. That's when you say I Love You. Then you turn, curse yourself for saying it and continue beating yourself up about it all weekend hoping that, despite your love-interest saying that he didn't hear, a little part of you wonders if he secretly did." Yes. Sounds about right.
So as I made my way to the hairdressers to have a fringe cut into my long locks that I had been growing for nearly three-years I wondered how Mr. Cheese's journey was, en route to volunteer at a local Charity. Auuhh! I had tried so hard and convinced myself that I didn't feel that strongly for him, fooling myself into understanding it was just infatuation and smitteness with something or someone new. But maybe this is my sub-conscience telling me that in actual fact I do. Do I? I mean I have come around to the idea that it is now beyond sex and there are the foundations for something special. Mr. Cheese has had a lot of me and my life to deal with and he still wants to spend time with me. My family adore him and my friends are just as besotted as I am but is it Love?
Well if that isn't enough I am sure that this weekend will be a sticky one. I am meeting some of Mr. Cheese's closest friends. Friends of his I might add that are under the impression that we are an item. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Item. Question is, by the time Sunday evening rolls around will I? Or will Mr. Cheese explain to his friends that we are simply "friends"? Will I be friend-zoned? What will I be telling you all next week? Oh, Silly Mouth! How I love you so.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So another week and yet more blissful romances have continued with my dear Mr. Cheese, that as until my ridiculous mouth said something it wasn't meant to...
I looked at the clock. It was nearly quarter-past four on a Friday afternoon and in a few moments it would finally be home time. As I shutdown and cleared down my desk for the weekend I knew that it wouldn't be long until I was rattling down the tracks to Mr. Cheese. Luckily enough I even ended up bagging a lift to the station from one of my work colleagues who lived nearby so grabbing my bag I jumped in the car and off we went. Its funny how I didn't seem to realise just how busy rush hour gets the closer you get to London on a Friday evening. Irrespective of this I still took up four seats on the train with my bags and coats and worldly possessions for the weekend ahead. Safe to say I don't travel light!
Arriving into King's Cross I speedily whizzed around looking for a less busy ticket kiosk but everywhere was manic with tourists and business people, families and general busy-bodies alike, all searching for a platform or information or like me, a ticket machine for the Underground. Finally I found one but oh wait; My card has decided to have a disagreement with the machine and so after spending a few years in the queue, several minutes reordering my tickets and annoying the forty-odd commuters and travellers behind me I went to go join another queue where a real person could help me. My card ironically worked and after an hour of wandering around looking for a ticket I eventually got one. Now for a coffee and boy did I need one!
As I skipped off to the Underground, coffee in hand I felt my stomach rumble for something more than just an expensive beverage. I was glad that Mr. Cheese was making me dinner, even if it was all alien to me. I mean Mr. Ginge helped me cook but never took the full reins and Mr. Workaholic, well, I can hardly count chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles is hardly a romantic meal is it? Arriving into West London once more I was greeted by a warm yet slightly damp Mr. Cheese. Typical British weather. It was raining. As we let ourselves in he informed me that we were having a feast of local butchers chicken breasts stuffed with Italian buffalo mozzarella wrapped in cured Parma ham with a side of homemade seasoned fries, carrots and broccoli all coated in a rustically prepared-from-scratch white wine jus. Impressive I know. Sounds like Michelin star dining when I put it like that. And as we sat down to eat at the shiny black glass dinner table in his kitchen I thought to myself whilst being poured another glass of wine by a gleaming, gorgeous Mr. Cheese "Wow, this one is a keeper!"
After dinner was the game. Of football. Now everyone will know I am no sports fan, as a matter of fact I am the furthest from a sports fan. London hosted the 2012 Olympics last year and the whole world watched as I avoided watching TV for fear of getting out of breath just looking at people doing sports. But somehow I have found that sports, football in particular can be very, very entertaining and by the end of the game I was holding my breath and getting excited just as much as Mr. Cheese was. I suppose what made it better was the build up of sexual tension as I unknowingly stroked Mr. Cheese's thighs and felt along his arms which were tightly wrapped around me as we cuddled watching in awe at 11 overly-paid men run around and kick a ball.
What followed was an evening of passion, one that is best kept under wraps. One thing is for sure though and that is after a few weeks of figuring out each others sexual excites and pleasures it seems that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was right. The sex does get better. Once all the anxiety is lost and the pressure is stripped away (no pun intended) there is just left two people that fancy some fun, and what better way than to get your rocks off with someone who fancies the pants off you ... quiet literally! Saturday morning again was 'orgasmic' in a way that I have never felt before up until then. Somehow Mr. Cheese has an uncanny ability to make me want him, even when he is getting dressed. After sectioning myself to the corner of the bedroom we were both finally dressed and ready to have breakfast out at a posh restaurant on the local high street near Mr. Cheese's flat. Smooth small talk and conversation bubbled across the breakfast table whilst we both gazed into each others eyes longingly although unbeknown to me something was brewing. Something big ...
Rushing, Mr. Cheese and I paced down the steps to London Victoria's Underground station. We both knew we might be a little late to our appointments that afternoon. As the two tubes stormed into the platforms we quickly hugged and said our goodbyes. It was at this point it spilled out.
I meant to say something nice and sweet and lovely, something that I say to Mr. Cheese all the time because there are no other words to say how I feel. And then. Out of no-where. Like a freight train it comes steaming out my chest and through my mouth but before I have a chance to cover my lips it escapes ... I Love You. Fuck! Everything slows down and for a few seconds I wonder what just happened. He turns to walk away and I pray to God that he didn't hear that profanity. I had promised myself I wouldn't say it. Not until I'm ready. Not until the moment is right. 'And Victoria Tube Station was not the right time mouth!' I scolded myself. As I stepped inside the closing doors of the tube I wondered how I may tell my children about 'Love' one day.
"Mommy, How do you know when to say I Love You?" my children will ask me. And what shall I tell them - "Well my child. When your in a stuffy, crowded Underground station in the middle of London. When your cooking alive because your wearing seven layers plus a coat, scarf and gloves. When your standing across from the man you have been nurturing feelings for ever since you went to the wrong damn bridge on your first date. When both of you are finally ready to depart one anothers company and there is seconds to spare before the tube doors shut and your left stranded on the station. That's when my dear. That's when you say I Love You. Then you turn, curse yourself for saying it and continue beating yourself up about it all weekend hoping that, despite your love-interest saying that he didn't hear, a little part of you wonders if he secretly did." Yes. Sounds about right.
So as I made my way to the hairdressers to have a fringe cut into my long locks that I had been growing for nearly three-years I wondered how Mr. Cheese's journey was, en route to volunteer at a local Charity. Auuhh! I had tried so hard and convinced myself that I didn't feel that strongly for him, fooling myself into understanding it was just infatuation and smitteness with something or someone new. But maybe this is my sub-conscience telling me that in actual fact I do. Do I? I mean I have come around to the idea that it is now beyond sex and there are the foundations for something special. Mr. Cheese has had a lot of me and my life to deal with and he still wants to spend time with me. My family adore him and my friends are just as besotted as I am but is it Love?
Well if that isn't enough I am sure that this weekend will be a sticky one. I am meeting some of Mr. Cheese's closest friends. Friends of his I might add that are under the impression that we are an item. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Item. Question is, by the time Sunday evening rolls around will I? Or will Mr. Cheese explain to his friends that we are simply "friends"? Will I be friend-zoned? What will I be telling you all next week? Oh, Silly Mouth! How I love you so.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)