Deposits And Departure Gates!

Heyy, 

In a few days from now, I will be probably writing from you in the hotel lobby or maybe by the pool of our holiday apartment in the centre of Malaga, Spain. Sipping on cocktails and sunning myself in the warmer weather I will certainly be glad of the break, especially since it has been a couple of years since mine and Mr Warehouse's Tenerife break! What with saving for a house, my mental health issues and every spare penny going towards our new home Mr Warehouse and I decided against a summer break in 2018. That being said it was not exactly planned this year either, what with the wedding less than a year and a half away now I expected to be ploughing every penny we had not only into our new home but also towards the wedding of our dreams. That would have been the case until Mr Warehouse gave me an ultimatum back in the dreary depths of March. "What will you do with the money?"

It all started when we moved out of our little starter flat in Bedford town centre. We had just received our new keys when we had noted that days earlier paid our rent for the next month up until the end of November 2018. 
"Don't suppose you could give us half of it back and we can be out in a fortnight?" I asked my Landlord cheekily. He didn't agree, although I knew he wouldn't. I had, along with my new fiance, a month to move our things out and clean the property ready for the Landlord's new tenants. Clearing most of our stuff in one weekend we made sure to give the flat a good solid three days worth of cleaning, scrubbing every skirting board, every wall, every tile to make sure it was spotless. 

I had been relying on my £400.00 deposit money coming back to me before we had bought a lot of the home stuff we needed and as Christmas approached it would have been nice to maybe go somewhere or just have a more enjoyable festive period, especially after the year Mr Warehouse and I had just battled. And on checking out with the Landlord everything seemed to go swimmingly. There were a few items that needed to be collected and taken care of furniture wise however on returning the keys the Landlord mentioned that the carpet may need changing and he agreed that he would find a few quotes and be in touch with a price so I knew how much of my deposit would be used, something we reluctantly agreed to. As the festivities got underway Mr Warehouse and I was able to even steal a weekend away to Bournemouth with our eldest. Soon enough Christmas arrived as did New Years and without a moments thought I realised it had been well over six weeks and I had still to hear anything from my ex-landlord regarding my deposit and what he thought was appropriate for a carpet that needed replacing waaaay before I moved in. 

I called and called and called but nothing; texting every time I left a voice mail, just in case he was out of the county or not able to answer a call. After several weeks I tried emailing, however the email I had just kept bouncing back. Hell, even Mr Warehouse had gone round to the Flat after work some nights just on the off chance he may be there but still nothing. Clutching at straws at the beginning of January this year I called the estate agents that originally dealt with me in letting the penthouse flat in the same block. They were helpful and put me in contact with the DPS, Deposit Protection Scheme. Since April 2007, a landlord must put the deposit for the property you are renting into a government-backed tenancy deposit scheme (TDP). This gives the landlord or letting agent's assurance that the tenants will meet the terms of the tenancy agreement, not cause damage to the property and pay the rent/bills. 

Finding out where my deposit was the first thing, next was trying to get it back. I found out, again through the helpful lettings agent, that my landlord must have returned my deposit within 10 days of us both agreeing how much you’ll get back. Since it was January and I had heard absolutely nothing since I handed back my keys there was only one thing left to do - Raise a dispute. I was told it would be pretty easy since it was clear that I had made every effort to try any other means of getting this resolved and had the texts and phone calls to prove it. And so I put pen to paper (well fingers to keyboard really) and filled in the online application form with ease. A few days later I had a response and was told that the Landlord / Agent would have a right of reply and that this would be allowed up until the beginning of February, three-weeks away. Should what I thought the inevitable would be and that there was no response from the Landlord then the DPS would look in favour to the tenant and in most cases award the full amount back to me. I was anxious but confident I had done everything I could. 

Within a day or two of logging a deposit dispute, I had a text from my ex-landlord, asking if we could meet at the property the following day to discuss the deposit issue and collect the "piles of post that was building up". I explained that the following day was not convenient and since I had been trying to get ahold of him for months now that he would have to wait until the weekend when Mr Warehouse and I would be free. I never heard back. 
Friday afternoon of that week came and I received another text message asking about the time Mr Warehouse and I would be meeting my ex-landlord at the property. I explained that since I had not had confirmation that I had assumed it was inconvenient and had made other plans for the weekend. I had instead agreed that I could meet him at the property, along with my fiance after work that day but that we needed to be finished by a certain time as we had somewhere to be, a lie but I didn't want to be waiting around for hours. 

Incidentally, on arriving at the flat, rushing there from work in 4pm traffic, my ex-landlord still did not show up for a further forty-minutes, only to arrive and announce he had forgotten the keys so needed to return home to fetch them, delaying the meet by a further half hour or so. During which time I took a look through the windows of my once precious abode. I was horrified to see that in the darkness of that January evening my ex-landlord had completely decked out my old gaff with new carpets and even painted the walls. Terrified he was going to try and charge me all of this, I thought it best to call the TDS and get some advice on how best to proceed, considering I had already filed a dispute. They explained that despite the ex-landlord fully fitting the flat out he would not be able to put that charge to me, even if they were cashmere carpets and golden paint (of which they were certainly not)! 

It was at this point that I also found out to my shock that legally my ex-landlord could not ask for any of the deposit to be used on the downstairs flat. You see, when I first moved into the block I rented the top floor 1-bedroom apartment and loved every moment of it. I paid a £400.00 deposit and then a year or so later when the ground floor property came up for rent I initiated a conversation to my Landlord and asked if I could have the first refusal. He agreed and since I had been a good tenant and always paid my rent on time with never any issues he agreed that the deposit for the penthouse apartment would simply be used for the ground floor one and so nothing more was said. Although that had not been the case as the Landlord have never moved the deposits over and for the sake of a letter at the end of the numerals (I moved from A to B), there was nothing he could do. 

And so as the van pulled into our old street again for the second time that evening I was relieved to know I had the upper hand and that every penny of that £400.00 I scrimped together for back in 2013 was coming back to me one way or another. A snotty and rather uncomfortable chat with the ex-landlord ensued, something in which I sound recorded on my phone simply for evidence should I have needed it. He accused Mr Warehouse and I of not cleaning the flat and leaving it in a "diabolical state" claiming that there were holes left in walls, paint jobs messy (from the tenant before me I must add) and that the carpets were threadbare and in need of replacement since they smelt like dog and were damaged. Offended I explained about how difficult it was to get hold of him and he brushed it off stating that it was "no excuse for how you left it". Some bully tactics took place and at one point he asked us about coming back to clean the oven, which in all fairness we had forgotten totally about until he brought it up. 
"Well," I started, knowing I was fully going to fucking win this. "Considering we had not been able to reach you for several weeks that had turned into months, I was not wholly confident you were going to turn up this evening and even then I was not sure what to expect so, therefore, have not come equipped with any cleaning tools, however, if you would like both of us to come back at a later date and clean this and anything else we would be more than happy to do so." I finished. This caught him off guard completely and maybe expected me to roll over and just agree to be billed. It was at this point he made some excuse about not wanting the hassle and that he would just arrange it himself. On getting down to the crunch however my ex-landlord reeled off the long list of thing we had left for him to clear and clean up, mainly redecorating works which needed to be done really in order for the property to be let again in a reasonable state. 

"I have had to pay out over £400.00 for the work I have done here and I would say I am being fair in only asking for half of it back from your deposit? Don't you agree?" the ex-landlord ushered to Mr Warehouse. My fiance, big and strong, chest puffed out like a peacock stood his ground and reiterated what I had said time and time again stating that this was out of our hands and that it was going through a deposit dispute with the TDS. 
"Well, we only have to tell them what we want them to know," the ex-landlord said slimily trying to claw back some money from his crappy paint job and cheap carpet. 
"Besides, who are they more likely to believe?" he ended. Then, awkward silence. 
"We need to think about it" I ended the long period of silence with explaining it was now a joint decision and that I needed to discuss it with my new fiance and come back to him knowing full well I wouldn't and would eventually walk away with my money, rightfully mine. 

And true to that, I did. A few weeks later I received an email in my inbox stating that despite timeline and numerous attempts to contact the Landlord /Agent even past the cut-off date for a right of reply, I was being awarded my full deposit back to me. The money landed in my account within a few hours. A couple of days after the TDS settled the claim I received a call from my ex-landlord. I was in the hairdresser's chair so could have answered but in any instance, I would have been at work and so screened the call. I listened to the polite and slightly sinister voice mail, demanding I contact him as a matter of urgency regarding the "damage" to his property and to discuss the "deposit issue" suffice to say that I did not return his call. Instead, I blocked his number and booked a holiday! Malaga here we come!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Country-Bumpkin Here I am!

Bonjour Mon Ami! 

We. Are. In. And apologies for last weeks missing post as I am sure you were all gripped onto your screens just waiting to here when and what was happening - Unfortunately Country Bumpkin life means signal is poor and Internet is poorer! 

Ahh Yes - The moment has come when Mr. Warehouse and I are now fully moved into our new home! I am officially broke and terrified of Adulting! Shit just got real! After multiple handover's and changes and problems galore, including a whole mess up with our housing plans, dimensions and specifications, we are finally in. Nevertheless, after receiving the devastating news that our entire property had been mis-sold, Mr Warehouse and I received an email from the Housing Association detailing that nearly a week earlier than planned, they had taken handover of the property and after consulting our solicitor we finally agreed upon a date! Five days on from then we would be picking up the keys and becoming home owners for the very first time! 

Now I am hardly going to lie to you and say that the move or dismantling and remaking of furniture was difficult and fraught with arguments aplenty. I am sure that IKEA has been cited as a cause on many a divorce paper for failure to evoke pleasantries between loved ones! Mr Warehouse has continued to stress out throughout the entire process of moving home and is not making it any easier for himself when it comes to finding an item in particular. Buried under boxes and boxes of furniture and worldly possessions for the last few months I was certainly glad as I thought that this day would never come but I am so I am incredibly happy to be in my nice new, clean home with straight walls and no nooks or cranny's to try and keep clean. No pot smoking neighbours upstairs with their scatty ratty dog and barking at all hours of the day and night. No more living on one level with only a few steps between the whole property. No more patio or grubby garden. Thank the heavens for heard work and determination for I was laughed at the beginning of the year when I said to Mr Warehouse that I would buy a property in 2018. And you know what. I fucking did it. 

We have been in the house now for a week or so officially and still have yet to put up a few more shelves and lots of pictures to make it feel more homely. I am positive that this will happen within the coming days as I am in preparation for mine and my Husband-To-Be to host our very first party. The first of many I hope - Although don't tell him that, he'll have a shit-fit. Ever since Mr Warehouse proposed to me on a cold autumn afternoon walk with Pooch in a wooded car-park I simply couldn't wait to tell everyone so they can share in the news and celebration of our engagement together. But on top of that we have just moved into our first home and would like to also show this off too. The Babe said that I was not allowed to have either party let alone two of them so I have combined them together to give us an Engagement Warming - Half Engagement Party, Half House Warming. 

And so here we are. All settled into the idyllic countryside estates of Cranfield! Just dress me in Wellies or Tweed and call me a Country-Bumpkin! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

And So The Healing Begins

Heyy, 

So last Tuesday was my birthday and whilst I did not mention this in last week's blog post, I thought that I would mention it now! Happy Birthday to me! It is always awkward when you have a birthday in the middle of the week. Everyone is working or have other commitments and dinner out was an expensive luxury to do twice. Instead I settled for my Birthday Eve when Mr. Warehouse and Miss Tweedle-Dee joined me to indulge in my favourite thing eating out and sushi. And although my best friend and boyfriend were not fully enjoying themselves - Miss Tweedle-Dee felt poorly and Mr. Warehouse was still unsure on the concept of raw fish - But I certainly wasn't and gorged on many dishes of salmon and sticky rice. 

Afterwards Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I took an after dinner stroll and I was giving my birthday present from my bestie. Opening the different envelope they all contained information about a wonderful idea and something that was just otherworldly. With the run-up to Halloween coming quickly I am so excited for Autumn and Spookies to come, so with all of this in mind Miss Tweedle-Dee paid for us to both encounter the paranormal inside one of Britain's Most Haunted prisons - HMP Gloucester. 

The website states that HMP Gloucester has a long and chilling history with many of the executed criminals remain buried in the grounds of the prison. Some of the most infamous serial killers have been incarcerated within the walls of Gloucester Prison. The prison formally closed on 31 March 2013 but the suffering and torment is deeply etched within the fabric of this foreboding location. Originally built as the County Gaol in 1700s at a cost of £34,000 with a capacity of 350 prisoners each in separate cells, there were also separate cells for debtors of both sexes.Between 1792 and 1864 at least 102 executions took place using the considered more humane 'New Drop' style gallows with many of the executed being buried in unmarked graves where they still remain today. Join the team as we spend the night at the terrifying HMP Gloucester with the tormented souls that remain.

Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will start our overnight ghost hunt at HMP Gloucester in the afternoon of Saturday 20th October 2018 when my Besitie and I will drive, in her new car, down to Gloucestershire and check into the hotel to try and get some rest. Our experience will start at 9pm that night and will be sure to really test our nerve. An experience that we are sure will not forget and with suffering torment and death deeply etched into the very fabric of this imposing prison we may meet more than just the guide. Gloucester Prison was home to the notorious serial killer Fred West so during the night we might be in contact with him and all those who remain as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I join in carrying out seances, vigils and experiments in the most active areas of the imposing location. At 3am all is well as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will return to the hotel, hopefully not possessed or contaminated by demonic spirits to sleep and the following day maybe some nice relaxing shopping ... Or maybe a trip to Church?!

One present that I did not expect to receive was an email in my inbox from a charitable organisation in the heart of Bedford called the Amicus Trust. In the email they detailed about how I had reached out to someone that could help me with my mental state and said that they were able to give me counselling sessions in order to work through my problems as quickly as possible so that life can get back on track. I am still on my medication but I  now feel quite pressured from loved ones to get things sorted and frankly it is becoming a little too much to bear. I know that people mean well and that in reality I am of the knowledge that I need to sort out these issues but first and foremost, I need to sort myself out.Trust me when I say that it is simply a long story that I may share with you another time.

Leaving the house with plenty of time on Friday morning just in case parking was a bitch, I was anxious as I always am at my first meeting with my current therapist. I found a parking space straight away and with that proceeded to scroll through my social media pages whilst I waited for an appropriate time when I would be able to walk through the doors without being too early. Locking my car and walking past many of the unscrupulous faces I saw on that Friday morning I realised that the the exact location of my therapy Sessions were actually in the heart of Bedford and area which is renowned for its poor reputation and well known for being a bad side of town. But with this in mind I thought that there would be no better place to have a charity or organisation such as the Amicus Trust.

Meeting the gentleman that I had been emailing for the last fortnight or so was interesting to say the least. He was extremely friendly and easy to get to know. Immediately I was relaxed and at ease with his company He offered me a cup of coffee which was nice as it was the morning and I have not eaten yet but it also helped in breaking the ice in what would otherwise be a rather emotionally fuelled situation. Sitting down at a large wooden table, the room was dimly lit and despite the large window next to the table being hidden by the blinds I could still hear the busy street outside. My Therapist was an larger framed gentleman maybe in his late fifties with long salt and pepper curly hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dusky purple corduroy shirt straight out of the 70s or 80s and with the skin tags littering his eyes and wrinkly face I knew that I can trust him. 

And so we began unravelling my tale. It is a complex and complicated one and something in which we only got to the bottom of this evening, however after the last two sessions I can safely say that things can be fixed and everything can be resolved one way or another. There are certainly a lot of issues that we need to work through and get to the bottom of but he assures me that it can all be mended. Its funny, walking out of my therapy session tonight has made me feel more positive and hopeful than I think I have felt in the last few months about my mental health and I am sure that I will work through it to get back to me again. It will be long and hard and difficult, but I'm ready!

'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

Snowmageddon

Hello one and all! 

So with the new found confidence I discovered in a bar last week down in Bedford's grim town centre of a Friday night I battled the storms and winter weather just as everyone else did admit Storm Emma and the dreaded Beast from The East. England and the rest of the UK was in for a chilly reminder that winter is yet to be over this last week and whilst it is nearly Easter and should be all spring time sunshine, flowers, bunnies and lambs - This is far from the reality of Blighty weather. 

With apply named Beast from The East, the colder weather coming across from Russia being blown by Siberia and picking up some icy chills on the way the temperatures plummeted to rival the sinking of the Titanic and blizzard snow's hampering travel plans and all manner of daily activities life for some across the British Isles this week has not been great. All was but for a minor inconvenience until Storm Emma forcing the MET Office to issue a red weather warning foreboding to a loss of life should people be caught up in the outside winds of 70mph coupled with the already existing polar vortex from Beast from The East with forecasts for -15C wind chills and snowdrifts nearly as tall as you. Yes you! 

As the snow fell carnage descended as shelves were left empty as shoppers (and general idiots) grabbed everything they could (including wiping one Tesco I went into completely of cake) in order to brave the potentially long winter nights ahead. Delays of two hours were a pleasant surprise for some people where others were stuck for hours or sometimes a couple of days on end in the middle of motorways and A-roads up and down the country. 

Call me cynical and don't get me wrong I don't live very far North of London so weather here in the comfy Home-Counties was not adverse by anyone's standards but I just don't get it when people freak the fuck out about a little bit of the white stuff. I mean it is to be expected, we are an island off the coast of some of the coldest places in the entire world; Russia, Siberia, Iceland and the Artie just to name a few, and that's not including places right on our door step like Scotland, Norway and Sweden all suffering from much snowier weather during the winter months. But they deal with it in a much better way. Heated paths and walkways so people don't slip over and better public transport that doesn't just break under the strain of a few snowflakes. I understand that for the UK the methods used in other countries are both costly and something that would not necessarily be beneficial for the people of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland but it does question about how they seem to have got a grip on things over there when the weather gets bad. 

Now I get that not everyone was that lucky enough like me and Mr. Warehouse to have the snow disappear on Saturday Afternoon as it did in Bedfordshire. I understand that to be in a car for over sixteen-hours potentially with a newborn baby with little or no water or food and only a blanket to keep warm or if you were stuck at home awaiting an ambulance to come and help you when you need it most it is not ideal and when weather is poor it only exasperates the situation and makes it worse. I, like others, have watched the news and listened to the radio hearing stories of wonderful community spirit and people being labelled as Snow Angels for the acts of heroism from John O'Groats to Lands End and everywhere in-between. And it is those moments that make me proud to be British, regardless of the weather - Come rain or shine we all stick together!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Reuniting of Sorts!

Heyyy, 

So following the optimism of last week's fresh adventure, again the subject of buying house is at the forefront of my mind and it would appear that there is nothing to help me get there any quicker than just saving alone. Unfortunately for me, no one rich is dying in my family and I don't think I have any wealthy relatives that are willing to lend me the cash-ola for my first home. Suffice to say that I think it's time I suck it up and just open up a help-to-buy-ISA and look forward to the next seven-years of nothingness in my life. Anyway enough with being morbid about home-ownership, I have had a laugh with some old work colleagues and some even older friends. 

Working hard at my small desk in the new offices, I received a text message from one of my old work colleagues, Mr. Eagle. It was a simplistic message, stating that my old work colleagues were planning a night out in town on that Friday and I was the honorary member. Delighted that somebody had finally asked me out for a proper messy night out on the town I jumped at the chance, returning the message as soon as it hit my inbox that I most certainly would be there. Speaking to my beloved Mr. Warehouse that evening, he was already doing some overtime early on the Saturday morning so would probably give it a miss. But if I know my boyfriend I knew that he would make sure he at least came out for one drink in order to show face and tell the lad's I used to work with to watch themselves and more-so to watch out for me. 

As Friday night rolled round, more than excited to get my glad-rags on and see some familiar and well missed faces. Walking into one of the many pubs along the Bedford High Street I was suddenly nervous and excited all at the same time. Only a small group of lads, mostly from the warehouse but it didn't matter for tonight was mine for the taking and as I got the round in Mr. Eagle and I caught up on the office gossip and what had been happening since I left. But as the night wore on I could tell that Mr. Warehouse was ready for bed as he and I both knew he had a very early start. 

Bidding us a farewell, the boyfriend departed and we headed to the next bar along. By this point in the evening, I am almost certain that I am more than a little bit tipsy but I am loving every moment of it. Since learning to drive and getting my blessed Vivian I have always been the designated driver, rarely opting to get a cab to any social event. So this was certainly my time to get down and dirty on the dance floor whilst getting completely off my nut. And the best thing about it was that I was doing it with all of my favourite people in the whole wide world, well nearly?!

Leaving the club I don't quite remember what happened next, all I do remember is that we went to Subway. I ordered a foot-long sub and proceeded to the taxi rank. Sweet as my old work colleagues dropped me off back home and make sure that I was in through the door before heading back to their own homes themselves. I remember the bedroom light being on as it normally is when I go out on the town without my Mr. Warehouse. Slowly and quietly as possible I made it to the bathroom, where I had apparently stripped off and fallen asleep on the loo. Classy 'eh?! The next thing I know the lights are switched on and I felt as though I was in heaven it was that bright, but then came a familiar voice and it didn't seem to be too pleased with me. It was Mr. Warehouse and he had found me in a very compromised state of affairs. 

With a raised voice he asked me what I was doing to which I can only assume I slurred my response. After taking my remaining six-inch subway from me (which I have since been told I was clinging onto whilst asleep), cleaning up my mess, my long-suffering Mr. Warehouse got me up and put me to bed. Several hours later I awoke to the sunshine through the blinds, piercing into my life revealing the devastation that was the night before. With the help of the dog, who had now joined me in bed for a Saturday morning snooze, I got up and dressed myself in all boyfriend attire compromising of boy boxers, tracksuit bottoms and a over-sized tee, all staples for a morning after. Curling up on the sofa with pooch I sipped on my coffee and revelled in the fact that I had found my leftover Subway. 

It wasn't long before I had Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb calling me wanting to know all the Gorey details of my messy night out with the lads from (ex) work. Miss Tweedle-Dumb was coming back up home for the weekend from Hampshire so we had planned to meet up and do something. We planned to meet at a local pottery place where you could invoke your creativity into some work of art on the side of a china piggy bank. Good for the soul and good for a hangover - Not that I was suffering at all really. As I sat their painting my Minnie Mouse themed piggy back I pondered across the fact that only twelve-hours previous I had been staggering up that very same High Street singing and laughing all the way and having drank copious amounts of alcohol I should have been in a much worse state than I was. 

Placing our pigs and other ware's into the Kiln trays I promised to collect them in a weeks time when they had been baked and glazed. Heading out to dinner that evening I was excited for my besties to try some of what Bedford had to offer in terms of culinary delights. Mr. Warehouse and I took them to Meat Cure on the High Street (as if I didn't get enough of it the night before). The newly opened burger house had been open since maybe last summer and the menu had grown massively since then, offering more than just the six or seven burgers initially menued. Now you could dine on steak, salad, chicken and burgers all with yummy sides and extras. Tucking in we forgot slightly to leave room for pudding as we headed to a new dessert place called Dessert Island where you could drool over very reasonably priced desserts with anything from cheesecake and tarts, to ice-cream, waffles, crepes, cookie dough and sundaes. 

Stuffed Mr. Warehouse and I said our goodbyes to Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and promised to meet up soon for more foodie escapades. Awhh Yes! And although this weekend was slightly unplanned and a bit thrown together I enjoyed the flow and certainly will cherish some of the moments I have had, although maybe not Subway-Loo?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Drives Me Round The Bend

Hiya, 

After the excitement of last weekend coming back from holiday and having cuddles with a newborn baby that didn't cry in my presence (Yes! I am king of all children - OK certainly not true, especially from last weeks post) I have had a stretched out week that took forever to end. Why is it that your week seems to melt away when your sat on a beach with the "Hello-Hello-Olla-Olla-Calypo-Calypo" man screaming in your ear every half-hour as he walks past hoping your not trying to pretend to sleep. Yet the second you get home and back to reality it feels as though someone is pressing rewind on your entire life. Its like ground hog day. Its horrible. I need another holiday. But where too? I am thinking despite Mr. Warehouse somewhat finding steady employment (I said steady, not permanent - As yet anyway) I don't think we would realistically be able to squeeze in a summer holiday together before the leaves begin to fall. However this leaves (Haha, see what I did there) the gap between my birthday and Christmas wide open with a sparse calender of events which in turn is an opportunity not to be missed. Maybe Mr. Warehouse and I can head to the Swiss Alps for a romantic snowy retreat, hot-tub and champagne at the ready. Or maybe a cosy city break to Copenhagen, Capital of Denmark and all things Scandi. Maybe a good old German Christmas Market filled with cuddles over hot mulled cider and horse-drawn carriages. Mmm. I need a holiday - NOW!

Although I say this now, I have to keep reminding myself that in actual fact as Autumn approaches it will be about the time that I pass my driving test (hopefully) as it is booked for the fifteenth of September. Yes I acknowledge that this is three days before my birthday and whilst I would like to say I will pass, I doubt very much I will pass first time round. I mean seriously who does that. *Some time lateeeer* OK well after a while Googling people that passed their test first time I can only imagine that Adele, Niall Horan and Pixie Geldof are all just very fortunate and have not experienced brain-farts whilst attempting to Bay Park like I do. I am anxious but not nearly as scared as I was doing my provisional test. I would like to hope that I can pull my driving test forward just a little bit, maybe by a week or so, just so I have time to recover from the unavoidable failure before I turn twenty-five. But judging by this weekends driving lesson I am improving slowly now after learning everything I need to I just have to perfect it now. 

I have started to make enquiries however about whether or not to get a car on finance or not. There are positives on boths sides and whilst a car being bought outright is a good thing as I would cherish it and take care of it best I could, there will always be the potential I could be sold an absoloute Dud. Unfortunatly it would seem my Father is lacking parenting skills and is unable to help me in the simplest of ways so the most likely way of me veiwing and buying a car is either with Mr. Warehouse or the Tweedles. Both Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have cars of their own, essentially bought outright although Miss Tweedle-Dee's Citroen C1 actually was a finance car bought for her younger Brother so is in fairly good nick. Miss Tweedle-Dumb on the other hand has been through numerous car's before landing herself what seems to be a fairly reliable and trusty Renault Megane. I would love a Mini however I would need it to fit a dog in the boot comfortably as well as having four/five doors which for a Mini is rare and quite frankly just doesnt look right. Practically right now my life needs more than what a Mini can offer. I need more. And besides, at over three-hundred-pounds a month for a financed used vehicle it was way out of my budget, and thats not even including petrol or insurance. I am thinking a small car, something that I could maybe have a deal including insurance and all the other bits and bobs or maybe a finance package that offers me the choice after three years to either buy or trade in for another financed car. I dont know. but what I do know is that owning a car is and will be very, very expensive.

Other than my driving lesson this weekend, Mr. Warehouse and I also set about celebrating Bedford River Festival and attended the two day event pretty much all weekend. With lots to see and do we thoroughly enjoyed the weekend although some of the unsavory points were definatly the lack of cash machines, cold drinks and seating throughout the festival. I was also very upset to see that some ridiculous stupid people brought their dogs out to the event which attracted people from as far as London. In the twenty-seven-degree heat I saw every type of dog you can think of from tiny Chihuahua's right up to humongous Leonberger's and whilst I love a big, furry breed that looks like a small bear, I would be a more responsible dog owner not to bring it out to a place where it is crowded constantly and limited water available and when it is, its not fresh or cool. You would not dress a child up in a fur coat and take it out in that sort of weather so why should Dogs be any different. And on the subject of children, later on in the night when the main stage was starting to get heavy (I think thats what the rudeboys say anyway?!) there was still children, toddlers and even young babies out and about, surrounded increasingly by not only people but drunk people, smokers and drug-takers. It was sad not only to see Doggies in this situation but also young children and you really have to consider the parents ethics when you walk passed a girl no older than fourteen lining up white powder with a credit card whilst an older man hold a phone-torch  to guide her. I mean that is someone's little girl for crying out loud?! Does no one care? 

Nevertheless Mr. Warehouse and I enjoyed ourselves and were for the most part, excited to be residents of Bedford and thoroughly look forward to the next time in 2018. Who knows where we will be?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx