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 

Beware - The Stagsden Hag!

Evening All, 

Standing in the freezing cold and blustery wind that I thought was going to take me off like Mary Poppins, my frustration and anger was growing minute by minute that we sat in the car park of our future wedding venue, Stagsden Village Hall. For weeks I had been trying to arrange an appointment whereby I could view the building again with a fresh pair of eyes and alongside my fiance Mr Warehouse after we had booked it for our special day. Finally, after some communication issues, I was told that the original lady though we had met on site the first time that we viewed The Village Hall that she has now moved on and how work commitments meant she could not dedicate enough time to the running and upkeep of the village hall and its users. 

With this in mind, I had been put in touch with another lady who assured me that she would be here. The difference was that we were not alone and accompanied also by a potential caterer who had met us on site in order to see the facilities that he would be working with in order to give us some scope for a menu. 
"This was getting ridiculous" I raged to Mr. Warehouse and the caterer as the wind howled and I stormed around the property. It was now nearly half an hour later than planned and after getting up at the crack of dawn in order to make it for my 9:30am appointment, I was seriously vexed at being seemingly stood up. All things considered, the delay would not have been a huge problem had I been alone and had not consumed 4 bottles of wine the previous evening along with Miss Hackney who had come round for gossip and to offload on the week she had. 

Fragile to say the least I had been up until about midnight drinking only to then get up early the next morning in order to drive Mr Warehouse to work at approximately 5:30am. So yes, I am sure that my patience was quite thin anyway and my temper was wearing by each minute that slipped by. 
"I could have been in bed asleep, or binge-watching craft and life hacks on YouTube, or maybe even hitting the road for a morning run?!" I fumed to my entourage. So many more things that I could be doing better than standing around waiting for someone to turn up if at all. I was constantly calling the numbers that I had for the village hall which were only one or two. When no one answered I decided to email an urgent request to the contacts I had, and again to no avail. 

Just as we had discussed with the caterer that there was to become a time where none of us could wait around all day, a large red people carrier came bungling into the gravel car park and out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties and a gentleman about ten-years-older. She asked for my name and said that she was here to set up for a party the following day. I jokingly said with a little bit of annoyance in my voice that I hoped she had a number and had prearranged an appointment since no one had actually turned up for ours. The lady and gentleman explained that they had booked the whole the following day for a party and that they were there today to set up in preparation and to collect the keys. 

It was at this point that I started to get angrier and started to wonder if something sinister had happened. Just as the caterer had come to say he was unable to stay any longer a silver sports car come whizzing into the gravel car park, nearly missing some of us standing around and pulled up to a halt outside the front door. Out popped a chirpy retiree who had mentioned "good morning". Barely being able to hold back after waiting around for nearly an hour I marched over and asked what had happened which made her late for our appointment. She scowled back at me the caterer and Mr Warehouse and proceeded to explain that our meeting was at 10:30am and she was not late. 

Taking a deep breath and mustering all I could by not wanting to smack a bitch in the face, I allowed her to open up the village hall as I explained that I was not the 10:30am appointment and that this was the poor woman and her gentleman friend behind me that had arrived on time to set up the venue. 
"Oh yes well there must have been a mistake and I do apologise but it is of course run by volunteers don't you know" was her response, to which I could handle no more. I made the gestures that we should probably rearrange a better and more suitable time that would be convenient for both of us since there was already someone setting up the hall to which the retired old hag just ushered us in and said to look around. I didn't feel comfortable and explained that the lady and gentleman in the car park had hired the hall and were clearly setting up for an event that they did not need anyone wondering around taking photos or getting in the way when they have hired and paid good money. On hearing this, however, the lady who was setting up the hall with her friend was quite sweet and had said they did not mind us walking around and taking photos if necessary as it was clear there had been a major misunderstanding. So nice! 

Accepting I walked off with my caterer in toe, dashing for the kitchen, Mr Warehouse following and maybe throwing a tut or sigh about the place as he went. However last Stagsden Village Hall is large in comparison to its other contenders we had on the list, it was no stately home and on many occasion, I kept bumping into either the lady and her gentleman friend setting up or the old bag herself. At some point, a group of two or three workmen came in to assess the state of the foyer to lay down some new flooring and then a few moments later another elderly gentleman joined the "Stagsden Hag", tinkering about with the Gas and Electric metres in the middle of the corridor. 

Frustrated beyond belief I think the woman figured that I wasn't best pleased that her and tried to stay out of my way. When it came time to leave I asked her for her mobile number so that this incident would not happen again. Yet again she ran off the bullshit spiel that this is "run by volunteers and there must have been a mistake", that was until I pulled up the email which clearly stated the date and time of which our appointment was. Now I acknowledge that as a side note I was probably a little ratty that day. A combination of very little sleep, lack of food and my bloodstream being made up of at least 30% Rose I was in a foul mood. Add in the fact that it was incredibly windy and very cold as well, all whilst I was on time (which anyone who knows me knows this is a rarity in itself) and someone else was late. I suppose in a way that I have blown this a little out of proportion but the way I see it is that I am sure I will laugh about this in years to come however at the moment I am still narked. Mr Warehouse and I left there Saturday morning, hoping against all hopes, that the "Stagsden Hag" would not be the one handing over our keys the day before our wedding next year. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Crackling Idea!

Ola!

Still we are on our hunt for a videographer, however this time they are taking a back seat as Mr Warehouse and I start to look into catering again. Following the blog posts previous with our "The Gluttonous Guest List" and the dreaded "'W' Word" we have cautiously started to embark on the next voyage of discovery and financial entrapment! After settling down to a rough number for our guest list back before Christmas, we calculated a round figure and cost per head and sent it out to as many caterers as we could find and think of, stating that the event we were catering for was a "family meal" rather than the 'W' word as it seems to add on an extra thirty or forty percent to the total bill for no apparent rhyme or reasoning. Essentially this is still true since the only difference between a genuine family meal and a wedding is that I am going to be sitting in a fat white dress. 

Ideally, we were, still are really, looking for a sit-down meal consisting of 2-courses and finishing with our wedding cake as dessert handcrafted hopefully by a family friend. The catering facilities at Stagsden Village Hall are very basic and minimal as it is an old school house, however, they do have two ovens with hobs and a fridge plus crockery, glasses and tableware we are able to use. Now I was quite understanding, as was Mr Warehouse, that we were not going to get Foie Gras or Duck Breast for our wedding breakfast, however, we were anticipating something simple yet effective.

After multiple caterers coming back to tell us our budget was outside of what they could do for us, we had not one but two catering companies that were able to supply us with a quote and even some sample menus. My fiance and I had asked commonly requested things from anyone providing food for an event such as if the price included VAT or whether they work with fresh or frozen food and how would they handle last-minute requests or changes.  However, after several back-and-forth emails and questions, the caterers stated that "After careful consideration and a discussion with the team [the catering company] are unable to cater for your event, as it wouldn't be cost effective for us to do so due to your requirements and budget. Unfortunately we may have crossed wires throughout e-mails, as [the catering company] were unaware that the catering required was for a Wedding as no mention of this throughout the correspondence and that our Wedding packages start from £30.00 + VAT per head due to the preparation involved and the high standard of service we like to provide for our brides." 

Be it a wedding, family event or Uncle Eric's funeral, you would expect the same level of service and ergo the same price per head. But Ohhh No! Furious at being asked to pay nearly treble the original cost quoted, for a menu, Mr Warehouse and I were extremely happy with, I emailed them back. The catering company replied by attempted to justify the price increase, stating that they "feel from the original enquiry, there was a different impression of the type of catering and service required and anticipated only sending a maximum of two members of staff. We understand when you have said that you would not be fussy about the preparation, but for a Wedding, there will be a lot more involvement to go towards making your Day a special occasion and we can’t offer this type of service for under our standard Wedding price of £30 + VAT per head."

At the time I was so angry and just could not believe that the mere mention of the word wedding would increase the price by nearly twenty-quid per head! That is where my gorgeous Husband-to-be came in with his idea of Italian Family style eating. Imagine heaping platters of delicious food brought directly to the guests' table. No waiting in long buffet lines or figuring out which table goes first. Family style is a beautifully presented and relaxed style of dining, that makes guests or event attendees feel right at home. Platters, full of fresh food, delivered to each table so that guests can enjoy a relaxed meal without leaving their seats. Something I had never thought of, however, the more I think about it the more I like it. And again we are back at the drawing board, sending out quotation requests to as many caterers as we could find and think of and find within a thirty-mile radius. Ideally, we would be looking for a Hog Roast man, just as it is easy and most people are happy with that for a main along with a few pasta dishes, salads and tatties. Not only that but it also lends itself to being great for evening guests too as when the dancefloor becomes too hot they can chill out with a pig in a bun and crackling on the side!

Other than the catering, most of the sourcing of suppliers has been done and the booking process won't be much far behind that. Since Mr Warehouse keeps insisting that we can't afford a holiday this year (I think we can with a variety of vouchers, money off codes and a good old haggle) I have thrown myself head first into Wedding Planning and some would say maybe neglect my gorgeous Hubby-To-Be, putting all of my focus and energy into planning our dream day. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Drain-Pipe Dreams

Hiya, 

I suppose, as it is for most engaged couples another weekend in paradise and another wedding fayre Mr Warehouse and I are off to! What with having to call out breakdown yet again for no less than a third time in less than six weeks for my little Vivienne who was unable to start because of battery troubles and Mr warehouse encountering at very much a similar scenario with his motorbike stuck on a building site, outside our new home in the middle of the Bedfordshire countryside for nearly five hours as he awaited to be recovered back home we were certainly ready to have a relaxing couple of days off. After the week me and my Fiance (still love saying that) have endured we were more than excited to wander round wedding fayres at overly priced venues, sipping champagne to pass our time despite the miserable weather outside. 

Although I came crashing down to reality this morning when I received a phone call from the housing association. Answering I heard a familiar although melancholy voice on the other end of the line. Over the last few months the house had slowly ground to a halt in terms of any updates. After jumping through several hoops and bending over backwards in order to get our Mortgage Offer back in July of this year, Mr Warehouse and I was told that our initial handover date when the builders would have fully completed the property, inside and out, ready to hand over to the housing association that we were purchasing half of the property with would be mid-August. With this in mind we hoped that we would have a completion date and moving in prior to Mr Warehouse's birthday, plenty of time to move our stuff in and get settled with even a few moments to steal in our new garden before the sun eventually made its departure for the winter. Handover Date Move Number One! I was told that it would be another couple of weeks or so and with that Mr Warehouse and I prepared for a move around or even on the Bank Holiday Weekend in August!

However after hearing nothing and following the long weekend off, I spoke to the gentleman who had initially sold us our new home but sadly he did not have the news that we were hoping for and that the properties had not been handed over. Handover Date Move Number Two! In fact, what had happened that morning was a rather important and integral meeting between the builders and developers of the plots and the housing association. The local housing association had basically said that they were not happy with the standard of homes they were being given and that given the amount of snagging that needed to be done it may be some time before they would accept any sort of property from the builders and developers. Unfortunately the estate agents were not privy as to what the snagging was or how long it could potentially be. The reality was that it was all internal and nothing structurally was wrong with the build, theoretically meaning that the snagging could simply be down to the fact that the paint job isn't done to a high enough standard or that a screw isn't screwed in properly to a door handle. 

I asked for a new handover date so our little family could try and calculate a rough idea of a completion / exchange date and therefore a move date so we could organise things like TV, broadband and get some quotes or book a removal company for the big day. Again, I was told that it would be about a week and with that crap news returned to my desk and emailed the Boyf the bad news and although Mr. Warehouse and I had a few things planned on the run up to my birthday weekend we were still looking forward to moving into our new home shortly. 

However as we neared our third provisional handover date from the builders and developers to the housing association I had another phone call. Handover Date Move Number Three! It was at this point I nearly dropped the milk as the new handover date was being pushed until the end of December 2018. Frustrated and angry I had to keep calm and remember that I was in a lucky position that I would be one day able to afford my own place of safety, tranquillity and warmth; something that many people across the globe even tonight will not have. 

The following morning I checked my emails only to see a reply from the housing association, apologising profusely for the fact that they would have to postpone the handover date although with this came a small silver lining. Handover Date Move Number Four! The email did go on to say the new handover date was to be expected on the 28th of September 2018, three-months earlier than anticipated the day before. Mr Warehouse and I were assured that this would be the final change and hopefully everything would be handed over and we would be in our home just in time for Halloween! 

But sure as sure can be, as the date grew closer I had another dreaded phone call. Handover Date Move Number Five! As before I was told our new handover date would be would be postponed another week due to snagging and lack in quality that the Housing Association were expecting. Trying to hammer down an exact reason as to why the snagging was still continuing to be an issue and so I tried a softer approach in order to try and get a definitive handover date that would not move - Friday 5th of October 2018. 

As the next few days passed in a blur of meetings, I had a frantic phone call from Mr Warehouse asking if I had seen the most recent email from the housing association. I had not. On opening up my emails I could see what he was so upset and angry about. Handover Date Move Number Six! With less than 48 hours to go until we were expecting handover to take place, I was now reading an email that stated this would not be the case. Our new handover date? Over a fortnight away on Friday 19th of October 2018. Fuming and almost on the brink of losing my rag with everyone involved in our house buying process I called my contact at the housing association and asked her what gives. She basically told me in not so many words what I was reading between the lines of her email to me and the other future-neighbours on the street in that the list of snagging issues that had been brought to the attention of the builders had not actioned appropriately. Nothing more to say or do I ended the phone call and informed Mr Warehouse to keep him in the loop.

With the whirlwind of family dramas, wedding planning and my mounting workload I was looking forward to potentially having a week off to move into our new home, although cutting it fine for the spooky season of Halloween and "Trick-Or-Treat-ers". Only this morning I answered a phone call I had been hoping wouldn't come. Handover Date Move Number Seven! As with the last times the postponing was as a result of poor quality of work, although this time my Housing Association contact was not so coy with her responses. She blatantly admitted that the list of snagging given to the builder the last time over two-weeks ago had not been done at all and now we were to be expecting a provisional new Handover of 31st October 2018. But wait - There was more ... 

Continuing our conversation I could sense that the person on the other end of the phone line was nervous and anxious about something. It was then that she dropped the bombshell! Turns out that the floor plans that we were initially shown at the point of sale with the building specifications and dimensions were wrong. And not by a little either. The plan that my Fiance and I were sold was that upstairs on the first floor following on from the stairs positioned on the right-hand side of the property, we were expecting to have the main bathroom right in front of us with a large privacy window so as to allow for natural light, followed by the two double bedrooms to the front and the back of the property. Although this had changed from our initial plans and now will be the main bathroom sandwiched between the two double bedrooms and will not include a privacy window potentially making it dark and unnaturally lit.

On the ground floor as you come in the front door you would be greeted by the staircase on your right hand side as before. To your left would be the kitchen in a horse shoe shape with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall. Next door on the left hand side would be the downstairs bathroom which would include a privacy window facing out to our driveway. Entering through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be rectangular Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and leading out into our large garden through a patio door which would also have an adjacent window. Whilst the layout of the ground floor still contains the staircase on your right hand side and the same horse shoe shaped kitchen with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall, the downstairs bathroom was now to be positioned under the stairs on the right rather than the left meaning that a privacy window would not exist. Continuing through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be a now "L-shaped" Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and eating into the area where the downstairs bathroom was supposed to be. 

Shocked and Gobsmacked I asked about the reasons why this had happened and how out had only been now, several months down the line into buying our first time that we were finding these details out. Furious I was ready to call the builders and rip them a new arsehole. That was until my Housing Association contact explained that in actual fact the floor plans, initial dimensions and specifications for the house had changed in the very early days of the build process. The house builders and developers themselves had actually been very upfront with their decisions and had explained fully to the housing association the builders change in plans and layout. Unfortunately it would have appeared that this information was not passed through to the sales people within the housing association itself and that our property and our Semi'd neighbour were sold the properties on the basis of the homes being a completely different layout to what they were being built as. 

Taking it all in I ended the phone call and called Mr Warehouse immediately to try and discuss our options. The contact at the housing association of was sincerely apologetic for the fact that there had been a huge fuck up and had explained that because of all of this that we would be well within our right to withdraw from our contract to buy going on to state that the responsibility would also live with the housing association in order to make payments to our solicitors, mortgage lender and mortgage broker, reimbursing us totally for our cost and making us at ground zero again. 

The other option we have is to suck it up and live with it, literally. The fact of the matter was that Mr Warehouse and I were already highly committed to this purchase and with such a huge investment of most if not every penny of our savings we will have not much choice. Obviously in a way it is nice to see a housing association company as large as this one looking out its future customers, making sure that the homes are up to scratch and safe (even if it is on selfish terms as if anything was to go wrong we would be calling up the housing association to come and put it right rather than the builders or developers) but quite frankly selling us a house that was completely built not in the specified way we were told it would be is not on. 

And there I was saying that buying a house was not stressful at all. Where we go from here I don't know but one thing is for certain and that is that me and Mr Warehouse will need to view the property in person before we make any snap decisions. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Boiling Blood and Melting Hearts!

Heyy, 

Booking some much needed time away from my desk and off work was certainly what the doctor ordered. With the last few months being a bit of a whirlwind in terms of emotions and life events and as suggested by several people including Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat, I decided a couple of days off for rest and recuperation to relax has been beneficial. 

I did have a few things planned and on Wednesday I booked to get my hair done, but alas a relaxing afternoon in the hairdressers chair was postponed due to the fact of my hairdresser being poorly. As frustrating as that was it was annoying even more so as it was slap bang in the middle of the day at two in the afternoon and after it was cancelled with only half an hour to spare or so there was not much else I could do with my day. I suppose if I was a little bit more organised with my time then I could have found someone that would be able to do me a new 'do however I decided not to and just rebooked for a couple of weeks time. Here's hoping that none of my colleagues have the 7th of August off fingers crossed. 

Along with a nice long lye-in and some more crap daytime TV, Thursday started with going to my usual counselling sessions and therapy, although this week was the first of the NHS Treatments. The meeting itself was quite matter-of-fact and went through the different kinds of therapies the government in the UK now offers. Everything from group therapy sessions to CBT as well as one-to-one counselling and therapy however the waiting list is extremely long. It was suggested that the group therapy sessions would be better for myself although the two hour-long sessions either in the morning or an afternoon on a weekday may not be possible with my work schedule at the moment. I also question as to whether I would reap the benefits with up to ten people in a group. I suppose that it is just one of those things I will have to try and see if it works or not, and on the plus side I get to hear about other people's sob stories which will ultimately make me feel better about myself as harsh as that sounds. 

In the afternoon I had a doctor's appointment to discuss my ongoing medication and going forward with treating my depression. As expected the doctor has suggested that I continue with my medication at least for another month or so with a a check up in a month or so. Whilst the medicine I am on has finally stopped making me feel queasy and nauseous and regardless of how I feel much better and more back to normal, I know that coupled with counselling and therapy I will need to continue my treatment with pills, at least for the short-term. 

As Friday soon rolled around, I was really looking forward mine and Mr Warehouse's to a spa day in London, courtesy in part to Nanny Pumpkin's Christmas present to us both. After using the voucher back in April when Mr. Warehouse and I went for our aweful spa day and afternoon tea (which was OK actually) hosted by the Loch-Stress Monster, I complained and the company who sold us the voucher agreed to offer a return visit to a selected spa of our choice. Booking it in last week, Mr Warehouse and I were excited to be spending some quality time together with what we expected to be a gorgeous fruit platter, welcome drinks and some relaxing treatments. Arriving at the spa in London's busy Soho District it was a bit of a palaver to try and find parking and get the tubes through to where we needed to be. By the time we arrived it was only moments before our first treatments which meant that we did not have enough time to explore the spa or indulge in some of the areas as listed on the website such as the ice cave, sauna, steam room, pool or relaxation area. In fact we didn't even have enough time to get anything to eat beforehand and since it was nearly lunchtime we were both famished. But it didn't matter too much since we had a lovely fruit platter and welcome drinks to look forward to ... Right?

Wrong! As we approached the spa reception in order to check in for our treatments, dressed only in our swimwear and flip-flops, my thoughts drifted to what sort of delights would be on our fruit platter and welcome drinks. A young woman in her mid-twenties checked us in and took our voucher code from us. On asking politely for our fruit platter and welcome drinks to be brought to us in the relaxation area, I was promptly told that the fruit platter and welcome drinks package were no longer offered and had been this way for about a year or so. This baffled me slightly as I had only booked spa day a week ago and already had a few email confirmations from another lady on site that clarified our treatments times as well as that elusive fruit platter and welcome drink. Seemingly not bothered at all the young girl called through to the top reception and spoke to the lady I had been emailing to clarify on the fruit platter and welcome drinks we were advertised when booking. In between the young girl holding the phone away from her ear and then putting it back again I thought about how I calling the customer service in this establishment is especially for Central London and what from the advertising of products and treatments did not seem to be a cheap place to spend your time. As the spa receptionist ended her phone call with the lady one floor up she explained again how the package was no longer offered and therefore would not be something if they would be able to accommodate despite priding itself on being in a central Westminster location with a prestigious postcode and a Tesco's only a moments walk away with all the fruit you could ever think of being on a fruit platter. I am almost certain that if even that was a stretch, that maybe a cup of tea or coffee would have sufficed but even this seemed to be a step too far and something that was not offered to us despite explaining the fact that we had not eaten anything in anticipation for the delicious package. 

Thus so far our spa day was shaping up to be a bit of a non-starter and considering this was a effort by the voucher company to restore faith in their products and services it certainly was not going well. Up until that moment, no one had showed us around the spa or what facilities they had so I asked if this would be possible. The young girl just simply sat behind her reception desk and added to the already lacking customer service by pointing to the different areas that we would be able to use. Walking around ourselves, Mr Warehouse and I explored the areas including the sauna, steam room, showers and relaxation area. I was extremely disappointed to learn that along with the fruit platter and welcome drinks the ice cave did not exist. There was little enjoyment to be found in the pool as there were several swimming lessons / classes going on and the rest of the pool dedicated to medium or fast swimmer lanes, something of which myself and Mr Warehouse were not told at the time of booking our spa day or indeed when we arrived. 

Frustrated and disappointed entirely we headed back to the relaxation area in order to try and unwind before our treatments. Whilst the spa was extremely clean and well kept there was a lack of facilities that were advertised on the website had been a major let down and combined with the fact that the relaxation area was centred right by the reception desk and the changing facilities made for a less than relaxing time with the constant noise of dryers, showers which wasn't ideal. Now I understand that a spa or similar type environments will need changing facilities, dryers and showers which generate noise, the presence of a cleaner hoovering and what can only be described as workmen either drilling or hammering something in an area down the corridor only disrupted us further. 

Even as Mr Warehouse and I attempted to get some peace and quiet, the clicking of the receptionist mouse could still be heard loud and clear, something which only reminded me of my own daily grind sitting behind a desk which hindered my ability to try and relax. I don't know, maybe it is just me but I simply cannot understand why you would have a "relaxation" area located somewhere that can still be polluted with noises from the daily coming and goings of what can only at this point be described more as a leisure centre than a spa facility. 

Quite frankly I just wanted to get changed and leave as what had planned to be a relaxing and enjoyable day together spending some quality time was certainly not what it cracked up to be. As I was called in for my back, neck and shoulder massage plus a full body exfoliation, I wasn't expecting much although I must admit that the treatments themselves were wonderful and helped to take my mind off of things - That was until I came out of the treatment room only to find out that my 55 minute combination of treatments had actually only taken less than 40 minutes, again leaving me deflated and upset with the level of service I have received. Mr Warehouse however did say that his treatments were lovely and that the lady had even taking extra care due to Mr warehouses skin condition, also gave him advice about his pedicure treatment and elaborating on how he can keep his feet in the best possible condition with similar and more regular treatments. 

As frustrating and disappointing as our spa day was, it was meant to be a happy time where we could relax and recuperate together, getting excited about finally getting a home of our own. I think that Mr Warehouse would join me in saying that the last few months life has been a poisonous melting pot of my mental health issues, Mr. Warehouse's own health worries mixed together with a good helping of work dilemmas, family problems and the stress of buying a house. 

Leaving thus far almost immediately after Mr Warehouse had finished his treatments, we headed to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home in order to say hello to some of the unfortunate friends of the charity. Wandering around and looking at all the doggies in their little cages made us so sad that we just wanted to take all of them home. I was quite surprised to see a good few greyhounds as I expected there to be more staffies and bull-type breed dogs. It turns out after talking to members of staff working there that the greyhounds had outlived their Racing days and therefore were cast aside due to no longer being able to compete. There were also a couple of smaller dogs which took my fancy including a German Spitz called Teddy, a cute Patterdale Jack Russell who was rather barky and a gorgeous Alaskan Malamute called Damien. Although sadly after having a conversation with one of the adoption ladies, we were told that the likelihood of getting a puppy would be slim to none as we work during the day and would need to be home in order to take care of it. I think for me at least, the fact that my puppy or new friend would be neutered is a bit of a sore subject as I would want a boy dog that I may or may not want to stud from in the future. I think that it is for this reason that I would probably more so get a dog from a registered breeder rather than a re-homing centre such as Battersea. Obviously with a few weeks left to go before we hopefully (fingers crossed) move house, getting a puppy or even a adult dog is certainly far from my priority list.

Suffice to say that I have enjoyed the time away from my desk and the constant ringing telephone with customers, however with that being said I am definitely glad to be back to work today and into the normal swing of things and a routine I am familiar with. That been said I better get a shifty on as I am due to be meeting Miss Tweedle-Dee for some sushi and a catch-up in an hour - No rest for the wicked 'eh?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ahh The Youth Of Today!

Hello, 

I can certainly say that the last week has been much better than before. Whilst I am still stressed up to my eyeballs what with trying to find a solicitor that will actually communicate with me, source some little bits and pieces for our home and get a handle on my fluctuating depression, I have certainly found the last few days a little bit easier to deal with. Therapy this week was helpful and whilst I feel as though we are going over old ground with my mother and brother and that whole scenario, I feel as though this is a key component in trying to work out where I go from now and how best I go forward with my life and those in it. Life was just about manageable until Saturday morning happened. 

We had a new girl, maybe in her early twenties move in a couple of weeks ago, a lovely lass who seemingly appears to scrub up well when going on a night out and apparently had a toddler daughter that was due to be moving in with her soon. We hadn't spoken much to her if anything at all but seemed like she was a responsible and caring person, although sometimes the types of characters and people coming and going in and out of her flat were questionable sometimes. With most of her guests being young men or in their 20's and spending roughly about 20 minutes in her flat and then leaving, Mr Warehouse and I had our own ideas about what potentially they may be getting up to in such a short amount of time and I am sure you will make your own mind up also!

Saturday Morning however I was awoken at 6:45am by the iron gate at the side of our Alley-walk-way we shared with our new Neighbour being forcibly banged against the wall, clattering and clanging every time. Hoping it might have been the wind or rain bashing it against the wall periodically I rolled over, enjoying the free space that Mr Warehouse had given me when he went to work in the small hours of that morning. Not long after the clattering I heard a massive argument ensue which included grown men, about our age, yelling and shouting at each other. Getting up and out of bed to see what was going on I peered out of my bedroom window only to see fighting. 
"I've just buried my fucking Dad man and if your not careful I'll fucking bury you too" one lad shouted at another before storming off down the street, continuing the fight and even pushing and shoving each other on to the parked cars on the street. I heard the neighbours from upstairs shout down for them to pack it in. To be fair to them they did shut up for a short while before it erupted again, this time leading to glass bottles being thrown and smashed on the street outside our bedroom window. I could only assume that this was a drunken fuelled argument or spat that has happened between our new neighbours and/or her friends. 

Now honestly I don't mind the parties or even the copious amounts of lads that are in and out of that flat on a weekly basis, I am not bothered or fazed by this at all. However I am, I think, understandably pissed when I am awoken so early on a weekend morning to World War III kicking off outside my bedroom window. Thinking that there wasn't much left to do apart from just simply get up and have a coffee and maybe breakfast, I called Mr Warehouse and spoke to him about Jeremy Kyle Live that has just started outside our flat. Mr. Warehouse continued to explain that this had apparently been going since the very early hours over the morning when at three in the morning when he was awoken by our upstairs neighbours yelling down to the rowdy youths in order to keep the noise down as it was a quiet family street and we were all trying to sleep. When the Bae then went to work just a couple of hours later at 5 o'clock it was still going and whilst the music was quiet there was quite a lot of loud talking and running back and forth along the side of our Alley-walk-way. 

After the glass bottles were smashed outside on the street, there seemed to be a bit of a clean up operation in which the debris was cleared as best as possible, but with what appeared to be a spliff in one hand holding a red Cup probably containing a good measure of alcohol and the other hand in a desperate attempt to try and Sweep up what glass they could see with their beer Goggles on there is certainly a lot left to be desired. Flicking the kettle and rubbing my eyes I thank my lucky stars that I had my dressing gown on as two police officers were also called to the incident, I can only assume from the other residents on the street that were also awoken. Sipping my coffee as I watched some shit Saturday morning TV, all of which with one eye on the garden gate leading into our new neighbours flat of course. 

After summoning all my might to get dressed, I took the Pooch for a walk only to find that the glass was scarcely cleaned up and was still a bit of a mess, something which could also cause other children or other pets on the street harm not to mention possibly even puncturing Mr. Warehouse's bike when he comes home. I also noticed that because of the constant banging and slamming of the gate that our little sign is broken which welcomed visitors and warned them of our pup. Now whilst it cost under a fiver I still didn't appreciate that our property was being treated in this way and with such disrespect as well. 

Mr. Warehouse came home a few hours later and was the most angriest I have ever seen him. Seething, he ranted loudly about how disrespectful, rude and inconsiderate they were being. But what could we do? I had contacted my landlord a couple of hours after it had all kicked off and within minutes he had come storming round to the property, fuming that he was being taken for a ride and seemingly being made out to look like a mug. But now there were just as many people as before coming and going and coming back again, now even just standing around and having conversations in our garden. I felt quite uncomfortable and judging from the amount of alcohol that was going into the flat and comings and goings, I very much doubted that this would be ending anytime soon. 

Messaging my landlord again in one last ditch attempt to try and get something sorted before it's all got out of hand again. As before, within a few moments of me sending the message there was a car screeching to a halt and parking up outside. Not thinking much of that I saw my landlord storm right through past our flat and into the our new neighbours garden, banging on the glass and ushering for the lass to come out. 
"Woah who the fuck are you mate!" one bloke yelled obviously upset that his potential Beau had another older man banging at her window. 
"I'm the landlord of this place"  he answered as he marched the girl to the front of the property where they had a heated discussion, I can only assume (because I did not have my window open - Silly me) that she was being read the riot act and as a result would have to be on her best behaviour in order to keep a roof over her head. 

I think all of that had happened on Saturday without my Approval In Principle / AIP and Mr Warehouse and buy in the process of moving soon, it's almost certainly would have made my mood even worse. Not long now!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx