The Deadly Virus

Heyy, 

Coming back down to earth and to the daily grind was hard last week, but heaven knows how hard Mr Warehouse and I were about to fall. Last week I said that I supposed our next beachy holiday will be our Honeymoon, however, with recent developments, this is looking unlikely. It is so hard for me to write this, even now as I type I am brushing tears from my eyes for I know the inevitable, and yet at the same time I know nothing at all. 

Since banning all weddings and marriage celebrations from 23 March 2020, the UK government has been sketchy at best on Weddings or civil partnerships, however, since 4 July in England weddings can now take place with up to 30 guests. At this point, hours away from our holiday to Cornwall, Mr Warehouse and I considered it. Obviously, it is an option and for many, this could work fine, and for many, many more they would have to make it work, if at all. Others simple refuse and make the heartbreaking decision to postpone their date. 

As quoted from the Gov.uk website, "legally-valid ceremonies or formations are strongly advised to go ahead only where they can be done in a COVID-19 secure environment (Whatever that means and thanks BoJo for the clarity). It is also advised that the ceremonies are kept as short as reasonably possible and limited as far as reasonably possible to the parts of the ceremonies that are required in order for the marriage or civil partnership to be legally binding. No more than 30 people should attend a marriage or civil partnership, where this can be safely accommodated with social distancing in a COVID-19 secure venue." In short, this means no singing, no choir (namely in our circumstances due to age and health issues which would consider them in a COVID-vulnerable category, not to mention being unable to learn 2 new songs by the time our day rolled around). It also means for us that it would not even be 30 people as we need to include in that group our photographer, videographer, Reverand and at least 2 witnesses. 

In conjunction with this, "Large wedding receptions or parties should not currently be taking place and any celebration after the ceremony should follow the broader social distancing guidance of involving no more than two households in any location or if outdoors, up to six people from different households" and again would need to include photographer, videographer, bar staff & waiting staff, taking our total down to even less. We calculated just 19 people could come to our special day.  

Following the UK Government Coronavirus announcement late last week and drafted on the basis of the scientific evidence available, from 1 August, "small wedding receptions will be able to take place". What does this mean? What is small? What is a reception inclusive or exclusive of? The guidance means that a sit-down-meal for no more than 30 people is to take place, again subject to COVID-19 Secure guidance.

For us as a couple, the thirty guests allowance simply would not work, and for many reasons. As the Gov.uk website states "Marriages and civil partnerships are a vital part of our society, uniting couples to start their new life together and affording certain legal rights. However, by their very nature, in bringing families and friends together, they are particularly vulnerable to the spread of COVID-19." How can I have a wedding with only a handful of our nearest and dearest? It is simple we cant. As frustrating as it is, I cannot simply cut my guest list and tell someone they were invited but now "really sorry you have not made the final cut". That is just not fair. Almost as much so that Mr Warehouse and I even need to consider this as a damned option on what should be the happiest few months of our lives. 

For us, as a couple trying to marry in 2020 it is a huge uphill struggle; Every. Single. Day. The constant questions are creeping in and I fathom their anxiety and awkwardness in asking as much as being asked. Or what is worse is the hesitation from friends and family we are slowly starting to meet up with again is agonising to watch them wrestle with themselves about whether they do or dont ask about wedding planning and how it is all going for fear of upsetting us. As I sit here thinking, sighing loudly so Number 10 can hear, I think about what it may be like, A Corona-Wedding?! I am not sure how I feel about it. Masks everywhere, no hugging and limited celebrating if you can even call it that. 

Since Lockdown began, over 73,600 weddings and same-sex civil partnership ceremonies have been postponed. I am just hoping that I am not one of them ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Taking The Piss ...

Hi There, 

So after last weeks escapades in Ireland, and after spending a fair amount on PANDORA in Ireland's sale season (although I must admit I did grab some great bargains) both me and my bank manager were more than happy I was finally on a flight back to Blighty. Now I am back home, sat on my sofa as Mr. Warehouse plays GTA and the dog plays ball with her imaginary friend (or the resident ghostie - I don't know), but with coming back home comes also the unrelenting stress of my situation with Mr. Warehouse and how financially we will be able to afford the next few weeks. 

I am concerned about money and the lack of it, especially what with the upcoming events such as the wedding of Mr. Warehouse's cousin in Newquay, mounting birthday's and my upcoming (and much needed) summer break away with the Tweedles. I would like to go back to a day whereby neither of us thought twice about heading out for dinner on a Friday night coming home from work or going to the cinema for a mid-week flick. But I suppose that in the long run we will be able to do that, just for now we will have to give it up for a short time before Mr. Warehouse is back on his feet and financially we are more stable. The fact that I am working two jobs and still struggling with finances I think speaks volumes, but as the British always say, it doesn't rain but always pours and this was certainly true for me this past week. 

Getting in from my driving lesson I helped Mr. Warehouse in preparing dinner and feeding the dog. It was just gone seven in the evening. Settling down I had said to the boyfriend that something didn't feel right and I could sense another bout of Cystitis coming on. Now for those that don't know, Cystitis is a bacterial infection that mainly affects women and causes issues such as retention of urine, burning when urinating or indeed more serious issues to do with your bladder, kidneys and sexual organs. The condition doesn't just make life with the infection annoying and uncomfortable, but for me can go from normal to crippling pain within an hour and this, coupled with the urgent need to pee and the frustration of nothing coming out but still feeling a full bladder, is some of the worst pain I have ever felt in my entire life. This is exactly what happened on Thursday night. 

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since I had arrived back home from my trip to Southern Ireland when I started to feel the onset of yet another infection and given the fact that I had been suffering from recurrent Cystitis and Thrush Combo's since March I was pretty fed up when I could feel another one coming along. Knowing that if I didn't act soon I would be wanting to claw my insides out with a fork by the time I went to bed, I took some paracetamol and a salt sachet you can buy over the counter and hoped it would clear up in a few days. I didn't even get into a few hours for as the moments were passing sat watching telly with my boyfriend the agony started. Constantly up and down going to the toilet I couldn't bear this much longer and decided to call the doctors whom passed my call through to the local hospital. It was serious now and by the time they told me that a prescription would be waiting for me to collect it at the local Accident and Emergency department I was crying, bent over doubled in pain on my bathroom floor. 

Being in the situation I am, what with no car and a limited income, I asked the doctor who I spoke to about getting the prescription written out so I could collect the tablets at the hospital and he explained that since the Pharmacy shut an hour earlier that I would have to go to an all night stockist. There would be no other option than to get a cab across town to collect the written prescription, then get the cabbie to drive to an all night Pharmacy to collect it and then back home so I could take it. Stressed and unable to deal with the situation and with nowhere else to turn I called my Dad. Reaching out for him to help was something I rarely did, only because I knew he doesn't have a great past record in helping me out when I'm in a pickle. Dialling his number I was sure he could help and as he answered and heard me in floods of tears he asked me to calm down and explain everything. 

After going through all of what I had already tried and expanding on the situation that was in hand I asked for his help. 
"Can you come and collect me and take me to where I need to go, Please Dad?" I said through broken croaks and tears. I was not expecting the response being that he was ready for bed and couldn't help because in his own words 'by the time I come and collect you, the trips could already be made and you would be back home'. He lives under a half-hour from his door to mine, a town down on the train line in Flitwick - Not the next county he would have you believing. I just didn't understand. He was my Dad. He knew the stress I was under with money. He knew the financial situation I was in with Mr. Warehouse and the likes. And yet still he did not help. Nothing. Scared and worried about what was going to happen, Mr. Warehouse had enough of the seeing me in pain and had called a cab already, ushering me into the back of it as I clutched at my abdomen and attempting small talk with my father. 

Sure enough I was up to A&E in no time, over to the Pharmacy and back home within the space of forty-minutes, no thanks to my father of course. A patronising phone call from his girlfriend and a follow-up call in the morning tried to justify his actions but nothing made a difference; I was still out of pocket nearly thirty-quid in taxi fares not to mention the twenty-pound prescription costs! Got to love the NHS and all their charges for working people haven't you. The last conversation ended with my father saying that if I needed any financial help or anything else then just to call him. But correct me if I am wrong, but that is what I had already done, wasn't it? Reached out for help when I needed it the absolute most? And he couldn't be bothered? Why the hell would I ask for anymore help when my Dad has been unable to help in several situations before? 

I have spoken to Miss Tweedle-Dumb and other friends back home and further afield than Flitwick and all of them had scolded me for not coming to them next and asking for their help. I suppose naively I thought my Father would help me. Obviously not. If it was one of his girlfriends niece's, nephews or other family members it would have been a very different scenario. Everything would have been dropped and they would be straight round, helping and rallying around to try and do whats best, but for his own daughter it was lost. Since then I haven't spoken to him and at the movement I just dont want to. He hasn't even apologised or tried to offer a constellation prize for not being there as a Father, nothing! Its too raw for me to speak with him at the moment and need some time to cool off before I speak to him or his girlfriend again. I knew my mother was a piece of work but two crappy parents? Come on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx