Love is infectious ... but so is Coronavirus!

Heyy, 

Pressing send I knew it was official. There was no coming back from it or pretending this wasn't happening. Certainly, no going back the idea, I was positive that the next few days and weeks, explaining the story over and over again would get tiring, however no more tiring than what Mr Warehouse and I were going through. 

Coming back from Newquay and our Cornwall adventures had not been easy and with Boris' new announcement released last week which finally included some information on the hundreds of thousands of couples due to be getting married this year, still hadn't helped us muddle through the mess of trying to wed in 2020.

Drafted on the basis of the all-important and rather elusive scientific evidence, since 4 July in England weddings can now take place with up to 30 guests and from 1 August, "small wedding receptions will be able to take place" the UK Government announced. For us however crunching the numbers it, in short, meant no singing, no choir (namely in our circumstances due to age and health issues which would consider them in a COVID-vulnerable category, not to mention being unable to learn 2 new songs by the time our day rolled around). It also means for us that it would not even be 30 people as we need to include in that group our photographer, videographer, Reverand and at least 2 witnesses. It gets even worse when you start to think about the "reception" (if you can even call it that more like a glorified dinner out) and again we would need to include photographer, videographer, bar staff & waiting staff, taking our total down to even less. We calculated just 19 people could come to our special day.  

Arriving at the church Mr Warehouse and I was excited to see the Reverand again and chat wedding stuff. However, on walking in we instantly noticed the socially distanced chairs, podded up in pairs. There was no aisle. There were no flowers. There was just a coldness to it all. Seating ourselves we caught up on small talk before heading into the nitty-gritty of it all. Discussing through the options available to us it very quickly dawned on me that our conversations would not be based on flowers and readings. 

"I know this is a shock to see the church this way," the Reverand started, "however I wanted you to see it as it stands now, with no more restrictions being lifted what the absolute worst-case scenario looks like." I felt panicked. I now had to be a big girl and face what I had been dreading for months. Along with Mr Warehouse I agreed and admitted that for far too long maybe now I have been burying my head in the sand and pretending it will all blow over, all whilst in the double knowledge that within the next few weeks we would need to be having this chat anyway. 

As Mr Warehouse spoke of guests and the meaning of the wedding to him he touched on a point that had nearly set me off crying. I was close but held it back as my future husband asked openly if I would have been OK with the photos and wedding film of our special day just including twenty pairs of eyes, masks and a socially distanced congregation. Holding it together (just about) I thought about what that would look like and for the hundreds of pounds we were spending on capturing our day I didn't like the idea of looking back on them and watching the footage crying sad tears over happy ones because of the circumstances. 

"May I say a prayer for you both?" the Reverand asked. Again agreeing (because what else are you meant to do we were asking to get married in this ladies office, God's house - And to be fair, we needed every damned prayer we could get) we bowed our heads and Mr Warehouse even put his hands together. 

As the Reverand started I could hear in her voice the searching for positive words and something to envoke encouragement and some sort of solace. But as she began to talk of strength through difficult times I knew I couldn't hold it in no more. Silently the tears started to fall from my cheeks, rolling down into my double-chin crease. "Pull yourself together women, there are many other reasons to cry in church; Weddings, Funerals, Christingal when you get an orange and all raisins - This is not one of them," I thought to myself, knowing any moment she would stop talking and I would have to look up and then everyone would know I had been crying. And when that happened it was like a biblical flood all by itself. 

Fetching a box of tissues, I was consoled by both the Reverand and Mr Warehouse as the waves of emotions drowned me. My fiance and I had to really start adulting and make some tough choices. 

"Now if this is what you are both happy with then I am happy but I would hate for you to wake up the morning after and think that you could have done it differently" the Reverand kindly finished with as she waved us out of the grounds with the suggestion of a bottle of the good stuff (I know a godly woman suggesting we drink?!) but with the next few days filled with more normal social activities and things to do that conversation would have to be put on ice. Driving home we both agreed to wait until Sunday and we could talk properly then with no disruptions or distractions. 

Sunday soon rolled around and after much deliberation (and nearly two-bottles of Rose in the local pub beer garden) we agreed that what we were asking for was too much for the government to lift restrictions too. For us to be happy to go ahead with our October 2020 wedding we would need the guest count goes up to above 80/80 (up to 80 for the ceremony and the same for a wedding breakfast) plus being allowed to have sing in church as well as an evening reception with DJ and disco. With this, we could have continued with the plans as they are, albeit on a reduced number of guests for our semi-normal COVID wedding. 

If we were to wait as we wanted to until the end of August to make our decision there was going to be no hen or stag do, and to be honest no real guarantee of the wedding we wanted and planned for. On further reflection of schools reopening, pubs and restaurants reopening, shops reopening and the dreaded face mask/covering debacle (hold out for another blog post on this one) all having their announcements pretty much 14-days before the due date it was something we just couldn't hold out that long for. 

And so it was with a heavy (and rather sozzled heart) that we took the decision to reach out to suppliers and vendors in anticipation of the foreboding announcement to ascertain the costs involved in postponing and what availability there was so Mr Warehouse and I could become more accustomed to a back-up date so as to not seem so catastrophically heartbreaking when we did have to make the ultimate decision. With most of our suppliers offering a range of dates, all of them pretty much had confirmed our suspicions that they would move us free of charge. In fact, many of them were honest enough to say that since we were one of the last bookings in their calendar for weddings this year, they had sadly been awaiting a call like this from us. With only our photographer able to do accommodate one date between March and September 2021 it made the choice easy to whittle down as there was little selection. 

And so the email has been sent, updates given, paperwork amended and contract redrafted. Postponement announcements in the post (as of tomorrow) wedding guests will be informed that my east favourite C-Word ruined our plans and that whilst shit happens ... Our new wedding date is June 2021!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

To Crate or not to Crate?!

Hello, 

Another Bank Holiday weekend rolls round and I can hardly believe that it is June already next week. Since the rigmarole of last weeks puppy trauma through bedtime routines and trying to keep our little Frankenstein happy in his own company I can now safely say that I sit on my bed, writing to you all in peace and harmony,. No sitting here listening to him cry and winge as we wonder what else we can do to try and settle him and make his night-time easier. Nothing. Nadda. Our secret?! 

Not that I would like to admit it but unfortunately we have had to crate him. I never really wanted to and could not see any rhyme or reason to doing it as many people, including myself, hate the idea of and even refuse to crate or kennel-train their dogs because I suppose at least I feel that the confinement is cruel. However, I have learnt that a crate or kennel can give dogs a sense of security and if done properly is also a highly effective management system that can be a lifesaver for dog owners. 

If used effectively, a crate for appropriate time periods is helpful with a variety of important goals, including house training, preventing destructive behavior, and teaching a dog to settle and relax. I had spoken to friends and colleagues, I found out that if a dog is taught through positive reinforcement to love the crate, the crate becomes his own private and safe place, much like a bedroom for a child. The crate or kennel is somewhere the dog can go and not be bothered; it's a perfect destination when the dog is tired or nervous. Dogs have a natural instinct to be in a den and many dogs take to a crate very easily but also teaches puppies and excitable dogs to expect and enjoy some down time, and conditions calm behavior. Crate training also provides a number of benefits to owners as well as a crate that is sized properly encourages a dog's instinct not to mess where he sleeps, helping to teach the dog bladder and bowel control. A work colleague suggested using a crate to stop him getting into trouble when Mr Warehouse and I can't supervise directly especially at night but also when we are at work or busy cooking. Whilst everything was and is good during the day, nighttime was the worst and after last Tuesday evening I was certainly not taking any more chances with our house as it were. 

Tucking him in and making him feel as comfortable as possible I came upstairs to meet Mr Warehouse in our bedroom. Following another hard day in the office with constant spreadsheets and updates and phone calls to make I was pleased to see a comfy bed, a smiling face and our favorite TV show ready to go on the box. Settling into the comfy warm sheets we pressed play and forgot a little bit about the screaming puppy downstairs. However, twenty-minutes later after the show had finished and the credits began to roll IMr Warehouse decided to go down and check on him. 

Laying in bed I heard as he opened the door to our lounge and expected a greeting of whimpers and yelps. Instead all I heard was shouting and distress calls from Mr Warehouse to come downstairs. On jumping out of bed myself and the older pooch (who had been sleeping in our room since our puppy arrived) trundled downstairs. Step by Step I wondered what it might be probably poo or maybe a wee in the corner. But as I turned to walk down our hallway and into the living room I saw what the yelling was about. There at the foot of the doorway leading into the lounge I saw concrete. On top of the concrete base some colourful underlay finishing it all off was our frayed, chewed up and spit out cream carpet. I was devastated. What on earth will the neighbours think for even worse what would our friends and family think when they come round. They will think that we are bad dog parents. They will think that our little pup is a fucking arsehole. I mean obviously he is as anyone who is able to destroy something like that in the space of twenty-minutes is not very well behaved. 

The following day I crumbled and after much persuasion from Mr Warehouse I went out and bought a crate for our little Frankie. As before, I never really wanted to as I only thought of it as being a crappy way of dog parenting and only shutting them away when you were not bothered to look after them. However after more research from friends and colleagues, I have been assured that it is the best thing for not just myself and Mr Warehouse but also for our home and puppy himself. Turning to the interwebs, Cuddles.com offers some words of wisdom and even some helpful advice to stop this from happening again. Dogs of all ages can take a liking to carpeting and concentrate on destroying it. The sooner you detect the behavior and do something to stop it, the better. Covering the spot with a piece of furniture and directing your puppy's attention somewhere else are all helpful hints and tips that he article from Tammy Dray has written on "How to Stop a Dog From Ripping the Carpet". Even spraying the areas he's going after with vinegar could help she says. "As soon as Doggie takes a bite out of the carpet, he'll taste the sourness and take off. If you have very expensive -- or very white -- carpet, you might want to call the manufacturer first to find out if vinegar is safe. You don't want to end up with a huge stain."

So now the hunt is on to try and cover it up as best as possible. Hiding it from everyone and hoping that no-one that reads my blog comes over before we have a chance to fix it. Fixing it though? Well it was always something we were going to change given half a chance and following a deep spring clean we realized that it probably needs to be sooner than later. Looking into the paperwork though you would have not thought it would have been as difficult as it has been for all of the information is there. The flooring type, colour, make, model, even the manufacturer. However after numerous emails and probably many more replies I am only finding people that are able to sell it to us. Unfortunately, what I am a genius at most things floor fitting is not my forte Besides, I think with "The Destructor" in the building we will certainly need a professionals touch! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

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 

That Old Chestnut ,,,

Hello, 

Leaving work early today I was excited at the prospects of the next hour and as Mr. Warehouse and I trundled down the road in Vivienne I could barely contain my excitement. Indicating right, slowing down and pulling into the gravel lane that lead to the back of some very quaint Railway cottages we had arrived. Looking like the back end of a chocolate box with friendly locals and what appeared to be a communal car parking space where everyone I imagined looked forward to seeing their neighbours and having a chit-chat over the garden fence, maybe even sharing in some sugar or two. Getting out of the car Mr. Warehouse could already tell I was falling form the old-ye-worlde charm of the place. 

Wandering around the outhouses, sheds and barn or two we were called over by a rather warm looking estate agent who ushered us inside before explaining the details of the house. It was a two-bedroom cottage with a garden courtyard which I just knew would not please Mr. Warehouse as he wanted some grass that his dog could disintegrate with her piss but I thought that the walled courtyard would be perfect to enjoy BBQ's in the summer and a hot toddy and blanket to watch the stars when it got colder. As we entered the home through the back door, we came into a large kitchen enough to host dinner or a party with plenty of room for a dining room table and all the bits and bobs a kitchen would need (although we found out later that the white good were not included). Trying my might to get Mr. Warehouse's eye, I wanted to point him towards the kitsch little stable door to the back of the property that would lend itself to a form of proper country living and something I had in all honesty always dreamt of having. Snapping out of thoughts of me entertaining guests through the half-hatched door or having our pooch learn to lean up and beg for some treats after wandering out round the garden, the estate agent took us through to a large living room. Nicely decorated our large chaise-sofa would have fit several ways round and we were surprised to learn that the gorgeous book case would be staying so as to house all manner of DVD's, Books and Games as well as all the pictures and memento's Mr. Warehouse long to put on display. It was here I began to let myself truly think about living here, cosy nights in front of the TV cuddled up on the couch watching shite telly whilst the wind and the cold breezed outside. 

Opening a wooden door lead to the enclosed staircase whereby we ascended to reveal a huge bathroom with enough space for a massive bath tub set into the stone floor, a separate shower, toilet and sink with plenty of room for cabinets and storage for bathroom items. I was in love. The high ceilings and character of the property was something I had absolutely fallen head over heels for, but looking at Mr. Warehouse I could tell that something was not right. Looking through into the first room, what turned out to apparently be the smallest of the two still housed a large double bed, a desk and work station and even a double wardrobe big enough to be a triple for even more storage options. This was a room I would be proud to put guests in and even with a little tweaking could accommodate a half man-cave, half craft room. It was everything I wanted from a spare room and more with the potential of it being more that just a guest bedroom in the future. The master bedroom was similar in size although with the alcoves cut into the wall following the destruction of the original fire place and with added space over the stairs there would have been plenty of room in their for both our wardrobes and drawers including a comfy new bed maybe. It even had a secret little window to shout down for your morning coffee. 

With the fluff and prancing around over and done with we got talking on the landing and down to business. After asking all the relevant questions Mr. Warehouse and I were ready to talk money. £1,100 for the deposit of six-weeks up-front. £240 background agency and referencing fee. £120 tenancy drafting and inventory fee. £100 pet policy agreement fee. In total Mr. Warehouse would be talking over three-grand before we have even got the keys. Five minutes later the reality started to settle in with the conversation that had just been held and as the estate agent went off to make some phone-calls back to the office the reality started to settle in. We had a couple of hundred quid saved and a credit card or two, but no way did we have that sort of money. Who did? 

I could understand the pet deposit and I will be honest I am surprised it was not more given the fact that they charge nearly £300 per couple for copying and pasting an already existing tenancy agreement and handing you a pen. and then there is the inventory list that need to be done, again something that would have been done less that a year ago when the property was last on the market. The hundred-and-twenty quid for the referencing fee, just for little estate agent to sit at her desk of an afternoon and make a couple of phone calls in order to check we have no bad financial history of not paying or leaving the place in a state. It was an absolute joke. And all in order to pay someone else's mortgage. Walking out of the property I was siked about what the conversation would be in the car on the way to our "old home". 

Alas the journey was quiet as we had not even turned the engineer on in our dear Vivienne before and argument broke out. Everything had been so positive before and now working out the figures I was sure that we were not to live happily ever after in our little cottage of joy. I would never serve drinks from my stable hatch or get to bathe in my floor-set bath tub. Never would I be able to refer to the two outhouses as the cow and coal sheds, nor will I shout down to the cozy sitting room for a cup of char of a Sunday morning before a nice brisk walk along the country roads. Indeed it was a very quiet journey home that I just became more and more agitated with the fact that Mr. Warehouse agreed to see the property with me, so why wasn't he open to putting down roots. I questioned his commitment for the first time tonight. 

For the value that we would be paying I thought it was a steal and with the fact we could potentially live there way past marriage and our first child it was something I was ready to say yes to right there and then. Having said that though, I couldn't help think that the boyfriend was waiting on something else. Something that might never come along and that even if it did it would still not satisfy him fully and tick every one of his boxes. Would it have the grassy garden for the dog? Would the rent be affordable and something we can manage? Would it be somewhere for a while and not for a moment? Would the bathroom please his every need and would there be room for this and room for that? There is always something that just isn't right enough for my dear, dear Mr Warehouse and unfortunately his lack of imagination and creativity cannot be applied in order to see what it could be like and not what it is at face value within a property. And I thought I was hard to please!?

Now I know we were and are still both luck to have the good jobs we do and food in our bellies and a roof over our heads especially more-so as it came into the harshness of winter and in a bid not to sound ungrateful I just with that there was a way out of this somewhat hopeless situation. A couple, mid-twenties that are stuck suffocating between an affordable rented property that they are hotly growing out of, although not in a position to rent somewhere bigger and better but neither in a position to buy. How do people do it? Well I know how, it usually a helping hand or a big win, usually the former. Government schemes such as help to buy mortgages, shared ownership and lifetime ISA's only help the fortunate to save. What about those like Mr. Warehouse and I who can fully afford a mortgage on a good home but can barely scrape together the deposit and fees and all because we are paying our own way in life already. The fact is that buying for Mr. Warehouse and I will take years, and probably close to a decade to save for, even where we are now with the rent and bills we pay. Renting for Mr. Warehouse and myself, yes, is an option, however this would lend itself to a higher cost of living with bigger rents and bills and no where for spare cash to go towards a house. So what do we do? 

After arriving home and cleaning the small flat in separate areas for nearly an hour, we met in the Fritzl (our aptly named corridor after Joseph and Elizabeth Fritzl due to how small, narrow and long it is). Bellies rumbling and sadness from either party I knew I couldn't stay angry at him for being a realist, although I hated him for it. I soon realised I have been very selfish and my constant talk of holidays or luxurious travelling or buy a house or renting somewhere new is neglectful of my responsibilities as a girlfriend and to be supportive in an emotional way to someone else other than me. Whilst my urge for moving is getting greater I need to acknowledge that Mr. Warehouse earns less than I do, only by a fraction, but still enough to make him feel even less hopeful than me at ever getting out of our pokey one-bed. I love our little flat, but don't get me wrong, if someone offered me tomorrow a property that ticked all the boxes and I had the money to move immediately, I would. I just hope that Mr. Warehouse waiting on something better to come along pays off ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Driving me Crazy!

Hi there you!

So last weekend was, let's be honest here, a bit of a bore - Obviously ignoring the night out with my work colleagues that is. But this week and the weekend just gone has got me thinking more about life as a whole and where its going and what I want to be doing with it. 

Work is work for most people right? Not for me. I enjoy my job. Love it more than Starbucks sometimes. But since the arrival of some more company down in my end of the office in Autumn last year I have been embroiled in a conscience battle as to whether this is a job for life or not. Now I am not saying for a single second that this is a job whereby I would leave any time soon, but given the right offer and circumstances, I would consider heavily. 

You see today has been like many another day in the office. Paperwork. E-mails. Phone calls. And it is this that I love - The busy nature of the place. The fact that every day is essentially the same but without being the same is why I have stuck it out for so long, the good with the bad, the rough with the smooth. I mean something happens every day that keeps me on my toes, which I enjoy and the thrill of having stacking paperwork and jobs excites me knowing I have a busy time ahead of me. But lately since my old Supervisor moved to a different department I have been increasingly unhappy within my role. Needless targets, silly procedures and pointless run-through's of stuff I already know and do is really dragging me down. The snotty, condescending and quite frankly patronising remarks I get from some colleagues of mine leaves me wondering where my future is heading and whether a this is what I really want for the years to come. 

Now I understand that everyone has to have a bitch and a moan sometimes about their employment and as a British person I feel even more so I should have a good old moan about it. Everyone has bad days right? And sometimes when you are having a bad day, be it at work or else where, an offer of any kind can seem like such a bedazzling light at the end of the tunnel that like a firefly you head right towards its burning flame. This happened to me today. 

After fucking up a couple of times last week (and I literally mean like two or three times) with everyone from my engineers to customers and all in between, new procedures have been implemented from my supervisor, making my job at least an hour longer every day and more complex than what it should be. Ironically this is something I went to a conference last month about: Looking for ways to increase business and get rid of all the silly procedures and protocol. After having a good old British chin-wag about it with some work colleagues in the canteen I was made aware of a position within the company that had my ears pricked and my eyes wide! Within the same building there was a girl whom I had become quite close with. She was leaving soon and as a result a job opening had become available doing pretty much the same thing I do but for a different division. Mood suddenly brightened by an opportunity within grasping distance and on hearing that the girl's manager had already tried to poach me for the position I was intrigued and asked for more information. 

Whilst the job is at the same salary there are pro's and con's to the career move. On the plus side it would be me and my boss working together on similar projects I work on now. Secondly, I wouldn't have to deal with the daily remarks of not doing my job "well" or "in the correct way" not to mention constantly being undermined and undervalued as an employee. I would have more space and freedom.I would be the first person to receive the post every morning, distributing it throughout the building and mingling with my old colleagues. I would even have the potential to ask for a pay rise. On the other side, it would be fairly lonely with minimal interaction from people both in the office and over the phone. I would have to get better with my lateness as well as improve on my timely manner and the likelihood of me being invited to any nights out or events would potentially be at risk. 

Not only that but I question whether I am actually ready to leave. I spoke with several friends and family members and the response was mixed to say the least. On the one hand I am excited for the new opportunity and the idea that I had already been theoretically head-hunted for the role was ego-boosting anyway. But am I ready to leave the business I have built up from nothing? I was only a matter of hours into my role within the company before I was thrust the division I work in and pretty much told "Its a mess, please help us to sort it out". I am the one who built the business into what it is today with the practical procedures and inventive ways of helping everything tick along nicely. I am the one who has built up a two year relationship with both my sales reps, engineers and customers, not to mention the employees I work with. I have grown the subcontracted side, with help from colleagues, from thing from barely there to being a huge part of what the company as a whole does. Am I really willing to hand over my baby and sack it all in potentially for what has been a crappy few months with an equally shitty rubbish day? As one friend in the office put it ... Am I prepared to see another person sat at my desk doing my job? I need to find out some more details so first thing tomorrow after digging into my CoCo Pops I shall approach the boss man and ask him the details of the opening. With the other girl leaving on Friday though I will have to make my decisions quick although I am sure I shall update you next week with the outcome.

Maybe I am over-reacting? I mean my stress levels recently have forced me into meltdown over the silliest of things. The fact that in less than twenty-four hours I will have known whether I have passed or failed my theory test is something that has been looming over me for weeks. I am bricking it! After studying for weeks about road traffic signs, speed limits and stopping distances, not to mention the difference between pelican and puffin crossings I feel like my brain has been frazzled and whatever I do now is redundant for I am almost certain to fail. In every mock test, exam and hazard perception video I go through I scrap by with the skin of my teeth. Or just fail by a smidgen. But with less than twenty-one hours to go and my first driving lessons already booked for Saturday morning there is not much room for error and the expectation to pass this exam is greater than it ever has been before. 

Wish me luck!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx