Can't Take The Heat

Evening Amigos!

It was only this time last week that I was talking of cooler break away, but oh how in need I am right now of something, anything cold! Bedford today was nearly 35 degrees and over the course of the weekend it was not far short of that temperature either. To say that I was struggling was an understatement and so to put it into context I experienced heat that was hotter than Barbados, Mumbai and Thailand. 

The thing is that I don't really do heat very well in fact most people will tell you that I turn into a right bitch when the mercury soars. And oh boy was this weekend one of those moments! Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have already experienced this on our many annual holiday and I have had heat-induced melt-downs in several countries across Europe. Not entirely sure if that's a good thing however I do know that afterwards that my tantrums can be very funny to look back on and when it is all said and done we can all have a good giggle about how much of a princess I am (sometimes)!

Like that moment on holiday in Fuerteventura when I had a full blown temper tantrum because Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb didn't want to come and look at a bag with me to give their opinion. Incidentally, Miss Tweedle-Dee ended up coming to look at said bag with me, however after the big hoo-ha I decided that in actual fact I no longer wanted it and instead sulked whilst we tried to hail a taxi in broken Spanish back to the hotel. 

There was also that time when, after watching a gig in the roughest part of Downtown Las Vegas, far from the glitz and the glamour of the strip I thought it might be a good idea to get a cab home to the hotel. Unfortunately the Tweedles refused and also harshly declined the offer the nice barmaid had made to drop us back to the main strip after her shift, which was within the next few minutes. But alas, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knows better so out we went into the darkness, google-mapping our way back to the strip by walking through dodgy neighbourhoods and eventually winding up at a bus station that wouldn't have looked out of place in a creepy horror film. Suffice to say that we got home, eventually, but not in the safest of manners I would have liked. 

Or how about in Lanzarote when I went to buy some quick last minute purchases before heading home and when I got back to our hotel lobby that the Tweedles had said they were waiting for me in, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had already pissed off to the bus stop to get the coach home without me and I then refused to speak with them the entire journey to the airport and throughout our lengthy journey home, only making polite answers to their pointless efforts to be friends again. I mean I swear they do it to just grind on my wick sometimes in order to have a holiday memory to look back and laugh on. 

And whenever there is a beach involved you can always expect me to be the one whose getting Aggy about sand getting everywhere. I wouldn't be so bothered if it just dusted off at the end of the day but it gets everywhere - In your hair, in your bag, in your pants, in your foof and even worse than all those put together in between your toes, making them dry and eventually cracking your skin so bad the creases in your piggies split. Yeah, Ouch!!!

Needless to say that I can get a bit ratty when the heat is on and this weekend was no different. Throwing my hands in the air and huffing and puffing my way around the bedroom I was hot, sticky and swollen with nothing to wear and everything looking awful on me anyway because I was the size of a blue whale in the sweltering weather. But something strange was happening. Mr. Warehouse wasn't biting. Not that I wanted him to react in any particular way but I wanted and needed attention and that was all I was doing it for. Isn't it funny how I can psychologically assess myself and analyse the fact that I am just a pretentious little arse when it gets above twenty-five degrees. I am not proud of my toddler tantrums but in a way I am glad that Mr. Warehouse never pandered to my efforts and frazzlings of being too hot. He simply grinned and got on with it. Now that is the kind of man that is a keeper but will Tenerife be a test with highs of late thirties and early forties! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Blues of Bank Holiday in Britain!

Howdy Ya'll, 

Sorry about that intro - Definitely been watching too much Teen Mom OG there! Little obsessed at the moment, especially with Caitlyn and Tyler's gorgeous wedding (Tyler had me in tears with that speech). Anyway! On with the show!

So with this weekend being a bank holiday in the UK you would have guessed I might be off on another adventure somewhere abroad or maybe living it up here in good old blightly with some pals, heading out to a farm or a theme park. Sadly to say I am poor. Slumdog Nill-ionaire that's what they call me! With another week until payday and already on my last few pennies, this weekend has been a frustrating mess of odds and sods dinners, household chores not getting done and catching up on good telly. Apart from collecting Mr. Warehouse's pooch on bank holiday Friday and getting her settled in, maybe the only highlight of my weekend otherwise was heading out with Mr. Warehouse and my other work colleagues to celebrate (or commiserate) the leaving of another member of staff in the sales department, a lovely gentleman with a sick sense of humour and a shark-like hairdo. 

By the time Mr. Warehouse and I had arrived at the first pub of the evening my feet were soaked from the pissing rain. And so, dress clinging to my body making me look like a boobalicious washed up seal, I headed to the bathroom in order to attempt a blow dry of both myself and my clothes. Sadly to say the shoes and my hair, of which I had spent some time on, was unsalvagable. Onwards and upwards I thought. Necking my Vodka and orange, vodka supplied from my house and carried in a handbag, we headed onto the next place - A high end, extortionately priced cocktail bar, The Auction Room, away from the strip of Bedford town centre. "Alright for some," I thought, wondering how much my colleagues had been paid that day, all in the knowledge that it was another eight-days before my money would hit my account!

Getting a cheap bottle of Cider, I joined my other half and friends over on some plush sofa's whilst we sipped our drinks and made small talk. I took a moment to notice our surroundings and revelled in the fact that last time I was here I was with Mr. Cheese and company. Now I was with work colleagues, some of which looked very comfortable together. Very, very comfortable indeed! Putting it down to alcohol it wasn't until later that some of these feelings towards certain people was very much unappreciated and in a polite way, a gropingly vulgar
nuisance to both the recipient and others whose distaste for such thing in public matched my own - Shocked and outraged!

Nevertheless the evening continued and into another bar we went. Although this time it was our usual haunt! The Rose on Bedford's High Street. However this time there was no dancefloor! No DJ. No Disco. No Bumping and Grinding to be had! With several tables adorning the dancefloor area and disappointed to say the least we had one drink and then headed next door to another old favourite, a Yates! Hitting the dancefloor almost as soon as we got in there and having a good time as usual, we enjoyed being in each others company. Aside from the lack of bar staff and increasingly outrageous behaviour from some party-goers, I was having a good time. I think I had found my place for the evening - The four-person-deep bar in the background, dancefloor and lights everywhere and four Sminoff Ice for Six-Quid I had minimal complaints! Now yes, I acknowledge the fact that Sminoff Ice is something for the younger audience of a restaurant-come-bar but I am more broke than the Pigeon lady from Home Alone.

So as the moments drifted by in a hazzy-blur, I had noticed that a few faces had left in quite a rush. Where they went no-body knows but I have my suspicions?! Carrying on dancing and having a good time I noticed there was an altercation with one of the bouncers. Going over to see what was happening it was apparent my Mummy of the office (who has actually now left to go on to do bigger and better things but is still invited on nights out and so therefore still an integral part of my life) was being chucked out. Why? Because apparently she had been asked by a bouncer once before to put her heels back on as she had taken them off which was very common for my Office Mom! Having none of it the bouncer chucked her out. At that point my Office Dad stepped in to explain in his drunken slur that is was not OK to do that and treat someone that way. And then he got chucked out. The guy who was leaving stepped in at this point, equally intoxicated as the last who tried it on and again, was escorted off site. And if they went we all did. So grabbing our things we headed to the rainy streets outside, putting a downer on everything. 

But as if that wasn't enough, someone had stolen some coats belonging to Office Dad and the guy who was leaving. Becoming the mother of drunkards I took it upon myself to go back inside and look for them. Well that and the fact by this point I was the only one that wasn't barred. Coming back with nothing we continued onto the nightclub next door although with the night on such a southern turn it wasn't long before Mr. Warehouse and I called it a night. Reluctantly on my part as I still wanted to carry on, but the Boyfriends tooth was hurting him so it was probably best that we left together before I got annoyed at him for just moping in the corner. 

The rest of the weekend pretty much has been wasted browsing holidays I am not going on and begrudging the fact that I am not somewhere in Europe right now talking to you as I try not to think of my desk tomorrow. And another bank holiday is over, the longest one we get every year, Easter, is over with and I did nothing but boil in my own annoyance and ordering our new arrival to go and poo. This time next year I will be somewhere other than Bedfordshire on Easter ... Trust Me!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Queen Eliz-a-bus and other stories from the annoyance of Public Transport!

Evening Everyone, 

So day in and day out I make the journey to work, like most people. Some people cycle, and, on the odd occasion I join them. Some lucky people drive, and, I do not join them. And with that it leaves the rest of us all commuting via public transport. Now if it so happens that you live in Europe, where public transport is some of the best in the world in my view (despite hardly ever using it) or if you live in a big, well connected city like London or another capital town such as Manchester, Edinburgh or Dublin then public transport pretty much sucks ass. 

I am a well established 'Bus Wanker' - A term coined from hit UK Telly show 'The Inbetweeners' as a mean derogatory term used for those whom have not yet purchased their own piece of metal on wheels. Now please don't get me wrong I would love to learn to drive and afford my own car but with salaries are being kept at minimum inflation rates both here in Britain but also probably across the world which means any hope of me learning, passing, buying and finally getting on the road are nigh on impossible on my annual income, especially since I have over £700.00 worth of rent, gas, water, electricity and food bills coming out not to mention council tax and the likes coming out of my bank every month it is expensive enough to live alone without throwing a car into the mix as well.

A while ago now, there I was being contacted by an Agency as I was out of work at the time and they have a job that is perfect, the boss thinks I'm fit for the job in hand and all is set up ready for me to start as soon as possible. But wait. What is this? They refuse to give me employment simply because I don't drive and so using public transport would be an inconvenience for them as a company and apparently dangerous for me to travel down long country roads after and before work. This is ridiculous and I cant believe that employers are actually getting away with this. Why would you advertise a job with an immediate start date and urgently needing to be filled if your going to refuse people that are willing to commute and are willing to work. It makes no sense. I wouldn't have minded if it had said "Driving license required" or "Needs to drive due to rural location" but no, nothing. I cant see how this would be missed off a job advertisement if it was essential or at least a preference from an employer. Surely if someone is willing to commute nearly an hour and a half they are good enough for the job. I call this false advertising of the worst kind; getting someones hopes up in offering them a job and then turning them down, just because they don't drive.

I read on-line recently that a lady was offended by the endearing term 'Bus Wanker' and most upset she took to Twitter to voice her concerns: "Whats wrong with the bus, i like it, you get to meet random people of all types, you get a free Metro to read, you can listen to your ipod, you can chat to interesting people, or drink a coffee or can of lemonade etc, have lunch on the run etc. why?" Well dearest questioner, let me enlighten you as to why *Cue twinkly fairytale music*

I think some of the worst things about having to use public transport is the fact that it is always late. Most people who know me are well aware of my inability to be on time for anything (despite my New Years Resolution of 2015) but buses, in all and every capacity I think, are just beyond silly sometimes. You could meet a man, get married, have 3.4 children with him, divorce and then have a heart attack all in the time it takes for the sodding bus to arrive. It always seems as well that buses and trains are never punctual when you need them to be. Job interviews, meetings and appointments, all of them cancelled, post-poned or delayed because of some technical error or human cock-up!

Something that has really annoyed me recently and for the last like forever is this. When your terribly late for something, job interview, work or meeting friends then it is the ultimate frustration when you get onto a bus or a train in that matter of fact and it ends up not going anywhere. Now obviously the reason for this is that it is not scheduled to leave once I am on board, but its annoying when your in a hurry and you need to get somewhere fast. Then, when it is time to go it just poodles on down the road, or tracks without a care in the world. No urgency. Just bumbling along like its on a jolly kids cartoon. Really gets on my nerves!

Another thing that really gets on my wick is this. I'm on a bus on the way to somewhere of importance. Nothing is awry, Bus is on time and I'm happily hungry so I crack out my nachos that I have just bought from a bangin' High Street food chain we all know and love (especially after a night out) - Subway. There I am tucking into a quick snack when a little old lady, sweet as you like pokes her nose in and points at the sign on the bus door. 'No food or drink allowed to be consumed on this bus' it reads. Courteously yet peeved and wishing the Grim Reaper was lurking about, I stop and put my nachos away. "Moany old bag, just on you way for a coffin fitting are we dear?" I thought, angrily. I think someone must have been jealous, I mean who does she think she is - The bus queen. Her Majesty Stagecoach. Queen Eliz-a-bus. I don't think so!

So as the bus pulls out of the station I am starting to get more and more agitated at the fact she has halted my munch time! About ten minutes into the journey I notice an Asian mother and her children on the bus when the mother gives her child a pear. I think nothing of it until it dawns on me that the Bus Queen is not interrupting their snacking. Why I think? Maybe it is because if a little old white lady in her seventy's asked an Asian women to stop her little Asian boy from eating a pear on board a bus then she would probably be shown the racist card and maybe even the finger coupled with a few choice words. So I keep quiet but secretly think to myself about how an adorable Asian boy with curly locks and big brown cow-eyes can eat a pear with his Mummy but me, a single twenty-something young (beautiful, intelligent, witty) women isn't allowed to eat her nachos in peace. I mean it's not like there is a law stating that you cannot eat on the bus. Smoking is illegal (In the UK anyway) but consumption food or beverage is not 'Queen Eliz-a-bus' so next time butt out, or my nachos will be going splat-chos all over your face. 

And with that I now come to the end of a long rant about public transport and retire to my bed, where I will rise in the morning and take the bus to work. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx