Change in the wind says I

Morning, 

Collapsing onto my sofa in my newly turned round living room (one of mine and Mr Warehouse's COVID Jobs to do up the house during lockdown) I was exhausted. As I listened and watched my future husband play on his Xbox I faded in and out of of my surroundings, sometimes falling asleep for mere moments and others just zoning out. I was burnt out and the last few weeks had been mental workwise which had lead to the position I was that Tuesday evening last week. 

You see, I had suffered from mental health issues before and with my depression and anxiety around certain things I was able to curb that and knew when it was coming and how the dark black cloud felt. But this was different and it had been building up and up for several weeks. And so after speaking with my doctors, they signed me off with work-related stress for a fortnight. I was shocked to say the least and as I tried to explain to the HR person I felt incredibly guilty, exhausted, stressed, tired and relieved all at the same time as feeling as though I was letting down customers, engineers and staff alike. And so after a brief discussion with my HR department (lady) the company took the decision to place me on furlough instead. 

Financially this would make me better ff as I would be on basically full pay for the fortnight my doctor has advised and should the worst happen whereby either there is not enough work for me to come back to or I am signed off for longer, as before my pay will be at 80% my normal salary (as paid by the government under the Coronavirus Job Retention scheme) rather than the minimal Statutory Sick Pay (SSP) which is approximately £90 per week. This being said however I made it quite clear that I wanted i noted and on file that the issues were as a direct result of work-related stress, something I had been trying to explain and communicate for weeks.   

Nevertheless, the "Free-Time" I have had, albeit a few hours in the day since I still need to drop Mr Warehouse to and from work every day has been nice. So far I have been able to keep up with some gardening, get into the kitchen to bake many a sweet treat including a monster of a white chocolate cheesecake that we are still trying t work our way through, despite giving a third away to Big Brother Warehouse and his brood. 

I am hoping that my time out of the "workplace" or whatever you want to call it can make for some time to craft and DIY. I have acquired my grandmother's old writing bureau and have plans to revamp it with navy chalk paint and golden metalwork to match the living room's luxe gold and dark blue theme. I plan on finishing off the crafts I started but never finished such as my pebble lamp and once I finish that, I plan on starting a few more including upcycling some white trainers into some 101 Dalmatian inspired sneakers and turning some frumpy looking creps into some bedazzling jewelled kicks to wear on the dancefloor once my feet get tired from the heels on my wedding day. And if I get all of that completed I have a long list of other things I want to either get some or at least get on top of for our upcoming nuptials including welcome signs, decor and even one of those fancy Captin Bride Hats I have seen on Pinterest that I refuse to spend £60+ on when I can just use some materials and gems to achieve the boujee look. 

Ideally, I would like to create some built-in shelves in the living room and even wallpaper the downstairs WC, although I think these are mainly weekend jobs for when I have an extra pair of helping hands. It seems as though we are all going to have many more of these bank-holiday-inspired weekends where everyone either does DIY or gardening. It seems as though "New Normal" and anything relatively life-enhancing is still off the books. With figures from the BBC that state that whilst the confirmed new cases of coronavirus in the UK are over 1,500 today alone, the death toll has significantly dropped to just 121 today alone (Monday 25 May 2020). Boris Johnson's statement to the nation several weeks ago gave us all some hope, and confusion plenty. 

I am just praying that we can get away in July and that the restrictions are lifted before 5th July, enabling our little family in the making to head for the beaches and beauty spots of Cornwall, although I fear that we will wither be amongst the disappointed millions, or the very first lucky few. Things are looking hopeful however, with airlines starting up at the beginning of June and July and promises of places like restaurants and cafe's being open beginning of July, I am hoping for the latter.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Green Fingered Goddess

Hello everyone, 

I suppose we have had a rather quiet weekend in comparison to last. No Parties and no worrying over BBQ's and finally no more wondering if Frankenstein is OK in his baby grow or if he would rather the cone. Following his last Vet check on Friday, he was given the all-clear and was ready for some more strenuous exercise, not that he had calmed down mind. With that in hand, I had mentioned to the Vet about possibly enrolling him into agility classes as he has so much energy and is a quick learner. She had agreed and suggested some local groups and classes which I will be sure to hit up, however, I think I will start to show him this year, especially since I will have a few on my doorstep. Who knows we might just win!

What with it being the Bank Holiday here in the UK as well this weekend, the last one before Santa comes, Mr Warehouse and I applied ourselves well and have done the garden. Well, at least some of it. You see most Bank Holidays in the UK are drizzly, wet and grey - If you haven't already noticed. However on the contrary, this one has been blisteringly hot, one of which my future husband and I can enjoy whilst not being as sun burnt as the last time there was a heatwave here.

Saturday Mr Warehouse was working the morning for some extra pennies so I decided to head out for the afternoon, popping by to my seamstress to see if she could work some magic by adding sleeves to my dress for a family event coming up soon. That night we looked after my future niece and nephews whilst their parents were out. Sunday I had reserved for hitting the shops in the hope of finding that elusive rattan garden corner sofa furniture set. And so leaving the pups at home in the coolness of the house Mr Warehouse and I headed out into the 30-something-degree weather and popped by a few stores picking up a much-needed hose for our newly acquired tap, some compost and numerous reduced flowers and bulbs, ready to pot. I was quiet surprised with myself as I sat back and looked at all our hard work for a Sunday afternoon, flowers and plants potted, garden watered and grass cut. Very well done us and as Mr Warehouse said as we settled in for the night that it really is starting to look a bit more like home. I just hope that my green-fingers don't ruin the plants as I am known for not being able to keep most plants in my life alive. Well, apart from that one cactus that looked like a penis and just kept growing?!

I remember thinking as we walked around garden centres and DIY shops as a child that this was the height of boring and that peaking as an adult was when you had been to or had any dealings with a DIY shop and gardening, well, that was just another hell I forced myself through in order to get pocket money. I didn't enjoy it and hated the fact that there were bugs everywhere, it was tough thick clay type mud which was never easy to work with and that it was arduously long work making me ache and hurt by the end of it all. I think it was probably at that point that I vowed, whilst my front garden, and even my back one, in my childhood home looked beautiful and people always commented on it, I would always choose to have my plants in pots, moreso for convenience. 

Today however as Bank Holiday Monday, our extra day out of the office and away from work has been less productive. It started off well, however, with promises of getting the Save the Dates done and ready to post out, however, instead we searched for a suit for Chris, again for the family occasion and scoured several shops in again soaring temperatures only to then buy online as there were limited sizes and styles. It started to lag however when we started the inventory of the wedding items we have purchased in preparation for next year, slowly wilting under the inescapable heat. Finally, I cracked and snoozed for longer than anticipated in the late afternoon. Since then we have set up the printer, and the laptop and printed out what our draft was, however on closer inspection there are some slight changes we probably will need to make before sending out, and that will be left now probably for a couple of weeks as Mr Warehouse will be preoccupied with other, more matrimonial duties and events ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Pink Punters, Pallets and Pooch!

Evening All, 

Following on from last weeks discovery of an aural haematoma in Pooch's ear, something similar to a blood blister in humans, Mr Warehouse and I are in doubt of it getting any better. On talking to the Vet's last week we discovered that it is most commonly found after an ear infection or, as with this case, smacking a soft floppy ear off of something hard. Bursting the blood vessels it has caused a swelling and, unlike humans, dogs and other animals struggle to regulate this natural occurrence and thus rather than the body automatically absorbing the excess blood back into the tissue surrounding the area it creates a pocket that fills up and then starts to process and drain away the fluid into the body. However, this process could take days, weeks or even months in many cases and we discovered after Googling it (I know I told him not to but Mr Warehouse was on it before I came off the phone to the Vets) most dogs and cats are left with a cauliflower ear, crumpled and disfigured from the trauma. However it would appear that since Pup's aural haematoma is not improving and after monitoring for over a week now, I think that surgery is going to be on the cards when we meet the vet again this week. 

However we have still had plenty of cuddles this weekend and with an extra day being a Bank Holiday I was looking forward to spending more time in the garden with her by my side as I read a good book. However as I disappointingly helped Mr Warehouse unload the lorry that had arrived with pallets on board  I realized that maybe the weather was not going to be improving. Now whilst I did not expect it to be as blinding as Easter Bank Holiday with temperatures in the region of 25+ degrees, I thought that the sun would have shone for at least a day or two out of three. I had such high hopes for our bank holiday including spending some quality time together creating a beautiful garden that we could share with friends and family over a barbecue or two throughout the summer. This would to be inclusive of our new adventure in a pallet sofa for the garden, Pinterest Style, and maybe at a stretch a fire pit, although Mr. Warehouse is insistent we are not getting one. 

Nevertheless, after finishing off putting our palates in order starting them against events we decided that the hard work was done with and so we ventured out into the drizzly grey Friday evening to get our fish and chip supper, something I had been looking forward to after being good all week on my new stint at Weight Watchers WW plan and loosing nearly quarter of a stone in a few weeks. Obviously with the count down to the wedding getting closer I was sure that I wanted to buy and wear a dress on my big day that fit nicely and that my weight wouldn't be a hindrance to this. Not that my size has been an issue in the past when trying on wedding gowns, but I just know I would feel more confident and comfortable not only on my big day but also be would be happy looking at the photos sat on my mantelpiece, should I have one, for years to come. 

Since Friday those pallets have stayed in the garden and have yet to be made into our dream garden furniture. It has been far too drizzly and wet and cold to do anything remotely outside. Apart from that is, go out partying to one of the biggest gay clubs in the county, Pink Punters in Bletchley, as I did yesterday evening with Miss Tweedle-Dee. Labeling itself as the fastest growing LGBT venue in the UK, it was what I would call a standard night out on the raz, lots of drink and even a complimentary McDonalds to finish with a side of vomiting into the wee small hours. Although I was impressed with the level of security and also that of the organised parking, drop off and collection system they had, it wasn't what I really expected a gay club to be like. I think that looking around the dance floor there were far more straight heterosexuals than anything of L, G, B, T, Q or Plus. 

Miss Tweedle-Dee agreed and I think that we maybe saw one or two transsexual's, and a over elaborate drag queen who looked incredible. I am not really sure what I expected from one of my first proper gay bar experiences, but maybe I thought it would be as it is in films or what Hollywood portrays, something entirely different than the standard bars and clubs - Playing music from the 90's with special significance to Elton John and Celine Dion, party go-ers wearing PVC and chains and the bars selling poppers. Whilst at least one of them is true, suffice to say that I was proven wrong and that it was like any other club or bar I had frequented before. With birthday requests coming in thick and fast for 18 and 19-year olds I felt like I was someones Mom out on a school night without the kids. The fact that the odd 20 or 21-year old birthday shout out only made it worse and reconfirmed that the 28-year old me want to check myself into a a nursing home right there and then. 

Regardless of all of this though, I enjoyed my night out and my Bank Holiday weekend spent with loved ones. Hopefully I can suffer and battle through the next few days until next weekend where I pray that the weather improves and I can enjoy my Pinterest pallet creation, complete with fire pit! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Bank Holidays, BBQ's and GoodByes!

Heyy, 

After a few Hiccups along the way, I have reinstating my routine of popping my meds every morning and my mood this past week has improved, if only ever so slightly. I suppose that that is to be expected when your bestest friend in the whole wide world is leaving for America. 

The last blurry few months have been a bit of a whirlwind of life events and I am hoping that it is coming to an end, although in reality I know deep down I am just teetering on the edge of another drop. I feel, more so at the moment with the imminent departure of my best friend, that whilst I have crossed many a Ravine in the last few months emotionally, I am on the knife edge of what could potentially be another fall and just a small gust is all it would take to tip me over the edge. That scares me. I think it is slowly settling in, this weekend especially when Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's parents threw a goodbye BBQ in her honor and in Great British style the bank holiday weekend was a bit of a washout, blowing away the gazebos and generally wreaking havoc on the garden. Laughing along together and giggling about our inside jokes no one else got, I realised that this would be the last time we had together. In less than a few days I would be loosing an incredible friendship with Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and whilst I have some amazing people around me, nothing will ever replace my first ever best friend. I feel ashamed and guilty of my selfish thoughts when I think about Mrs Tweedle-Dumb moving away with her new hubby, partly because I would not have given a flying fuck about who was left behind or what they were feeling - I would have been long gone. And I want her to do the same because Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will be OK back here because the fun that we will all have trying to successfully achieve a (three-way) Skype session or FaceTime. And to think of all the fun Miss Tweedle- Dee and I will have sending parcels to remind Mrs Tweedle-Dumb of home including goodies such as tea and HobNobs. And to think of the absolute excitement in receiving a parcel all the way from Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and her all American home, filled with exotic candy and chocolate, not to mention all of the goods that are way too expensive in the UK! Reasonably price UGGs and other designer goods? Yes please! I'm having palpitations just thinking about all of the spooky decorations and goods she could send me from the home of Halloween! Atop of that the incredible holibobs and excuses to fly out to be reunited. All of this I need to keep in mind when I think about how sad I will be when she has left. 

Speaking of sadness, following my most recent appointment with the doctor, they had advised to continue also with counselling sessions and therapy as it had temporarily been put on hold as I had finished my previous sessions and now awaiting a appointment where I can be seen through the NHS however after being told it can be anywhere between eighteen months and two years, I am starting to consider if I need to go Privately to seek help. Certainly not the three-month time slot I was given when I first started. Whilst I appreciate that the NHS in England is definitely under a huge strain at the moment and that the doctors and nurses are doing their jobs to the best of their ability despite the cuts loss of funding they have experienced in the industry over the year's, I still think that it is fundamentally wrong and critically important to increase the waiting times to a better standard. Not that I am, but should I become suicidal at any point I would still potentially be waiting for treatment. The thing is, if I broke my leg on the other hand they would try to operate as soon as immediately possible, having me in and out of that specific treatment quickly and efficiently so as to move on to the next patient. And yet for mental health it appears as though there is a lack of understanding in terms of how life threatening and dangerous it is for patients to wait to seek treatment. As with a broken leg mental health can become infected very quickly and easily causing more and more damage, and yet despite all of this the waiting list in the UK, at least for England anyway, is minimum of eighteen months and two years. 

To think where I will be in eighteen months and two years is a scary thought. We should be very comfy in our new home and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and her Hubby would have visited at least once or twice to our new abode. But with the house slowly coming to an end (I hope) we finally had the Mortgage company confirm his findings from the survey visit last week and has now handed over our damned Mortgage Offer. I am upbeat and positive but I am slowly getting itchy and frustrated with not being able to move in yet. Still no move date as yet but following the receipt of our Mortgage Offer we should hear back this week with a date for our completion and exchange. Yet with Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's big move to America approaching fast, I am ever more doubtful that Mr. Warehouse and I will be in our new home by the time they leave. Whilst I am looking forward to sending my best friend off to a whole new world and life in sunny L.A, I just sometimes feel sad about it all. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Missing Minutes!

Heyy, 

After what felt like the longest week for quite some time (and to be fair it was since I had taken a day off making the last few weeks a four-day week) I was more than happy that it was a bank holiday weekend and with an extra day to spend trying to do up our small flat. Last weekend I spoke of finishing work early on Friday and went to collect some house things before heading to Basingstoke for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Wedding. Following a long search for a property on budget as well as allowing dog's, Mr Warehouse and I had looked and viewed a few properties in the last few months that ticked all of the boxes. The only problem that we seem to come up against was the fact that the majority of these properties were very run down or poorly kept meaning we would have to put in a lot of work to a home that was not ours, something that at the end of the day we could quite easily do in the place that we have here. So we thought why not!? OK so our flat is small in comparison to the two-bedroom house with Garden and parking I wanted but I would say that our flat is still on the large side. And so after having several meltdowns over the last few weeks about where Mr Warehouse and I live, a combination brought about by the safety and security of the property (or the lack thereof), not to mention what seems like a complete lack of empathy or activity at all from the landlord. 

But before any painting wallpapering or decorating could get underway I had been booked in for a night out with some old work pal's, you remember them - Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat. The night started well as the three of us had planned to go for a cheeky Nando's with our other halves before heading into the infamous Bedford town centre for a good old fashioned knees up. I would never have thought that the night would have ended in as tragically as it did. With Nando's fully booked and with a queue out the door Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and I thought that it might be a good idea to go to another restaurant a couple of doors down. A Turkish restaurant called Nazar was somewhere that we had presented before and to be fair had quite nice food. As we sat down and ordered drinks I thought about how this was the first time Mr Warehouse and I had been out for a meal in quite some time after trying to save for a house. Nevertheless the company was enjoyable to say the least with Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and a friend of Miss Sugarcoat's in place of her girlfriend. Miss Hackney had recently split from her most recent fuck-boy and Miss Sugarcoat and I were hoping that her friend might provide Miss Hackney some "comfort". 

With our meal taking slightly longer than anticipated due to the fact they forgot about Mr Warehouse's order, we headed to one of the many bars along Bedford main High Street for a drink with Mr Warehouse before he departed to go home. Unfortunately my dearest boyfriend was working from 6am the following morning so was probably best if he didn't have a late one. After a couple of cider's outside in the newly refurbished beer garden of the pub he left us to our night. And I can only assume that it was from this point onwards that it all went downhill. With Miss Sugarcoat buying us or a round of Jagerbombs I struggled to keep it down. Luckily I had a Chaser drink of the half bottle of wine that Miss Hackney and I were sharing. And that continues throughout the night, nothing more, nothing less just wine and I think maybe the odd glass of Prosecco. Unlike normal I was certainly not drinking any shots spirits or even cocktails. Just Wine. How I was so wasted on such a small amount I will never know. I remember everything up until the point of which I left the club. I remember everything from the previous two bars and pubs we had been into and even remember having to pay to get into the club and being in there. I clearly remember at one point and for some unknown reason that I still don't quite understand I just thought I want or need to go home and with that picked up my bag and left not even saying goodbye to Miss Hackney or Miss Sugarcoat. 

I remember walking through the fellow clubbers. I remember vaguely walking down the stairs and seemingly out of the venue. I do not remember how but some way I ended up at the taxi rank, across the road and down the road a bit on the corner. Hazily I remember standing and waiting for a cab outside the rank. I think I remember getting in a cab and sitting in the back passenger seat. After that I don't remember anything at all even to this moment now. Normally, as most of you know who read along regularly and from some of my earlier party animal days, that I remember everything from a night out. Every gorey detail. Every alcoholic drink. Every dude that I used to get hit on or hit up on. Every. Little. Thing. 

Its not clear but I faintly remember feeling sick and knowing if I threw up in the cab that it would cost me dearly with a fine for the clean-up, and so weighing up the options in my drunken stupor I thought that being violently sick in my Ted Baker clutch would be the best option. Unfortunately I failed to take into account that my Vape, my power bank and cables not to mention a lipstick and other items were also being housed in the safety of my designer handbag. And with the decision being made in my head I made my choice to be sick inside the one vessel that would not charge me £50 for a clean up fee AKA my Ted Baker clutch.

The only saying that is fully clear in my head is that I woke up at about 11:30am when I heard Mr Warehouse calling my name. I think at first I was woken up by his motorcycle coming back home from his shift although that may well have been a dream. He was so angry and immediately started flying off the handle about how drunk I was and what estate I came home. Apparently Mr Warehouse had been trying to call me all morning, ringing more than sixteen times. I think in all fairness he was probably angry out of the fear for when he left for work (with only two-hours sleep) he was terrified of that we would come home to meet dead after choking on my own vomit. Luckily that was not the case however I felt awful for making him so angry. To be fair I don't think I have ever seen him so angry with me. I was devastated and yet confused by the fact that I found myself naked and in my bed but did not look or how I got home. 

Even to this moment a trying to terrifies me that I do not know exactly how I got back into my bed that night. All I can be thankful for is Mr Warehouse living with me as I am not sure what state or even if I would have gotten home safely. From the account that my wonderful boyfriend has given, I stumbled through the door at about 2am and made probably as much racket as I possibly could. By this point I had apparently already thrown up outside on the steps leading up to our flat as well as all down our French patio doors as well as the handle. I had as usual come in and gone straight to the bathroom sat on the toilet and throwing up all over myself in a last ditch attempt to aim for the bath. I can only assume that it was at this point that Mr Warehouse was roused from his slumber by my sickening wretches and came to save me, undressing me and putting me to bed safely. 

Whilst there has been some serious cleaning and even a moving round of some furniture in order to accommodate hopefully under open plan living situation in our front room, there has been very little if any decorating at all done. I can assure you though that I have most definitely learnt my lesson. I have thought about the missing minutes and hours potentially I have had over this weekend and would even consider the possibility that I may well have been spiked. I suppose that there is always the possibility. Not entirely sure as to why someone would want to spike my drink in particular or maybe they thought that it was Miss Hackney's. Either way something was telling me to just go home and maybe this was my subconscious kicking into action and overhauling my drunken mind. Whatever happened I am most certainly going to be more careful when I am out drinking next time, should there even be a next time since I am still in the dog house! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

One Year On ...

Afternoon All, 

Hard to see how things have changed since this time last year. A lot has changed, however there are many things that are still the same old same old. Like my love for Cheese and Mr. Warehouse's obsession for recording stuff and not watching it on the iPlayer. But one thing is for sure, and as it approaches Valentines Day our love for each other is just as strong as last year if not moreso. Another thing that has grown stronger is our love for Pooch and given the circumstances surrounding last year I am glad we have made it this far with what was such a sad and desperate time. 

Mr. Warehouse and I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye first of all. It was closed and sore looking. Pups had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all and had a complete loss of interest in anything she used to love and enjoy. Worried if it was something more serious we bundled her into my car and headed to the Vets. Once the Veterinary nurse  had taken some swabs of her eyes and quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to explain that pooch had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed. When I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed the Vet seemed evermore concerned. Then come a wave of peculiar questions that were all answered with a yes. At this point the Veterinarian seemed very anxious and asked our permission to take bloods to see how her vitals  were performing. When I asked the Veterinary nurse about what might be possibly wrong I expected it to be something small and easily treatable, but then cam her explanation. 

"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her." 

Shocked and shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had but ultimately the cost was huge and we had to consider other options than surgery. Numbers and figures whirling around my head all with the thoughts that this was a very simple and easily preventable illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from Pooch's undercarriage and said that since there is no leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst. Leaving our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor we left to grab a coffee and discuss our options. 

After Mr. Warehouse's Brother bought the bundle of fluff he handed her over, almost like a toy and into the care of  a teenage Mr. Warehouse and his Mom, both of whom worked and were not ready or prepared for an animal. But nevertheless they cared for her as best they could but as a adolescent man, no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy or as an adult dog. Therefore as a result of this, her pet insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation. 

"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps on the side of a road, outside what we now know in the daylight as a church. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we needed to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Now it is our turn. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. Run on sandy beaches, Hop on a ferry for a holiday or just for her to share in some of life's biggest moments with Mr. Warehouse and I.

She was still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication from the Vets but Mr. Warehouse and I decided to carry on with our Peak District Valentines break away with Pup but within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning home our pooch got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets again they couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make. With the prospects of a £1,500+ bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Vet had to say. 

After searching constantly for a way to get through this calling over one-hundred local vets and even ones as far as forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around. 


The next few hours and days were a blur until the weekend when Mr. Warehouse was accepted for a loan at the bank, funnily enough not actually needed for Pooch's Op but to try and better manage his debt and Credit Cards. Timing impeccable, we walked out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's financial status, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. A few days later I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially? It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed. 

The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis showed the photos took by surgeons. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our puppy and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. And boy have we. All three of us ran along the freezing but sandy beaches of Great Yarmouth in spring last year, had many trips to the lake for swimming and attempted picnics and even managed a weekend away to Bath in a log cabin by a toasty fire which I think Pooch enjoyed very much. All in all we are so lucky to have her still and make her last few years with us the best they can be ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Three More Days!!!

Hiya, 

With less than 72-hours until myself and Mr Warehouse will be on our holiday in Tenerife, suffice to say that we are very excited. The question is do have we got everything ready and are we fully prepared to board the plane? No. The answer would be no. Have I packed? No. Has Mr. Warehouse packed? No. Has anyone done anything besides from getting their hair and nails booked in at the salon been done - Well that stuff is booked, but everything else is being left till last minute as per usual. 

But there has been a valid excuse for this weekend it was a bank holiday in the UK, our last one for a while as the next time that we have a day off from work legitimately will be for Christmas. Normally I will try and plan to go away to somewhere with the dog and Mr Warehouse however we were very busy this weekend with social events and also a bit of overtime we were certainly stack to our eyeballs. Friday was an easy day in terms of both work and evening, but after a hard and long week at work I was more than happy for the extended weekend, all in the knowledge that the next time I see my desk I will be less than two days away from my holiday. 

Saturday started early with Mr Warehouse going to work overtime for the morning, and being the only driver in the household I had drawn the short straw by taking him to work. At 5.30am. But after an extended lay-in and a chill out on the sofa with the dog I was more than ready to start my day, again. Although there wasn't much left of the day to start giving the fact that I collected Mr Warehouse and went into town for a mooch and some last minute holiday shopping. Heading home in order to bake the remaining cakes for the christening the next day we were going to, we had little time to catch a breath before we were around to Mr Warehouses Brothers in order to look after their children. It wasn't until 3am we got home on Sunday and shattered, in our haste to get into bed and some sleep before morning we forgot to put our alarms on. As a result we woke up at the time that we were due to be leaving for the church in order to arrive in time for the christening. It was not going to be possible to make it to the church in time and so therefore we decided that we would wait in a car park of the reception venue so that we could await the new arrival. 

Unfortunately due to the gloriously sunny weather it was getting rather warm in my car and as a result the icing had a split. They looked like a four-year-old had done them and to hand them over to the mother of the child would have been an absolute embarrassment. Feeling depressed and at an absolute low-ebb due to the fact of my cupcakes were melting I said that I didn't want paying for them in the state they were. The disappointing thing is that I had been working on these cupcakes from the moment that she had asked me to do them, trying to work out the different ways that I would be able to carve out a centre and fill it with a rainbow. Hours has spent the last several weeks stuck in the kitchen slaving away trying to make the cupcakes look as beautiful as possible. And to top it all off we ended up arriving at the venue and realising we had forgotten the christening present. So safe to say that Sunday was far from perfect, for me at least. 

Today was far more relaxed with a cheeky Nando's lunch and mooch around town for some bits for the house / dog sitter (AKA Miss Tweedle-Dee) whilst we are away. Seeing family this afternoon, Mr. Warehouse and I are now relaxing in preparation for going back to work, but only for a few hours. Next time we talk I might be writing to you from a beach or beside the pool with a cocktail or two ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Hot Days, Hot Wings and Hot Messes!

Good Morning, 

So you know how last week I was telling you about how great my dog is, let's just say my expectations of her have severely gone down the pan. Let me tell you the story and set the scene ... 

Imagine my joy of a bank holiday weekend all to myself, at least Saturday anyway. With Mr. Warehouse working overtime on Saturday, I thought that I would spend my morning catching up on some telly and relaxing on the sofa with my partners pooch. The morning soon turned into the afternoon as Mr. Warehouse turned out to be working longer than usual. Finishing just before the FA Cup final started (not my decision to watch it of course) I collected my Bae and headed to get some food from the local KFC. After ordering food with headed home and to the comfort of our cool front room and our little poochie-poo's to watch the FA Cup Final and following our a cosy night in we headed to bed as we had an early start the next morning. 

Sunday in true British fashion we headed out to a car boot sale in a neighbouring Village and dog in tow we headed out to look for some bargains. Returning home in the early afternoon I  started to bake a cake for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Birthday meal that evening. All of a sudden and realising what time it was, I dashed out to run some errands and get the car valeted before returning home to get ready and throw on something half decent, grab the cake, and Mr. Warehouse, feed the dog and leave for the forty-minute car journey back home to Houghton Regis / Dunstable, and all before Six-O'Clock. 

Regardless of our lateness, Mr. Warehouse and I got to the restaurant on time and even had time en route to pick up a few stragglers. Although arriving on site and parking the car was tricky for Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Mr. Warehouse and I had not had enough time to drop off the cake to the restaurant prior to collecting Miss Tweedle-Dee and her Boyfriend so I gave the job of hot-footing it into the restaurant with said cake, styled on some sort of Instagram unicorn cake that totally did not turn out as I expected, basically looking like a melted down version of its well prepared social media cousins. Nevertheless we all had an amazing dinner and finished it all off in the garden of my childhood bestie. 

Returning home however I was shattered as was Mr. Warehouse. We had been very productive and got a lot of things done that we had been meaning to get round to for a while, but I suppose that is what Bank Holidays are for right? Drifting off into dreamland I wondered what tomorrow would bring and what both myself and Mr Warehouse would be doing on our last day of freedom before heading back to work. We had ideas and pipe dreams about going to London or even to an attraction nearby but after not booking anything and a late night Sunday we decided we would take the day as it comes and not making any expensive or big plans. 

Waking up this morning though I was disappointed when I sat down on the sofa with my morning coffee only to realise what carnage had happened either last night or in the early hours of this morning, As our dog walked around the side of the sofa and sat on the floor I wondered what was poking out from under her blonde fluffy bottom, She was trying to hide it I could tell but there is no getting past what I was seeing in front of me and after calling my boyfriend into the room, we both started to snigger. 

As I asked my dog to get up she agreed but looked at me with regret and guilt. Under her bottom was a torn open bag from  the local KFC we had a few nights ago. Bad I know but I had put my Hot Wings in a bag on the side, ready to eat them later on. unfortunately it looks like someone had beaten me to it and as Pooch hid her sorry-ass face from me I tried to install some discipline and tell her that she was naughty and a "Bad Bad Girl". Immediately she retreats to her bed, knowing what she has done wrong, all with a silly grin on her face as if to say "You know one day we are all gonna laugh about this"

Throughout today her hunger has obviously not been appeased for she has eaten breakfast, dinner, some left over yogurt, gravy and her usual doggy dentastix. I would have thought you were full up, but no, how stupid of me to thing that my Labrador is full. I caught several looks today as if to apologise for eating my beloved Hot Wings, but I also saw a few that in my head taunted me with phrases like "I enjoyed your Hot Wings" and "You should feed me steak like the poodle two doors down" all accompanied by the look stating that within the next few days I will be recovering chicken bones from a hot mess on the floor of the grass patch she has taken for herself on our walks. 

Despite all of this however she is still my Step-Pup and no matter how much you annoy me or shit so much it over fills the bag or even how much you enjoyed eating my fucking Hot Wings, I love you. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Life's A Beach!

Good Evening, 

So here Mr. Warehouse and I are after a lovely long weekend, knackered and tired but thoroughly happy with this Bank Holiday Weekend's activities gone by. With a work colleagues beautiful wedding on Friday night in the bag, Mr Warehouse and I were well and truly excited for our mini-break to Great Yarmouth. Situated on the Norfolk coast Great Yarmouth was a fabulous choice for us as it was only two hours drive or so from home and nicely nestled between the cold North sea and the good old British Norfolk Broads, we imagined that we would have plenty to do not just spend all day on the beach walking the shore or in the arcades playing the slot machines. 

Arriving at our hotel I must say was not the most glamorous of stays that Mr. Warehouse and I have ever had, however was nice and plenty for what we needed. It was the first bed and breakfast that the bae and I had stayed in with a dog but I was pleasantly surprised as I was expecting the room to be a lot smaller and more cramped for the three of us. Now this isn't to say that it was a large room by any standards and the decor could have definitely done with an update from at least the last decade, but as I explained to Mr Warehouse on the way back from dinner last night have you really stayed at a B&B by the sea if the room's don't look like a gaudy replica of your grandma's spare bedroom. In all fairness though the hotel was everything that we needed; Free Wi-Fi, Free breakfast and even free parking. 

After checking in and getting they keys on Saturday afternoon we decided to head down to the seafront for our pooch's first outing to the beach. Running onto the golden sand's, she was more than excited and I can honestly say that it brought a tear to my eye to know just how close both of us came to losing her only a few months ago. I did think at one point throughout that whole ordeal that we would never even get to this point where Mr. Warehouse and I would be able to see her run and frolic amongst the sand dunes without a care in the world. My thoughts turned to the day of her operation to have her Pyometra removed and how sickeningly worried we both were for our dog. Thankfully though Pup pulled through and we were all here on the beach having lots of fun throwing stones into the ocean and seeing which one of us would get splashed by the waves first. I am sure that it is not, but I imagine that this is what parenthood feels like - Chasing each other along the shore and making sure that there are plenty of memories being created and enjoying every precious moment there is, laughing all the way. 

After the exhausting fun by the sea Mr. Warehouse, the dog and I headed up the promenade towards the main town centre to enjoy some of the sights and smells at the seaside had to bring us. Stopping for some hot doughnuts and drinks, I reflected on how much fun I was having already and we had hardly spent a penny. Feet thoroughly painful I suggested going back to the hotel before maybe heading out again for some dinner just the two of us, but I will be honest by the time I got back my feet were so painful that I would have had to have a wheelchair in order to go out for dinner and so I got a delivery in of Chinese whilst Mr. Warehouse and I kicked back for a relaxing evening in front of the telly albeit a smaller one we were used to. 

Sunday was definitely the day for the adults, no doggies allowed. Although apparently taking your dog into the arcades was not as taboo as Mr. Warehouse and I once thought. Don't get me wrong it was weird not having the dog with us, she is essentially an extension of ourselves however it was nice having a day all to myself with Mr Warehouse. Almost like having a night off from the kids, it was as if we were having our first date again; Eating ice cream, messing around in the Amusement'S and going on fairground rides together. Suffice to say that it is days like this where I fall more and more in love with my dearest boyfriend. Even if he does push me under the spray of the log flume to get soaked. 

Waking up this morning I was sad to know that this was the last time I would be by the sea for at least the next few months, only difference being that next time it will be in a much warmer climate and without the dog. Scoffing down our fried breakfast and packing everything in the car to go home, I drove my little family down to the seafront for the last and final time, indulging ourselves in our favourite seaside activities such as playing on the 2p games in the arcades and amusements, running along the beach chasing each other over the sand dunes.

Mr. Warehouse and I finished off our little trip with the pooch in true British style by eating fish and chips by the cold and grey sea front and watching the shore lap against the wet sand. It was in this moment that I noticed something dark and long in the water. Whatever it was it looked as if it was moving and as I yelled at Mr. Warehouse to look out to sea in order to confirm my sighting we both were shocked as the head turned to look at us dead in the face as if he heard us talking about him. It looked as if it was a seal in fact I'm almost certain of it. A dark grey figure with an almost dog-like head took one look in our direction and proceeded to swim away. Knowing that no-one would believe either me or the boyfriend if we said we saw seals off the coast of Great Yarmouth, all of us began to chase along the shore to see if we could get a better picture of this mysterious animal. Again the canine-appearing creature decided to raise its head again above the choppy, green sea to have a look again towards land  before diving deeper, not to resurface again before we headed back to the car. 

What a wonderful way to end such a fabulous weekend, and all for a relatively modest budget of under £100 each. A cheap B&B, a penny jar full with odds and sods from purses and wallets over the last few months and the drive to get up and do something more than just sitting and catch up on telly or sleep of a bank holiday weekend in blightly. OK, granted it was certainly not the best weather in fact I would have probably liked it a bit warmer but it didn't rain and as long as you plan for rain and have any ideas of what you may do up your sleeve for if it does everything will be just fine. Wonder where our next adventure will be ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

BF4L

Heyy, 

So it would appear that yet again it is Easter and after weeks of planning and looking forward to visiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her other half, I picked Miss Tweedle-Dee up after finishing work of Thursday evening, ready for the tedious drive down. Truth be told I actually don't mind driving down to Hampshire to visit, in fact I quite enjoy the drive. Getting there late we all milled around Miss Tweedle-Dumb's flat until the earlier hours, gossipping about friends, family and strangely current affairs. It was not normal that the subjects of news articles were topic of conversation, but it seemed to happen a lot this weekend and I liked it. 

Friday morning Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I awoke and planned out a nice day to a local working farm. Arriving on site with sun shining and Sunnies on I was really enjoying my time with the girls. Ever since Miss Tweedle-Dumb had moved down to Basingstoke last Summer I had been worried she would miss home too much or that Miss Tweedle-Dee and I wouldn't see her as much, and whilst the latter is true, I think we treasure our time together much, much more than we ever used to. For the weeks in between our monthly visits I imagine we all look forward to them as much as the next. 

I know myself just how destructive living with someone can be, well at least for me it was destructive with Mr. Workaholic. So I can understand why she was nervous about moving in with her boyfriend of more years than I can muster, especially seeing me go through the messy break-up and everything else that went with separating whilst still being responsible for a property. It can be so easy to look at someones situation close to you or that you know of sometimes and compare it to your own, even if there are very little commonalities. I worried when Miss Tweedle-Dumb moved away that she would feel isolated, cut off and abandoned in a fresh new area where she knew very little people, most of them her other-half's family. But I am glad that it seems to have all worked out and safe to say that despite the odd bicker here and there, she is flourishing in her new home. 

I suppose in a way though Miss Tweedle-Dumb and my situations were and are very different, even now. I lived with Mr. Workaholic when I was in my late teens and early-20's. I was still learning about myself and dealing with situations most twenty-somethings don't have to contend with. We were both very young and naive and whilst I tried to make it work, for one reason or another it was not meant to be, but I can see now why. Could I really have raised children with a man that thought it was OK to eat nothing but for Chicken flaming dinosaurs and pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner? And whilst we had some good times, Mr. Workaholic and I, it was a case of too much, too soon. It would have never lasted and I am thoroughly glad of all the experiences and people I have met since him and his god awful man-gina habit! 

Walking around the farm on Good Friday, enjoying the extra time off we had together, we saw the regular inhabitants including sheep, baby lambs, cows and pigs, not to mention a donkey with a massive dick and his two bitches in the fields next to him. I never understood why we have never done anything like this before, It seems almost like a right of passage in friendships - Day trips to Zoo's go hand in hand with shopping and cinema outings. But I was glad to be doing something else outside the box with the girls other than the usual shopping and spending money which usually happens when I visit Miss Tweedle-Dumb down South. Obviously after seeing all the sights and sounds of the farm (Including the super hot farmer who was so enthusiastic about the sheep he farmed I would totally let him "ram" me) we headed into town, where I spent waaay more that I should on stuff I probably could have done without including a six-pound lipstick that looks no different to my normal lip colour and an eye-shadow for over fifteen-quid that gives me a mediocre coverage to look like a glitter ball. Also included in my haul were flip flops I did not need for a further four months, cake I did not need to eat and more cheese for my expanding fridge collection of nibbles. 

Nevertheless after my weekend with my friends I was looking forward to going back home to my pooch and boyfriend. I always seem to miss them much more after being away, even if only for a few days. I do however miss my bezzies. but until next month, I will just have to count down the days ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Regular Pupdate ...

Hiya, 

I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially?

Several weeks ago as I am sure you regulars to my blog will know, the pup got poorly and after seeing several vets at several different surgeries, Mr. Warehouse and I were faced with the decision no pet owner wants to consider. Our little one had been sick for some time now, constantly licking her downstairs and numerous eye infections we decided that we should get a professional opinion as to what was making her ill. We were told by the Veterinarian that o dog could have what was called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her. After a few weeks on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication resulting in her being off her food almost permanently asides a few handfuls of plain cooked pasta, she had made very little improvement. 

Within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning from the Peak District just hours earlier our fluffy got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets they again couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make to the rubber-floored rooms. With the prospects of a £1,500.00 bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Veterinary surgery had to say. Although leaving that night, no closer to an answer we were determined not to give up on her. 

We would find a way, surely there must be a way to get through this and out the other side relevantly unscathed. Every lunch break I called over one-hundred local vets, even as far as Cambridge and St. Albans, forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around. 

It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed. 

The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our pup and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. Already booked we had an adventure to the seaside for the first Spring Bank Holiday in the May, all three amigo's heading off to Great Yarmouth to allow Pooch a run along the shore, sand in between her paws and lots of new sights and smells to explore. But Shhh ... Its a secret - Although I am sure you won't tell her!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx