Let the wedding bells ring out

 Hello Hello,  

Snow defrosted and all snowmen melted (although I think we now have to refer to them and "snow people" just in case someone gets offended, commonly known rather ironically as a snow-flake) our lives in lockdown returned to normal - Whatever the fuck that is anymore. By mid-week, it was all but a long lost daydream and with our evening occupied with plans for the first time in months, I was excited. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was actually going to be talking wedding shit. Not "Oooh I hope it happens this year" or "Oh no COVID-safe wedding" blah blah blah. No. Certifiably exciting wedding shit.

After weeks of uncertainty and unknowing, anxious days of thinking non-stop about how our wedding might look. Will it go ahead, won't it go ahead? What are the restrictions, will we have to wear facemasks and is there any point in having all the expense? If it does go ahead how many people will we be allowed, will it be enough and who are the magic few? So many questions whirling around in my head it is no wonder I hadn't much sleep since Christmas. Because whilst everyone means well after the big man came down our chimney (socially distanced of course) the next question on everyone's lips was wedding, wedding, wedding.

As much as I knew that all our friends and family meant well by asking and only trying to maybe suck some happiness and excitement for finally a day where we could all be together again, I loathed the conversations and all that they entailed. That was until I had an honest and frank conversation with firstly my Matron of Honour - Mrs Tweedle-Dumb, and thereafter spurred on by our conversation (and the lure of a kebab) Mr Warehouse. We sat down on a Friday night to discuss and I had come up with several ideas such as a Humanist Ceremony (basically a non-religious and non-legally-binding ceremony focussing on each other as opposed to the holy one) switching up the venues to something smaller and less costly to accommodate the possibly smaller guest numbers and even the "P" word again.

As before, Mr Warehouse reassured me, if not heavily-handed due to the heated discussion (not helped by the chilli sauce laden lamb pitta). He made me more confident and happy that things are too uncertain at this moment in time to be making any rash decisions when no one knows what is happening next week let alone in four-months time. And so we took the decision that after touching on a few of the above ideas we would take them into consideration, add a pinch of salt and put it on the back burner until Easter when Government hopes to start opening life back up. Today the BBC confirms that the death toll is fading fast with only 406 being recorded today (Monday 01 February 2021), down just under a hundred on last Monday's figure. With the downturn in figures for people becoming infected as well as dying from the disease seems to suggest that the vaccines are working. What's even better news is that should the news be believed, the UK is not only on target but smashing the figures and expects that not only would we have vaccinated the top four categories of vulnerable people by mid-February, but that it is likely that this could be as soon as next week.

With all this in mind and focussing heavily the last few weeks since the kebab-convo, I have become engrossed in positivity and only accept positive vibes and attitudes. All Negative Nelly's and Grumple-Grumps need not apply. And so getting back to the beginning of this blog, our evening occupiedo. Armed with mountains of information from blogs, podcasts, news and more (Mainly from Guide For Brides and their weekly updates from the governments wedding taskforce so a big shout out to them for igniting such a firey intensity surrounding wedding planning again) Mr Warehouse and I scrabbled around for the laptop lead and the best lighting for our meet with the Reverand.

Much talking of flowers, hymns, singing (why do I hear Will Ferrell in the voice of "Elf" saying singing - Man I love that film) and readings were enough to keep me going. I had hoped Mr Warehouse would get just as excited as I was, maybe rubbing off on him a little, but I think a hard day in the pharmaceuticals industry with many more to come and the work-life causing mounting stress and frustration didn't help him to unwind or giddy about anything. And so June 12th here we come. Ideally with everyone. Even better with my Matron of Honour to be allowed to travel here from LA without visa restrictions or our nephew to wave at us from the crowded faces. The icing on the cake if we can have a dance and disco or cuddle - OMG! Dare I get too ecstatic? In any which way on the 12th of June, it will be me and Mr Warehouse and our Reverand standing up there, who else joins us along the way - Who knows?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

Direwolves & Dragon Queen's

Evening everyone, 

I am sick and tired of hearing and reading and listening to damned Coronavirus this and COVID-19 that. Fuck off back under the rock you crawled out from under, or the meat market you originated as the case may be. I suppose I should be grateful for one thing and that is more time to catch-up on what is on the box and popular on TV. One thing I have always been told was right up my street in terms of Telly and I would enjoy watching was Game of Thrones. Based on the bestselling book series by George R.R. Martin, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss create a masterpiece where Summer's span decades, Winter's can last a lifetime and the struggle for the Iron Throne begins. Now I will start off by stating that there will be no spoilers, just in case you yourself were hiding under a rock with 'Rona. 

I had never really had the time to get into Game of Thrones and by the time it all started getting good and people started talking about it become a general pop culture subject there were too many seasons to catch-up with and much like the rest of the TV series I wanted to watch in the past, Dexter being another one, there was not enough time to get up to speed. That is until a global pandemic starts and all of a sudden we have nothing else better to do. 

The Website Vox.com describes the HBO series perfectly. Premiering in April 2011 (long before facemasks and fighting over bogroll) the story tells of a medieval country's civil war. Set on the fictional continents of Westeros and Essos in a world where seasons stretch on for years but following a decade-long summer coming to an end, and winter looming the battle to claim the "Iron Throne," the seat of the king of the Seven Kingdoms, begins. The show is divided into three major plotlines Vox.com continues. The first covers the battle between the lords of the continent of Westeros — most notably members of the Baratheon, Lannister, and Stark families — who are involved in the fight for the Iron Throne. The second follows the rise of Daenerys Targaryen, the last member of an exiled family as she builds an army in Essos to reclaim the throne. The third plot takes place in the North of Westeros among the Night's Watch, an armed unit that guards the 300-mile-long, 70-foot-tall wall that protects the rest of the continent from the mythical creatures that lurk there.

If you, like me, struggle with finding the next best thing to occupy your time with, the blog on the dedicated Game of Thrones website, hosted by HBO, sets out 5 Reasons to Start Game of Thrones Now - And honestly, you really should. Fans of the hit TV show are passionate and devoted to the tales and battles, ready to debate, defend, or just reminisce. We’re not saying you have to dress up like the Mother of Dragons, but at least you know you’ll have a go-to for dinner conversation.

Whilst the series has come to an end (and no-one is more sad about this than me right about now) it has launched the careers of many well-known faces and household phrases. Emilia Clarke who plays the beautiful Daenerys Targaryen, Kit Harington's character being the iconic (and most unreal specimen of mankind perfection) Jon Snow and Maisie Williams who we watched grow up on screen as little Arya Stark, not to mention a few familiar faces from ye olde days of "Skins" on Channel 4 -  Hannah Murray who played airy-fairy Cassie and Partier and drug taker Chris, played by Joe Dempsie, another one I had a crush on. 

Popular phrases such as “Winter is here.” “Hold the door.” & “You know nothing, Jon Snow.” are all common meme's and phrases you will become accustomed to and find yourself repeating at any given opportunity. Jumping on the bandwagon eight-weeks ago I figured that the 59 Grammy Awards and its reputation was there for a reason. That and the Jon Snow Eye-candy isn't too bad either. I have now developed a terribly unhealthy obsession over Jon Snow acted throughout by the god that is - Kit Harington. Starting off as a bit of something nice too look at and admire, I soon became weak at the knees for those deep tones and curly black locks. 

However, as the series went on and without the wait for weeks or months for a new season to be released I was soon drowning in love for the fur-clad hunk! Alas, I do what any normal red-blooded women in her late twenties does. Stalks him endlessly on the internet, changes her screen background and goes back to her days of being a teenager, scowling the web for some filthy, raunchy fan fiction. Now I won't go into detail here, however, if you fancy a NSFW read and something to get you sweating more than dragon's breath then why not follow this link ... Thank me later! So step aside Daenerys Targaryen and Ygritte - He's Mine. Well not quite since he married his co-star Rose Leslie (they met on set and fell in love while playing Jon Snow and Ygritte) at their wedding in an Aberdeen castle, Scotland. What?! I told you I stalked him ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Hiya!

Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking. 

Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor. 

After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway. 

As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart. 

Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?

Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?

I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!

I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Deep Joys Of Dreamboys!

Morning One and all, 

Racing out of work I had battled the Friday afternoon traffic, picked up milk and bread and even posted a couple of items before heading back home to an eager Mr. Warehouse. But oh no, it wasn't him I was buzzing round like a headless fly for, no, no. My best friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were coming over. Not only that but we were heading out. Although much to my dismay not for a messy night out on the tiles. Nope, tonight was the last little dribble of my birthday surprises ... Tickets to see Dreamboys Live! Now if you don't know what or who Dreamboys are I urge you to head and check them out as I am terrible at explaining what theyre job description is. I tried to explain to my dear Nanna the other day that I was going to the theatre and after asking what acclaimed performance I was planning to watch I had to explain to her that these men barely kept any clothes on let alone bagged a Tony award. The same went for the poor shopkeeper on the way back to my flat after the show when he asked what our plans were we sheepishly answered that we had been in the company of the Dreamboys that evening and then ensued a conversation and explanation as to what the Dreamboys were.  I think by the end of the whole Charade that people just asked us so we would squirm and wonder what we should tell them we had been up to that evening. 

Nevertheless it was a wonderful evening beginning with the staple trip to the local Spoons (AKA Wetherspoons Pub) for a few bevvies and some dinner before the real show. Heading out into the cold Autumn air I pulled my coat around me, thankful that I wasn't spending a lonely night in with Jonathan Ross or Graham Norton on a Friday Night. But as we arrived closer to the venue I suddenly didn't look so out of place, dressed up in my heels and nude dress whilst my friends donned a more casual wear of Converse and Jeans which far more comfortable than what some of the other audience members were wearing. Finishing our cigarettes we sneaked in and found our seats. The venue, Bedford Corn Exchange, whilst being in the town centre was surprisingly comfortable to hold a show of this calibre and size I thought. Whilst not the biggest show on earth, the hall was packed out and as this was my first time visiting since being a very small child with my father accompanying him to a military 'do', I found the place beautiful and made me want to explore its beauty even more after the chairs, bleachers and stage were all gone. 

Awaiting the men on stage I took a look at the level of attractiveness this room possessed against myself. There were girls, mostly young, but a few not so, but almost all of them that were young and I suppose in a sense sharing the same age category of myself being late-teens and early twenties (Shhh, I can still try to get away with it!) all skinny size 10's with long hair, manicured nails and cracking dress sense. But it made me wonder how many of them actually had a man at home like I did. Sure they may be young and pretty, but they can't be the actual face of Rimmel all the time and at some point those fake eyelashes and biscuit tan have to come off. Would a guy still fancy them if they were dressed a little more normal in a pub? Maybe? (I know that in my defence when on a night out men feel or at least I feel that they are less threatened by me as I am probably more normal looking and closer to the-morning-after-result that Little Miss Twinkle-Tits over there swigging her sixth Smirnoff Ice) Would a Dreamboy give them a second look? And there you have it. The crux of the issue is that most girls think that to be with a Ken you need to be a Barbie and I suppose yes, but for how long before a Cindy or a Shelly comes into the picture. This got me thinking and yes, whilst I was about to watch an mirage of godly men on the stage in front of my very eyes, like porn, Santa and those Nigerian-Uncle emails they were all fake. 
Real men aren't like that. Real men are hairy and burp and fart ... And then laugh about it. Real men buy their girlfriends Haribo when they least expect it just because 'they were in the shop and knew that you liked them'. Real men can cry at Disney films and have absolutely no qualms attempting to squeeze into a Little Red Riding Hood Costume for Halloween. I love real men.

As the lights went down and the show began I looked to my two best friends and asked what we were all about to encounter. Curtains opened and screams filled the room as the act began to swish and turn in provocative move that would make even the Vicar blush. But as I hooted, whistled and screeched at all the scantily clad men on stage during their 'performances' I couldn't help but wonder what we were all doing here. Why had every person in that room purchased a ticket and why was the general population of those tickets bought by women? Well who else other than a few errant gay guys would want to see naked men on a pedestal of sorts, flashing their genitalia and creaming themselves up for another lucky lady, or man in some instances. I pondered across the ideas that whilst the media slams men for gawking at Page 3 (which is now sadly no longer with us due to a boring-arse feminist campaign to ban it) and now women are shunning men even holding doors open for them or having a friendly wolf-whistle in the street, it is somehow widely accepted that women are allowed freely and with little or no confrontation to go about acting the same way towards men straight out of a Diet Coke Advert. 

Now I am not trying to get everyone's back up but this seriously crossed my mind as I enjoyed the show on Friday night which believe you me, I enjoyed one hell of a lot. So much so I am thinking about going next year. But I just couldn't shake the fact that if the roles were reversed and it was hordes of men sat here with Victoria Secret-esk models on stage would it still have the lack of Media attention?! The truth is no. Why? I don't know. But what I do know is that if you are prepared to have the conversation about media portraying women in such a sexualised and revealing way then you must be prepared to say the same for the way that women can be just as animalistic and hungry when on the hunt for a man dressed and painted in the same seedy, sexual light as Page 3. 

Honestly, I don't see the problem with it. I thoroughly enjoyed the show and all that were involved with it but that was just it. It was a show. Something make-believe and pretend. The normal likes of me and you would probably never end up with a man like one of those oiled up for all female eyes to see. And besides would you really want to when you can see, barely when stripped to the nude, just how much athletics and hard work goes into a man of that build. The same with the women in the audience, crying out to be next in line for a dance. They make such an effort staying slim, constantly re-applying make-up and even considering going under the knife all for the title of Beautiful. I suppose if that night taught me anything at all (apart from some cracking sexy dance moves) that we all have our own body insecurities, both Men and Women - All of us seen in the media as unrealistic, airbrushed, new and improved versions of ourselves. Yes. We all want to be beautiful and gorgeous, but it is about perspective and learning who you are and loving who you are, inside and out. Because whilst I enjoyed the show in all its glory and splendour, I knew that I was going home that night to my very manly, very real Dreamboy. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo!

Morning there one and all, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Two's Company, Six is a Gatecrash!

Hey there one and all, 

So last week I explained away my review of a little known film called 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. This week however I turned Fifty Shades of Pink when I had a Déjà vu momento in which I was whisked back to an occasion I thought could never be written let alone happen twice, That Christmas Eve in 2012 - Merry ExMas! 

Awaiting my uncle outside a familiar Italian Ristorante in Bedford I pondered as to his whereabouts. It was never like him to be late, and for that fact it was never like me to be early for something. My phone bleeped with message telling me to go inside and get a nice big glass of wine ordered, instead of standing outside freezing whilst my Uncle was stuck in rush-hour traffic. 

Seating myself at the table it crossed my mind that this restaurant held fond memories of eating dinner across from a bearded and the childlike innocence of Mr. Cheese. Ahh yes. Long gone are the days of blue eyes and goofy smiles. I waded happily in my thoughts until my dinner date arrived. We sat, ordered bread and olives and yet more wine. Happy in my Uncle's company I was glad to have seen him before I went to Las Vegas. Albeit a small holiday it was still going to be the longest I have travelled, but I felt it and will be the start of an even bigger adventure into the world, as yet unexplored by Moi. 

As our Thursday night ensued we ordered our dinner and passed the time with conversations of work and family. Until that is I saw the flashes of a bright, post-box red jacket. "Oooh that's a nice winter coat I thought" I thought to myself. But just as I wondered where the owner had bought it from my ears caught the distinct sound of a voice I knew. "Surely not! It cant be! Its a Thursday evening for crying out loud?!" I thought, beginning to internally flap. But yes, it was. And as the women turned to be shown to her table I already knew who it was. Momma Cheese! As the seconds dragged I thought, hoped even, that she would be here with friends or someone else. "Not him, please, anyone but him!" No sooner had I thought those things I was suddenly thrust into a world long forgotten. Momma Cheese embraced me, soon followed by a warming hug from Baby Cheese, Mr. Cheese's youngest Brother. Mr. Cheese himself however could only muster up a short and stout "Hi". After the introductions you could tell we all felt awkward especially given the fact my Uncle had never met any of these people. Nevertheless, my ex-boyfriend and his family, now including Pappa Cheese were sat on the table next to us, so close in fact that if I put my arm out I probably would have had it round Mr. Cheese's shoulders. 

As dinner continued I listened intently to their conversation, desperate to be in two places listening fully at once. But as with anything like this - As if I am some sort of expert, of which incidentally I probably am now this has happened a second time - It was always going to be weird. Whether we met in the cereal aisle at Waitrose doing our weekly shop or in a hot and sweaty club with sticky, vodka and Redbull laced floors it was always going to be odd to say the least. Difference in as I found myself dipping in and out of their family dinner and subsequent conversations that came with it I realised that whilst I miss the intellectual conversation surrounding politics, current affairs and other matters of topical interest I certainly do not miss the way I felt when I was with (and without) my lover, Mr. Cheese.

I struggled with my Uncle to tell of anecdotes I had endured with Mr. Cheese for he was mere centimetres from me and would probably be able to retell every accountable detail in such tale not to mention fully vouch for the moments themselves. Looking back through our year together I see it through rose-tinted spectacles; The long hot summers days, lunches out, parties and social occasions not to mention the wonderful weekends in the Capital spent parading shops and eateries in West London and exploring the Chiswick High Road together in blissful harmony together. Fond memories of naughty emails and snuggles watching animal documentaries before bed. Mmm, Sunny days were they. But once the sun was gone there were clouds and storms in the skies that whilst simple to forecast were not so easily saved with an umbrella or raincoat. 

As the Cheeses' family meal ended, my Uncle and I sipped on strong Italian Coffee. Watching them dress in coats and winter attire I stood to be greeted and was again embraced by all members of the family. All bar one. Mr. Cheese himself had sprung from the table as soon as the bill was paid and dashed straight for the exit. Anyone would have thought I had the Plague or something. Not so much as a goodbye or see you soon. Nothing. As I said farewell to his family a little part of me was saddened I could not go home with them or that Mr. Cheese would not be joining me back in my flat tonight. It was then that I realised I was much better off without Mr. Cheese. Sure he was somewhat well off and his family affluent to the highest degrees I have ever come into contact with but it was not for me. The incessant need to have a cup of tea every four hours. The compulsion of vegetables and fruit at every meal. The absoluteness of getting a good nights sleep every night. And the lack of partying like a proper posh person slowly would have ground me down. I enjoyed his company most of the time yes and in terms of friends I think we would have been great, but as more than that I doubt it. I knew from the start that Mr. Cheese wasn't 'The One' and so I didn't pin too much on him, well at least I thought I hadn't. 

I had a relationship with this man, a sexual relationship (albeit not a very good one but regardless a sex life of sorts) and yet still he could not face up to me and be gracious. Gentlemanly and courteous he was not. Ignorant and ill-mannered he was. For someone brought up well from a pleasing family background and a good moral standing I would have thought more from him. I could have understood it if I had been the one doing the dumping; But it was I whom was the Dumpee in all of this. If anyone was going to have a diva moment and walk out it should have been me. But as I conversed with my agony aunties - Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee later on after live tweeting and messaging them throughout said gatecrash; Maybe he just wasn't over me!? Maybe the sight of seeing you, so unexpectedly and so well turned out after the split made him regret his choices and wonder what life could have been like. And to an extent I probably agree, I mean come on! Maybe I am the Mount Kilimanjaro of women. Easy to climb onto, but hard to get over!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Age Is But A Number ...

Evening Everyone, 

So I hope you have all had a good week. I know I certainly have, well at least the weekend anyhow. After finally being reunited with my office and working all week at my desk through the mountainous region of papers and fresh leads I eventually made it to the weekend. With nothing much planned other than catching up on sleep, watching trash TV, and my last supper with Mr. Cheese before he ventures into Africa. Oh yeah, and a little thing called a first date!

So I met Mr. ToyBoy on a dating website called Plenty Of Fish several weeks ago and have been chatting ever since. We swapped numbers a few weeks ago before I went to Reading Festival and arranged for our First Date once I was back. So Saturday soon rolled round and I was shit hot as I walked out into the cool and still undecided English weather. Making my way into town I didn't feel nervous at all and was at ease with yet again another First Date that could go hideously wrong. "Can you even top a date with a clown and someone who is possibly still married to a Thai prostitute?" I thought to myself as I bumbled along the bus route. Arriving at the specified destination I waited patiently. At twenty-minutes too early I was beginning to get anxious. Would he even arrive? Has he already arrived, took one look and legged it? Will he look like him? Was it really a good idea to wear a faux leather shirt to a First Date? Nerves getting the better of me I messaged him, letting him know I had arrived. Seconds later I heard a ping. 

"I thought we were meeting at half-one? :) xxx" The message read. Checking my calender I felt like the biggest penis in the universe. Making up some excuse and face-palming myself I wandered into the town centre for some window-retail therapy to compose myself, laughing all the way. "How stupid of yourself. Gosh Abbey you are such a tool sometimes!" I silently scolded as I looked at Blanket Capes of the new Autumn/Winter 2014 collections in the high street stores. Returning to the meeting spot I anticipated the arrival of my date. At just twenty I was sceptical on his idea of what this encounter may lead to and at nearly three-years his senior (God I am so old) I worried about the compatibility. As his waltzed round the corner I swooned as his arms pulled me into his tall frame. A quick cuddle was quickly followed by a brisk walk in hunt of the coffee shop I had already picked out on my walk to work the morning before. Conversation was electric right from the get go and he was more attractive than he was on his dating profiles or his social media pages. A good and proper TDH - Tall, Dark and Handsome.  

Seating ourselves in the middle of the coffee house we sipped on hot chocolates topped with marshmallows and cream. I couldn't help but notice flecks of amber in his already deep brown eyes. "Best put on my water-wings I might fall in" I chuckled to myself. Giddy with excitement we chatted away about all manner of things from usual things like films and music to festivals and holidays. No subject I think was left untouched as we skipped from tale to tale involving everyone from family members and friends to the latest headlines. Before we knew it I felt as though I had known Mr. ToyBoy for years and with my initial concerns that my young date was not what I was looking for in this whole world of dating I soon noticed that I was having more laughs with him than I think I had in a long, long time. He was young and fresh and new and exciting. Something my life had been lacking for a few months now. Parts of my date intrigued me. Like why would he want to go on a date with me first of all? Although I may party like I was born in 1994 sometimes I am still a respectable twenty-something with a fast approaching birthday which will then leave myself and my date exactly three years, eleven months and several days difference in age. The fact that in conversation Mr. ToyBoy explained that I was only a few months younger than one of his sisters made me question why I had even said yes. But then I realised that there was a massive grin splitting my face in two and I was having the time of my life. Ahh yes, that's why!

As the Date continued I thought that it might be a good idea to take a walk along the river and since Mr. ToyBoy had not really been to Bedford before I thought I would highlight the good bits of the City. Walking along the edge of the river bank we stopped at the foot of a familiar bridge. Pushing aside memoirs of Mr. Cheese and butterflies I was ushered to take the first steps onto it. Almost as a right of passage I did so knowing that barely twelve months ago I was doing the same thing with a different face. Upon reaching the other side we continued our conversations, well, that was until we saw the cutest little ball of fur bundling along the gravel path winding round the river. Simultaneously we whispered about how sweet it looked and our fury at not having a puppy like that. I turned and looked at my date as he did to me. A mutual love for dogs! Bliss. As we unintentionally followed the canine and its owners we kept brushing hands. As wonderful as it was I wondered about when the first move would be made if ever. Just then as we overtook the fluff-pup and after giving it a little pat on its soft head, Mr. ToyBoy gently and sweetly took ahold of my hand. Heart skipping slightly I felt my face crack once more. Trying to hide my excitement, head-thoughts turned to Mr. Cheese and how much effort and courage it took for me to build up and ask him to hold my had as we waltzed the hot streets of Kensington and Chelsea back in the summer of last year. 

Settling down on a bench I could tell what was coming next. Nervousness racked his Rugby-playing body as he obviously pondered on how to approach my lips. Secretly knowing what my Date was planning I pouted and made my face look as cute as I could. More chatter took over though and before long we were deep in conversation about my inability as a graduated Media Studies student to have gone through my course not watching classics like Lord of The Rings and Disney's Frozen. I think I may have even had a solo performance of Let It Go?! Laughing along he asked if I was cold. I said yes. Without another word I was forced into a cuddle. Snuggling into his chest I mentioned about my furnace-like heat that I seemed to give off. Mr. ToyBoy agreed and followed up with a comment that made me think that maybe age didn't matter so much. 

"I wish I had met you sooner Abbey. You make me feel really at ease and have made getting better easier." (He was poorly with a case of probable man-flu earlier in the week) Mr. ToyBoy said in a deep whisper. Turning my head up to face him I saw his brown eyes gaze into mine. As the curtains fell over our peepers and our heads turned I knew it wouldn't be long before I got to know just how mature he was. Locking lips I could feel the delightfully light but intense pressure on the nape of my neck as we kissed passionately in the increasingly chillier weather. Gently teasing each other we got into a rhythm and continued for what was only mere seconds but in which I wished could never end. Breaking from the lustful make-out sesh I returned my head to Mr. ToyBoy's shoulder and looked out to the still water of the river. I smiled at the tactical positioning of where we had chose to indulge in our first kiss. On the left was the wrong bridge. On the right was the right bridge. Somehow I felt at ease with my decision to move on from Monsieur Cheese. I was happy and smiling and potentially had someone here with me holding me in his arms that wanted me. Just as I took reflection on how at ease I was and to the last person I shared with part of the world with I felt a little peck on my hairline. Sweet as it was I think I knew then that I really liked my Date. 

After getting caught in a rain storm and nearly catching Hypothermia we called it a day and headed back to town so we could make our own ways home. Unfortunately due to the rain (and not the fact that we were stopping every few steps to have a cheeky kiss in said rain) Mr. ToyBoy had missed his connection home. So before calling a cab we headed into a Caffe to get warm and dry as well as indulge in a little sweetness in the form of two more hot chocolates and a white-chocolate Blondie to share. "He can share this Blondie any day!" I pondered arrogantly to myself as I took a lady-like gulp from my creamy concoction. Sharing out the treats of yet more marshmallows, crumbly chocolate and nutty brownies conversation ebbed. I didn't really know what to say, although I knew the Date itself would have to end at some point. Rising from the table we stepped into the fresh outside and dialled for a driver. As we said our goodbyes we both agreed on having a wonderful afternoon in each other's company. Another smooch before I dragged myself away, struggling not to skip all the way home. 

Mr. ToyBoy. The one to bring about the question of age-difference. The one who makes me feel like I am fifteen again. The one who makes me quander what I am really looking for in 2014. In all honesty I don't know. But I know one thing for certain and that is that if the first Date is anything to go by, the second Date will be just as electric. Date number two - Bring it on Mr. ToyBoy!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Rediscovery Of A Broken Fairytale ...

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx

Evening to you, 

Throughout this journey I lost myself but in the space of a few days since last week and with a few tiny changes I am beginning to find myself again. Happy and content. Young and free. After downloading a few apps and being invited out on a work's night out I felt a little piece of me return every morning I opened my eyes. I anticipated that the work's 'do' would just be some quiet drinks down a local bar in the Town Centre, little did I know how much of an impact I could have. Even as I walked into the office this morning I was inundated with questions about who I left the bar with and what happened when I got home in the early hours of Saturday morning. Yes, everyone in the office seems to have me on their lips! But nothing happened as I was not in search of a lay that night, but simply the knowledge that I am not wholly repugnant and distasteful to all of the male population! I think I succeeded. 

Deciding that that my confidence needed boosting after recent events I donned a floaty skirt and heels to join my office bod's for a night on the tiles. And boy was it! Not having been out since Halloween last year (dressed as a Little Dead Riding Hood no less) I figured that I would go easy. That was until I joined those pesky lads from the warehouse downstairs from my office! Cute but not quite my type we began the evenings debauchery by knocking back an old favourite of mine - Sambuca shots! After perching myself on a bar stool, skirt billowing over my smooth legs, the conversation progressed fast and soon the boys and I were discussing sexual habits like how to go down on a girl, porn, bedroom activities and chat-up lines. The cheesiest of lines were put upon me Friday night and in all honesty I was outwardly and outrageously flirting, but with all this male attention and after recent events of the male variety, who could blame me ... 

---

Stairs. Something about them isn't there that is slightly foreboding. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always foreboding. And so as I stood at the bottom of a narrow, brown stairwell in the centre of The Big Smoke I wondered how I would feel coming down them in a few hours time. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to step onto them but I just couldn't. All around me I must have looked like an idiot just stood there having a face-off with some simple steps. Part of me wanted to climb - Climb up there to a better life in the clouds from one down here. But the reality in my heart told me that what I could face could be down yet another very dark and lonely staircase. Breaking through the barrier of my bodies unwillingness to make the first steps, and pulling my thoughts together I finally made my ascend. Stomach flipping and body beginning to shake I told myself to stay calm and collected. Reaching the last step my shoe slipped off. Like a child I saw it as an omen from a fairytale, but alas there was to be no Prince Charming to make me Happily Ever After. I knew how this story ends, I had read it before. I had to be the knight in shining armour and save myself from tragedy yet again. 

After speaking to the waiter I was being escorted to my table where my dinner date was already seated. Winding through tables and past massive gaping windows looking out to the city beneath me I knew in my heart that this was it. Once seated and reintroduced to my company for the evening I took charge immediately of the situation in hand for failure of being made a fool which was at this point inevitable. Not saying a word to my date and disregarding everything I ordered a bottle of the rose. A scene played out in my head that at some point this evening I would rise from the table and scream "Champagne! Champagne for everyone" and the whole restaurant would too join me in a celebration. This was to stay as a fantasy for this evening was one of a melancholy mood. Ordering from a menu I had been scanning all week not knowing if I would even attend this event I made a choice and stuck by it, something that is rare in my world. Making idle small talk we danced around the real reasons we were both in the beautiful surroundings of Covent Garden. Staring into my dates eyes, bright and shiny as they had ever been I wondered which one of us would bring up the question. It had taken a while to get that moment but soon enough it was upon us. With the staff being overtly attentive and the beating evening sun glaring down on us as glanced at our surroundings on the terraced restaurant in the West End of London, I knew it would be me to break the ice once more. Becoming agitated by the lack of urgency in the debate I started. Mr. Cheese in the dock first please!

"So ... As beautiful as a surrounding this all is and as wonderful as to the views; Why are we here?" I beckoned. Heart breaking, I knew the answer before I had even asked the question. A solemn look had replaced an otherwise forced smile and so the evening commenced. Conversation spilling we yet again trudged the same old muddy ground covered like so many times before and one that I refused to put myself through any more. I had enough of going round in circles. It wasn't fun any more. But then again was it ever fun in comparison to the happiness experienced? The lack of passion and fight and energy all lost to somewhere I could not find any more. I was with a man who had no want to carry on trying. Mr. Cheese had lied to me, promising that everything would get better and that he too like me wanted to make it work. Yet again the promise along with a piece of my heart was shattered. I couldn't believe that given the opportunity to make things better and faced with loosing me all together that my boyfriend failed to take such simple steps to make it better. Affection. That's all I wanted. Not just an increase in sex drive on his part but more of the little things. Flowers, presents, cuddles, kisses and anything lovely. I want to be kissed in the pouring rain and surprised at work with a visitor. I want to be swept off my feet and feel butterflies in my belly. I want to have a smile on my face seeing his caller ID and to know that I am the only one my boyfriend needs; Maybe not forever but just to live and feel right in the moment with him. I don't think it is something that I should have to even think about asking from someone that says they love you. But even that I am failing to believe any more. 

During this past year, as most of you know, I have experienced everything a human being could ever experience. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. I was tired and exhausted. Unloved and unappreciated. I wanted to get off this ride now. I wanted to go home. As sad as it was I knew that this was the best thing for us. Things were so easy in the beginning. And then I fell. I fell before him and didn't stop until I hit the ground. Hard. I hated how I fell in love with him. His smile. His eyes. His kooky little ways. I hate how I fell for him and despite everything, he never truly fell for me. I wanted to believe anything other than what Mr. Cheese was telling me over that dinner table in London on Wednesday. Anything. I thought up scenario's of him not being happy and wanting to call Ghana off just to make things better between us. Of being gay - which wouldn't have been the first time something has happened like that. Or worst, cheating on me with someone who is much prettier and slimmer and hotter than me, which in all honesty with the way I had felt of late, would not be entirely untrue. But no, none of those things happened. It was simply the end. 

And so this concludes the chapter. A tale of wrong bridges and of falling in love. A story I hoped might never end no matter how much I told myself it would. Maybe somewhere beyond Ghana we can rekindle our infatuation with each other, making sure that we spend the time to nurture what we have together. After all, we did have a love story to rival Disney. But alas, the story of Cheese and I must come to an end, at least for now ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Flirting With Feminism ...

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx

Hello Again, 

Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him. 

However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys. 

Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it. 

However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough. 

After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble. 

We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening. 

Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go. 

If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx