Don't worry my tattoo's don't like you either

Heyy, 

So following last weeks feelings of never having felt so at a loss, thinks are getting better, but seemingly as with everything during Corona, it is slowly, slowly. With Mr Warehouse and I having to postpone our wedding due to the uncertainty and coronavirus threat, making the decision several weeks ago now I was expecting many of the benefits to have taken effect including cramming in more holidays or maybe some more time to expand on my career or side hustle and ake some more money before the inevitable onset of children happens, probably within a year or so of being married. However, with the lack of training opportunities, work scope and growth and most holiday destinations facing some sort of quarantine risk, it's becoming a struggle trying to look on the positive side of things. 

Week fifteen and I am honestly, like most people I think, wondering if and when this will never end; I am well and truly fed up with it all. The BBC released today (Monday 24 August 2020) confirm that there have been more than 320,000 confirmed cases of coronavirus so far in the UK, only climbing 1,000 in the last week. However, with over 41,000 people to have died, government figures show we are still not out of the woods yet. Whilst those figures may seem steep, there have only been four people who have died as a result of Coronavirus in the last 24-hour period in the UK which contributes to a fortnightly decline since the beginning of the month. As I explained several weeks ago, the more that you test and trace this horrible disease, the more people will come back with having contracted it or be known to be infected, asymptomatic or not. It is a statistic that the more cases of detected COVID-19 the more deaths there will be as the Government grapple with the science and the research as we learn new things about it day by day and as the months go one we will be sure to learn even more. 

Anyway, things have been starting to go back to normal now and with everything opening up again I was happy to be heading to the tattoo shop. Planned for May 2020, I had booked in to have a commemorative piece done for the one-year anniversary of little Frankenstien blessing our lives. But Corona had other plans and as tattoo parlours and other establishments got shut down,  so did some puppy-inspired ink. Nevertheless, as the day rolled around I became more and more nervous of the design, what the studio would look like (since I hadn't been there before) and what my artist would be like. But I needn't of worried. 

Gravity Tattoo Shop had graced one of Leighton Buzzard's main street's for sometime now and become a very well established and well-known tattoo studio. The cute and classical design of the shop front instantly makes you feel at ease and at peace with the desicions you have made in life and the ink that shall imbed your skin to reflect them. Knocking the door I was greeted by a lovely young women whose friendly tone instantly made me feel welcome and safe. Decending the stairs I was greeted with a very clean and clinical enviroment, as one would maybe expect from such a place. But the colour and vibrancy was what I noticed first. No black walls and heavily gothy or macarbre vibes. Quite the opposite in fact. Colour everywhere. Pastels and bright neons. Bunting was hanging from the staircase and artwork adorned the walls. I felt very comfortable here. 

Sitting on the couches and "borrowing" dome sweeties left out I forgot for a second that I was not at a kids birthday party and suddenly started to feel a little nervous. Although no sooner had I filled in the welcome forms, I was introduced to my Tatter - Leanne. @leanneleavestattoo as her instagram handle suggests is a tattooist in the making. Her social media is littered with beautiful pieces of work including flowers, animals, insects and some realistic forms of womens bodies, not my taste but beautiful and brave to get done. As we went through the design and what I wanted and how I wanted it to look I was excited and as Leanne set up her station I couldnt help but continue to look upon the vast array of just stuff. Fascinated they had a wall of things ranging from stuffed animals to plant pots and folders all as a dort of Cath Kidston inspiration board in real life (Cath Kidston head office has a "inspiration cabinet" where all the little trinkets and things live so that designers can draw inspiration any time when designing new fabric or item). 

Hopping myself up onto the bench I reminised to the last time I found myself on a massuse bed and how I was the wrong way round for a back, neck and shoulders. Anxiously I looked away as I began yabbering on about my boy (the puppy) and the story on how we ended up getting him. I had barely felt any pain until she reached the centre of my wrist when the vibrations seared up my arm. Not the worst pain I had ever felt, but it was enough for me to go 'Ooohff'. 

"It was like I could feel it rattling up my arm" I said to Leanne, to which she chuckled and said sometimes that happens as it is a really sensative part of the body. 

Soon enough though I was done and as I looked down and in the mirror for the first time it was like I had fallen in love with my Pup all over again. The moment I laid eyes on the black line-work design I was smitten. I couldn't wait to show it off and I could feel myself getting really emotional. Controlling myself I got cleaned up properly and proudly flaunted it to the other artists in the shop. A simple paw print, probably the same size as his, with a crude stitch running through it and Frankenstien bolts either side. The cutest thing I ever did see. Thanking Leanne again I headed out into the sunshine, ink covered and protected. Even now I cant stop staring! Although I must admit I don't think my wrist has seen so much oilling and moisturising, and yet despite this it is now developing an itch. My hands are basically like a slip-and-slide. Suffice to say I am hooked and already planning my next one ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

I Cant Breathe

Hello One and All, 

Week number 12 of lockdown in the UK. I am still furloughed or signed off sick (whichever it may be) and the time off has been helping with my mental well-being after the last few weeks being mentally taxing and exhausting. This last week has been different to the last with projects and things to do running out. 

I am still irritated with all of this Coronavirus Shit there is a reason and a need for it it and to keep the "R" number down and all that jazz, but seriously its getting boring. I just hate queueing. Queuing for this and queueing for that. I am done with it all. Gone are the days when you could just walk into a shop and buy your crap and get out. No. Now I have to stand in the rain for 40-minutes just to try and take back some wallpaper and buy a couple of lampshade which took all of about 5 minutes, if that. I suppose you could say I am at the end of my tether with it. It is all just so pointless. Figures from the BBC today have confirmed that the death toll is now in double figures after significantly dropping to just 55 (Monday 08 June 2020). With more than a half down from last week's 111 deaths from COVID-19 I am pleased and am hoping for this to become a norm. Now I know in comparison to other countries, New Zealand being one of them that has fully opened up the country due to no new cases, but it is still a drop nevertheless and as we have not yet experienced an unsettlingly high spike in deaths or new cases as yet I am hoping it continues so we can soon join New Zealand in getting things back to whatever normal looks like after a global crisis. As far as Boris Johnson and the UK government making a statement as yet or any sort of announcement of further openings, I am anticipating something soon, however I shan't hold my breath, especially considering the situation in hand. 

It has been a fortnight since the name George Floyd was catapulted into the stratosphere and made not only a household name, but one to be remembered and celebrated for all that has been acheieved in the last 14-days. On 25 May 2020, George Floyd, a 46-year-old dad was arrested after Minneapolis police officers responded to a call from a teenage grocery storeworker who alleged that Floyd had used a forged $20 note. 

As the Sun reported, there had been more reason than none to suspect him considering his criminal past and history of armed robbery in a home invasion in Houston in 2007. However life had moved on for Floyd and he had settled down with a partner and young children, who was friendly with locals where he had been working as a security guard at Latin American restaurant Conga Latin Bistro in the city. Unfortunatly the Coronavirus had affected the hospitality industry badly and Minneapolis was no exception and so George Floyd became out of work. George Floyd had been a a regular at Cup Foods. He was a friendly face with a statement from the store owner Mike Abumayyaleh, who wasn't working at the time, told NBC that "Floyd was a regular customer and never caused any trouble". 

The BBC News reported further, stating that approximatly 8.10pm Minneapolis police officers arrived to the grocery store as the young clerk working that night had called it through saying that on receipt of the fupposed forged note the teller had ask Floyd to return the cigarettes he had ust purchased to which the shop worker confirmed to 911 that "he doesn't want to do that" and that the man appeared "drunk" and "not in control of himself" according to a transcript released by authorities. Officers found Floyd in the car park with two others and on approach of the vehicle one of the officers pulled out his gun and ordered Floyd to show his hands. As the officer man-handled him out of the car it was clear that there was a struggle as George actively resisted being handcuffed. However once handcuffed, Floyd appeared to be cooperative until he was ordered into the back seat of the cop car. This is when the struggle broke out. 

Approximately 8.15pm, Floyd had "stiffened up, fell to the ground, and told the officers he was claustrophobic", according to the report from BBC News. Yet more officers were called to the scene and attemted to put Floyd in the police car to no avail. It was during this attempt, at 8.19pm that the officer in question, Officer Chauvin, pulled Floyd away from the passenger side, causing him to fall to the ground where he lay there, face down, still in handcuffs. This is when witnesses started to film something which has been shared the world over and ignited a furious conversation. Floyd, who appeared to be in a distressed state was restrained by officers, while Officer Chauvin placed his left knee between his head and neck. 

Gasping for breath, Floyd cried out "I can't breathe", repeatedly, pleading for his mother and begging "please, please, please". Begging for his life. For eight minutes and 46 seconds, Officer Chauvin kept his knee on Mr Floyd's neck, the prosecutors' report says. These moments, captured on multiple mobile phones and shared widely on social media, would prove to be George Floyd's last. The report from BBC News continued that about six-minutes into that period, Floyd became non-responsive. In videos of the incident, Floyd fell silent as bystanders urged the police to check his pulse. One of the other officers did but couldn't find a pulse, all the while the other officers did not move, including Officer Chauvin. At 8.27pm, Chauvin removed his knee from Floyd's neck, but it appears it was too late as Floyd lay there motionless. Taken to the Hennepin County Medical Center in an ambulance Floyd was pronounced dead about an hour later. A 46-year-old dad leaving behind two children. 

Now I am sure you are wondering, or maybe not, why this gained so much attention; more than most. Because George Floyd was a black man. The officer with his knee on his neck, A white man. Now I am not going to stand here (or write here as the moment suggests) I can't pretend that I understand because I don't understand! Yes I am open and honest enough to admit that in my younger years I made jokes with friends about race and colour that was in poor taste and did not sit well, but that came from a place of uneducated and lack of understanding around the struggles that those with different skin colour than to mine. 

Without me even knowing it I have been the recipiant of white privilege. Never have I ever been stopped and searched. Never had I ever been looked upon as though I am violent or agressive. Never have I ever had my car pulled over because "someone in the area was matching my description". The only time I was ever pulled over was at traffic lights when a police officer pulled up aside my car and asked me to switch on my headlights as they were off and it was dark. Hardly a terrifying experiance you might think, but for me I felt aweful and for a split second, I think I know what George and his brothers and sisters must feel on a sometimes daily basis. 

On the other hand, however, nor I am not saying it wasn't due, stopping and searching a man for a possible crime, especially when he was confirmed by the store assistant, but killing a man with brute force to this level was unnecessary and way over the top in my view. It is safe to say that looking at the statistics produced from the Governments own website confirms that in every 1,000 arrests in the England and Wales (2017-2018 respectively), only ten were white. Black people were three-and-a-half times more likely to get arrested than a white person. Truthful statistic or Media and Governmental Prejudice - You decide ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Big JCB in the Sky ...

Hi There, 

So after weeks of dread and anxiety on not making Mr Warehouse look like a complete fool in front of his entire family by wearing something wholly inappropriate for a funeral, the day was finally upon us to lay to rest Mr. Warehouse's Second Cousin. An untimely death and gone all far too soon for my liking, I donned a black jumper, tights and skirt complete with heels and a grey waterfall jacket to complete the look I waited patiently for Mr. Warehouse to get ready, looking ever so smart in his black suit and tie. If it had not have been a funeral I could have been happy. It was not even one of my own and already getting in the car and ready to go I was welling up with sadness. God only knows what sadness I had to endure yet ... 

After leaving in plenty enough time to get a drive-thru breakfast, manage the Black Cat Roundabout and have a pit-stop for a toilet break we arrived at the address I had been Google-Mapping and researching for weeks. After confirming and doublely-doubley confirming with Momma Warehouse in the few weeks leading up to the sombre occasion over Christmas and New Year I had made sure we were going to the right place and with plenty of time to allow for mingling an getting a seat, especially since he was a well-known and well-loved character who would easily pack out any church in the area. Pulling into the car park however I did not recognise or see any number plates or cars I knew of. Putting my doubts aside, I got out and shoved on my heels before having a cheeky cigarette whilst Mr. Warehouse went to look for the rest of the mourners whom seemed in short supply. 

Returning in a flap I knew what Mr. Warehouse was about to say, 
"Where is it?" I asked, anxious of the response. 
"Its the wrong fucking Church!" Mr. Warehouse fumed. And so, flipping my heels off we headed to the second postal code Momma Warehouse had given us. In search for St Paul's or Peter's Church we headed fifteen minutes down the road, still arriving, but just in the nick of time. The only problem was that there was no parking, and the Church appeared to be locked up for the day. 'This can not be the right Church' I thought to myself, knowing from my days as a Sunday-School-Sucker that a vicar would never leave it this late at less than forty-five minutes before the service began. Pacing round the small chapel we headed back to the car, again frantically calling around to see where we actually needed to be. 

Becoming frustrated I put my foot down as Mr. Warehouse and I headed back to the first Church we went to all in good faith that Momma Warehouse had it right this time. Fifteen minutes later we arrive back in the first car park we encountered in Wisbech. No familiar cars. No mourners. No Hurst. it is now midday and with less than quarter-of-an-hour until the service starts we finally have a phone call from Mr. Warehouse brother. Finally someone who knows what they are talking about! Message pinging through on a text I punch it into my phone, SatNav now draining my battery so much so I wonder if I can find my way home that day. Jumping back into Vivienne again I race through the streets of Wisbech and finally pull up at a small village church, parking up and wiggling through grave plots in order to reach the church steps on time. With seconds to spare we heard the procession music slow and the service begin. 

Myself and Mr. Warehouse were standing outside and after all the fuck ups and screwing around of this morning I wasn't going to have him stand out here when he was a deserved family member of at least a standing space inside the holy building, let alone a seat. Gently taking his hand I guided him through the mourners and bystanders to the back of the Church. There I found Momma Warehouse, obviously too late for a seat herself. What I felt as an undignified service followed with mistakes being made on names of relevant people, the Lords Prayer being recited incorrectly and even messing up the Hymns, I felt the vicar was unprofessional and it thoroughly grated on me that in someones final moments they did not even have the respect or grace to practice some of the readings and scriptures in advance. Obviously there may have been a reason why she was so poor at leading the proceedings however in my eyes you should be professional in all aspects, and even more-so at a funeral, but of course, that's just my opinion and otherwise it was a beautiful send-off. 

As the ceremony came to an end, I left with Mr. Warehouse, holding his hand and trying where possible to be helpful. Tissues, cuddles and gentle hand holding, but nothing would appease the tears rolling over my beloved boyfriends cheeks. Sharp slices hit my heart as I genuinely looked around for someone to help. But no-one did. We were all mourning and I honestly have never felt so out of place or at a loss on what to do or how to help. Truth be told though there was nothing I could do. I was not a miracle worker and I had no powers to take away Mr. Warehouse's nor his families pain and grief. All I could hope and wish for is that it would be all over soon enough and that they could all learn to live with what has happened. 

What I experienced that day has left me with thoughts of my own mortality and what I will do if anyone close to me should pass. What would I do? The thing is I don't know. I suppose no-body does, but one thing I can tell you is that I have told everyone I love them and when I do it is with utter truth and meaningfulness, as though it may be the last time I speak to them, for we know not how long we have left, but definitely on how we should use the time we are given.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

"We'll Have Time" They Said ...

Hello, 

When I was younger and my grandparents had just retired I asked them about what wonderful things they were going to do now they were officially old. Fart in public and not give a toss? Snoozing whilst watching Countdown? Drinking copious amounts of wine until you get so hammered you start to talk like Danny 'fucking' Dyer. It in all fairness was a mixture of all of the above but when I grew up and asked them what the worst thing about getting old was my Nanny Pumpkin replied this ... 

"When your young you don't think fashion it too much; A pair of comfy jeans here, cosy jumper there, maybe even a stunning ballgown once or twice in a lifetime. But the older you get the more and more you seem to have no choice but to reach into the wardrobe and bring out that same black dress you wore last time you went to say goodbye to someone you knew who is no longer there,"

In all fairness at the tender age of about fourteen I didn't full understand what she meant by that but as I have got a little older, and maybe a little wiser too, I have learnt that it is truest thing and as sure as anything it is what I will be doing tomorrow for a character no one will forget. 

Phone ringing again for the third time I wondered why, after all this time of being in a new job, Mr. Warehouse still insists to call me about three-in-the-afternoon once he has finished work. Ignoring it previously thinking it was simply about dinner or where I have hidden something of his, this time I dashed to the toilet in order to take the call. 

"Whats up you know I cant answer at work?" I asked, concerned yet anxious I had a lot of work to get back to. 

"Its my Mom's Cousin. He's been in a car accident, Its really bad. He's Dead!" I heard sheepishly down the phone. Thinking it was a joke I called my boyfriend sick and told him to stop messing around tempting fate and all. But he said it again and this time it was deeper and more choked than the last. 

For legal reasons we cant state too much but what we do know is that it was a collision involving a lorry and several cars, one of which we are under the impression that the driver was over the drink drive limit (as if there should even fucking be one that is). I will never understand sometimes why people still to this day continue to put other peoples lives at risk, and I say other peoples for a reason and that is in most cases the drink driver is so floppy and intoxicated that their bodies do not tense and seize up as a normal person would when bracing for a car crash. 

But unlike most families (Or maybe not as my family is quite small) Mr. Warehouse and his family on both his mothers and fathers sides like to breed and with this comes children who will be brothers, sisters, cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles, all very close in both age and as a group. Cousins and second cousins are more like extensions of brothers and sisters or aunts and uncles for Mr. Warehouse and his family and what with them being so close they experience everything from celebrating the good times to mourning the bad ones too, everybody as one riding out the roller-coaster together. 

Standing there in the bathroom at work, my thoughts immediately turned to his wife and children, grown up now but forever his babies. It had only been eighteen-months or so ago that the deceased and his wife had got married. It was one of the first family events I ever went too as Mr. Warehouse's girlfriend and it was the very first wedding I had been invited to. Nervous after reading the invite I shook it off and said it was silly we had only been dating a few months, I couldn't be invited to such a thing and be in all the photos, What if Mr. Warehouse and I were to break up? That would be awful then, you have some random in all your snaps. No thanks?! But nevertheless I came round to the idea and even was asked up to be in the photographs, albeit I was approached as Mr. Warehouse's Wife, something we all still laugh about today. I will never forget both the Bride and the recently departed Groom's hospitality, making me fell welcome and loved even though I was surrounded by many I never knew. 

Mr. Warehouse's Second -Cousin was more like an Uncle to him, taking him fishing or to play pool and darts but every time I met him and his wife, they would be forever asking when mine and Mr. Warehouse's big day was and always complimenting me on how beautiful and lovely I was. I remember them saying how sad it is that they both had to go through failed marriages to meet each other and if only they had fallen in love sooner they could have had more time, but it was always ended by a notion that they have the rest of their lives with each other. And that is the truly saddest part, is that they didn't. A devastating irony. 

Sitting back at my desk trying to take it all in I was really emotional and upset by it and they weren't even my family. I had met them a handful of times but their energy and enthusiasm for everything including each other was just electric. And now that was gone. I could not think of anything more that they were the same ans Mr. Warehouse and I. Ready for Christmas (at the time less than a five-days away) with presents wrapped, stockings packed and plans all made. Plans that would never be fulfilled and with stockings and presents that were never to be emptied and unwrapped. All gone. And so tomorrow I will attend Gorfield Village Church to pay my respects for a man who could never believe I was a Luton girl through and through. Goodnight and sleep tight!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx