Hiya,
So after last week's fiasco involving the ever-alluring Mr. Cheese, my life in other areas has well surpassed my expectations.
Ripping myself from my bed sheets I realised horribly that it was a Thursday morning again and not a Friday as I had hoped for. Asking myself what I should wear today I threw on a skirt and shirt combo and headed out the door to my car share. The day itself ticked along nicely until lunch whereby I had planned a lunch-date with my Dad's girlfriend who works just round the corner from me. Almost instantly conversation turned to Mr. Cheese and his disappointing absence from my world. Spending nearly an hour consuming ourselves with men problems I needed to return to my office and so we left. Upon arrival at my desk everything seemed normal. As the time dragged on more people started returning from their own lunch breaks. I thought nothing of it. Then I noticed people gossipping and a slow buzz took over the accounting department as mouths were twitching with a hum of knowledge. Now a few weeks ago it was apparent that our Administrator would be
going on maternity leave very shortly to have a bouncy baby boy (well
I'm hoping that they don't test him on the bouncy front, pretty sure
that would kill the little mite). The company had started interviews for
her role and I decided I would apply. Only I was too late. By the time I
got to my manager's office to talk to her, the vacancy had been filled.
No worries though, I already had a job I loved and would apply for
something else if and when it came up.
Within a few days there was a new face in the office and someone new to share the banter. Nevertheless a fortnight later here I was, at my desks, my fellow workers getting worked up about something. All of a sudden a colleague appeared by my side. Nothing
unusual. "Probably some question I could help with" I thought, although I
was secretly shitting myself thinking maybe I had done something wrong
and that was the end of the line for me! Quite the opposite really. After turning to address the slim-figured women I was asked if I wanted the position of Credit Control Administrator? Stunned I asked why as the position had already been filled. It was then I found out what everyone was nattering about. The lady whom had been taken on in favour of 'yours truly' had disappeared and it was thought that she had simply done a runner on her lunch break, never to return again. As a grin started splitting my face, I knew I had bagged myself that illusive permanent job I had been searching for. Well for a year at least. Over the coming days I was told that the company would match my salary and I would benefit from holiday pay, sick pay and the option to join a pension scheme. Now truth be told most women tend not to return after a baby but even if the mom-to-be does come back I will have been grateful for the experience and appreciative for the opportunities it has given me. Today was my first day shadowing and I now have a further fortnight to gain all knowledge before the labour ward calls on the young-parent.
So that's the work life, now onto the lurve life! Since the separation from suave Mr. Cheese, I have found myself bombarded with suitors from every angle; Dating websites, apps and just generally meeting people. Just so happens that between moving house, socialising with friends, going out with work, unpacking and bagging myself a career I have also managed to finally squeeze in a date. Whom you may ask? That little fortuitous Mr. Rockclimber. Following a lengthy conversation consisting of messages, SnapChat's and the odd text over the past three-months we finally decided enough was enough and that we needed to meet each other.
Wrapping up warm and making sure that the new place was clean and tidy I forced myself into the cold, nearly-midnight air of Bedfordshire. "What are you doing?" I thought to myself. Truth be told I didn't know. What I did know was that it was very cold and I was meeting a man who I had been talking to for the past twelve weeks in a pub a short walk from my new flat at a very late hour in the evening. Upon meeting we shared a hug and ventured into the warmth for a beer. Conversation of good sorts followed - Food, the weather, friends and some funny little anecdotes I have also shared with you lot. But I think it was safe to say that I had pretty much made up my mind as soon as we locked eyes. Whilst I yearn to move on from the indecisive Mr. Cheese I am unable to. I wanted so much for Mr. Rockclimber to be a welcome distraction and a new lease of life for my young, wild and lustful intentions. Regardless of this fact he did indeed stay over that night, purely and simply because he was unable to get back home until the following morning. To answer your burning question - Yes we did. Strangely it was everything that I would have asked from a bed-partner; Romantic, hard, rough and yet so unbelievably soft and gentle with his hands that I swooned under his touch. But nothing. Nothing at all. I wanted to feel something. But all this encounter do for me was make me realise that my lactose-intolerance is not cured by finding someone else. Sadly I feel that Mr. Rockclimber and I wont work out.
In fact, I wonder if I ever will sometimes - Meet the right one that is. Life was so uncomplicated and smooth running with Mr. Cheese it hard to imagine him not in it any more. I wish so hard that I could be simple and just "go with the flow" (Maaaaan) but I can't. I'm a girl. A women. I like cuddles and snuggles and bubbles of the belly variety. Mr. Cheese and I had a love-story to rival Disney; But instead of skipping off happily-ever-after, I'm indulging myself in any possible activity to take my mind off him - Secretly hoping he'll be beneath my window one day.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Blind Date. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blind Date. Show all posts
Monday, 3 February 2014
Tuesday, 3 September 2013
Carrot's Can Help You See In The Dark
Evening everybody,
Now after last week's entry I have been made aware that my twenty-second birthday is nearly upon me. Oh what an age but so far I don't think I have much to show for it apart from some very good stories and a few not so good. Haha. One story in which I have yet to share with you all.
Now before Mr. Cheese walked onto the scene (or galloped on, with his tin-foil suit and Zebra steed intact) I was just starting out, dabbling my feet in the cold waters of dating. This was when I met Mr. Carrots. We were introduced through friends after Miss Chocolate had been befriended by him on a social networking site some months earlier. She had no qualms with me and Mr. Carrots meeting for a casual date after she said that he was far too clingy and 'try-hard'. Should have known from the beginning really?
After a few weeks of mindless chit-chat we decided to meet up in person. Mr. Carrots lived on the outskirts of Luton and I in Flitwick with Daddy and his girlfriend at the time. We agreed to meet in the town centre and to go for a couple of drinks before I continued my evening with Miss Chocolate and some old college friends. I knew that Mr. Carrots wasn't a looker but when you are single and someone shows you interest you don't turn it away, besides - Maybe it would be a grower, like mold? Thus said, this was not the case. He was not my type at all but I thought he deserved at least a chance.
Walking up to the court-yard where we had planned to meet there was only one lone figure standing out. It was him. Mr. Carrots. Whilst on the phone to Miss Chocolate I thought that maybe I could just ditch it and do a runner. Then I got a text. He had seen me. As I hung up and nervously walked over to where he was standing there was defiantly no turning back. Mr. Carrots wasted no time in pulling me in for a bear hug and awkwardly I went in for the french double-cheek kiss which he didn't get at all and we ended up in an head-swaying competition in which we both didn't want to be entered in. Eventually we started to walk further into the town and began the small talk. Obviously forgetting the fact that I had told Mr. Carrots previously I had lived and still visited regularly Luton he began to point out buildings of significance and explain their purpose. I didn't have the heart to tell him again and so just let him waffle on.
After a short walk we arrived outside a pub I knew well. Taking me inside I watched as Mr. Carrot's face dropped to the floor and with everyone in the bar looking at us like we just kicked a cat, typical me I made a chirpy comment about getting us a table whilst he grabbed up some drinks. As I approached the table I took a moment to look around. Two women in the corner of foreign origin whom I am almost positive were waiting for the streets of the town to get dark enough so they could go out to work. The rest of the locals were men, all of them above the age of forty with a taste for beer and possibly the odd scrap. Yes. I knew this bar well, but not for the right reasons.
It was at this point that a drunken resident stood in front of the table I had chosen and proclaimed his love for me in an heavy northern Irish accent. Still to this day my friends are amazed at how well I can pull it off. Whilst he adorned me with praise for my beauty I silently begged him to leave before Mr. Carrots arrived through an awkward smile. Finally he left and soon Mr. Carrots took his place and we proceeded with the conversation. By this point I had already felt that there was not spark, not even a click of a lighter and that sweet as he was, Mr. Carrots was not a future Beau.
As the conversation progressed it finally was spun round to football. After about ten minutes of awkward and ideal conversing about football and the weather I was praying for a ice-breaker but I knew that even a Blue Whale couldn't break this iceberg! Then out of the corner of my eye and almost like a message from the man upstairs himself was a pint of beer placed calmly on our table. The Irish drunk was back. Secretly laughing to myself I knew form that moment this was going to be a date to remember and for the remainder of our time in that pub we were bombarded with stories of this man's childhood. In fact I found out more about this man than I did about Mr. Carrots! We learnt that this drunk had a very, very large crush on me and kept telling me how beautiful I was - But before you all start asking me out, just remember he was drunk! He explained how his father was of Scottish descendants and owed a travelling funfair that him and his twin sister (who would 'beat the crap outta ya if ya tried anything') travelled around in as children. More detail was given about his twin sibling when he described in detail their ability to know what the other is speaking and communicate telepathically.
during the conversation with our new found friend the drunk would look into the blue eyes of Mr. Carrots and ask if he was 'starting' on him and if he 'had a problem' to which Mr. Carrots responded simply but nervously with no each and every time he was asked. Suddenly from no where he bellows out ''Carrots'' and me and my date look at each other in horror as we await an explanation. The residing drunk then argued with himself about why he kept thinking of carrots? ''Maybe I need to buy some?'' he said, to which the best reply in history came from my hum-drum date. "Maybe your twin sister is thinking of buying carrots and that is why you are thinking of carrots?!" He said jovially to our intoxicated third wheel. And there erupted my laughter for no longer could I hold it in; a mixture of pure and simple awkwardness with added dating failure made me burst out in a fit of chuckles.
It was just after this that I realised that me and Mr. Carrots were in a battle of who-will-finish-their-drink-first. I knew that if I didn't drink the last dreg's of my wine, we would both be forced to endure the constant back and fourth of conversation between a drunken old man and an already floundering first date. As soon as I put my glass down after gulping down the warming Rose, Mr. Carrots finished his and the Irish bum asked us if we wanted a fresh one. I didn't even give Mr. Carrots a chance to answer as I chipped in and mentioned that we had places to be and had to leave. Quicker than a Cheetah on speed we both left and headed to another bar on the other side of town where we sat for a short while continuing the in-and-out conversation. After that he constantly text me asking to meet up. He even gave me the pet name 'Carrot' - Not exactly come to bed is it?
I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on a second date with someone if it there was nothing there. So safe to say that life has somewhat mellowed out a bit since my encounter with Mr. Carrots but that doesn't mean it is no longer exciting. My date with Mr. Carrots, whilst not the best, was sadly not to be anything more than just a foot in the door. I am sure though that some day he will make some girl very happy and I genuinely wish him all the best, but unfortunately that girl is not me. Maybe I shall find someone soon? Maybe? But for now I am just enjoying life as it is; friends, family, work, social life and best of all I'm not lactose-intolerant!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Now after last week's entry I have been made aware that my twenty-second birthday is nearly upon me. Oh what an age but so far I don't think I have much to show for it apart from some very good stories and a few not so good. Haha. One story in which I have yet to share with you all.
Now before Mr. Cheese walked onto the scene (or galloped on, with his tin-foil suit and Zebra steed intact) I was just starting out, dabbling my feet in the cold waters of dating. This was when I met Mr. Carrots. We were introduced through friends after Miss Chocolate had been befriended by him on a social networking site some months earlier. She had no qualms with me and Mr. Carrots meeting for a casual date after she said that he was far too clingy and 'try-hard'. Should have known from the beginning really?
After a few weeks of mindless chit-chat we decided to meet up in person. Mr. Carrots lived on the outskirts of Luton and I in Flitwick with Daddy and his girlfriend at the time. We agreed to meet in the town centre and to go for a couple of drinks before I continued my evening with Miss Chocolate and some old college friends. I knew that Mr. Carrots wasn't a looker but when you are single and someone shows you interest you don't turn it away, besides - Maybe it would be a grower, like mold? Thus said, this was not the case. He was not my type at all but I thought he deserved at least a chance.
Walking up to the court-yard where we had planned to meet there was only one lone figure standing out. It was him. Mr. Carrots. Whilst on the phone to Miss Chocolate I thought that maybe I could just ditch it and do a runner. Then I got a text. He had seen me. As I hung up and nervously walked over to where he was standing there was defiantly no turning back. Mr. Carrots wasted no time in pulling me in for a bear hug and awkwardly I went in for the french double-cheek kiss which he didn't get at all and we ended up in an head-swaying competition in which we both didn't want to be entered in. Eventually we started to walk further into the town and began the small talk. Obviously forgetting the fact that I had told Mr. Carrots previously I had lived and still visited regularly Luton he began to point out buildings of significance and explain their purpose. I didn't have the heart to tell him again and so just let him waffle on.
After a short walk we arrived outside a pub I knew well. Taking me inside I watched as Mr. Carrot's face dropped to the floor and with everyone in the bar looking at us like we just kicked a cat, typical me I made a chirpy comment about getting us a table whilst he grabbed up some drinks. As I approached the table I took a moment to look around. Two women in the corner of foreign origin whom I am almost positive were waiting for the streets of the town to get dark enough so they could go out to work. The rest of the locals were men, all of them above the age of forty with a taste for beer and possibly the odd scrap. Yes. I knew this bar well, but not for the right reasons.
It was at this point that a drunken resident stood in front of the table I had chosen and proclaimed his love for me in an heavy northern Irish accent. Still to this day my friends are amazed at how well I can pull it off. Whilst he adorned me with praise for my beauty I silently begged him to leave before Mr. Carrots arrived through an awkward smile. Finally he left and soon Mr. Carrots took his place and we proceeded with the conversation. By this point I had already felt that there was not spark, not even a click of a lighter and that sweet as he was, Mr. Carrots was not a future Beau.
As the conversation progressed it finally was spun round to football. After about ten minutes of awkward and ideal conversing about football and the weather I was praying for a ice-breaker but I knew that even a Blue Whale couldn't break this iceberg! Then out of the corner of my eye and almost like a message from the man upstairs himself was a pint of beer placed calmly on our table. The Irish drunk was back. Secretly laughing to myself I knew form that moment this was going to be a date to remember and for the remainder of our time in that pub we were bombarded with stories of this man's childhood. In fact I found out more about this man than I did about Mr. Carrots! We learnt that this drunk had a very, very large crush on me and kept telling me how beautiful I was - But before you all start asking me out, just remember he was drunk! He explained how his father was of Scottish descendants and owed a travelling funfair that him and his twin sister (who would 'beat the crap outta ya if ya tried anything') travelled around in as children. More detail was given about his twin sibling when he described in detail their ability to know what the other is speaking and communicate telepathically.
during the conversation with our new found friend the drunk would look into the blue eyes of Mr. Carrots and ask if he was 'starting' on him and if he 'had a problem' to which Mr. Carrots responded simply but nervously with no each and every time he was asked. Suddenly from no where he bellows out ''Carrots'' and me and my date look at each other in horror as we await an explanation. The residing drunk then argued with himself about why he kept thinking of carrots? ''Maybe I need to buy some?'' he said, to which the best reply in history came from my hum-drum date. "Maybe your twin sister is thinking of buying carrots and that is why you are thinking of carrots?!" He said jovially to our intoxicated third wheel. And there erupted my laughter for no longer could I hold it in; a mixture of pure and simple awkwardness with added dating failure made me burst out in a fit of chuckles.
It was just after this that I realised that me and Mr. Carrots were in a battle of who-will-finish-their-drink-first. I knew that if I didn't drink the last dreg's of my wine, we would both be forced to endure the constant back and fourth of conversation between a drunken old man and an already floundering first date. As soon as I put my glass down after gulping down the warming Rose, Mr. Carrots finished his and the Irish bum asked us if we wanted a fresh one. I didn't even give Mr. Carrots a chance to answer as I chipped in and mentioned that we had places to be and had to leave. Quicker than a Cheetah on speed we both left and headed to another bar on the other side of town where we sat for a short while continuing the in-and-out conversation. After that he constantly text me asking to meet up. He even gave me the pet name 'Carrot' - Not exactly come to bed is it?
I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on a second date with someone if it there was nothing there. So safe to say that life has somewhat mellowed out a bit since my encounter with Mr. Carrots but that doesn't mean it is no longer exciting. My date with Mr. Carrots, whilst not the best, was sadly not to be anything more than just a foot in the door. I am sure though that some day he will make some girl very happy and I genuinely wish him all the best, but unfortunately that girl is not me. Maybe I shall find someone soon? Maybe? But for now I am just enjoying life as it is; friends, family, work, social life and best of all I'm not lactose-intolerant!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Boulders and Lemons ...
Afternoon Amigo's,
So after last week's hectic week I am finally relaxing on my comfy bed in my Pee-Jays! Another birthday has come and gone and at last Miss Tweedle-Dee has caught up with the rest of us girls and is now twenty-one! I feel old when I think about my last few months as a twenty-uno. Slightly depressing thought. Now aside from the manic week I have had, something more juicy ...
Now I am sure that if you are as addicted to television as I am then you will have watched a programme on Channel 4 in the UK called 'First Dates'. And if you watched especially carefully would would have seen a particular sexy face that was Moi! You see I have never been shy in front of the camera as when I was younger I used to be the star of all the home movies before my parents separated. As friends and family gathered around on sofa's and stool last Thursday evening we all waited in anticipation to see their loved-one on the telly. Forty minutes in I appear in a minty, white dress and black blazer with my hair tied up in a top-knot. Cringe was not the word. As I sat in front of the box, watching everyone squeal and squirm as they sat, glued to the screen. The conceited gentleman I had the pleasure of spending my evening with was a young Liverpudlian man whom some of you know as Mr. Accent. Now regardless on how I felt about Liverpudlian's in my last post (See Blind Date ...) from my perspective I felt it went well and I had a very enjoyable evening, although our date did consist of discussing for the most part food. This is one such event that you can now watch on repeat if you so wish to. So there I am on the box, with millions watching and I'm discussing on how I love to drink milk and love lemon cake ... the tarty-ier the better. It was a very minimal part of the date in which I was discussing with Mr. Accent my love of baking and in particular my lemon drizzle cake and just how many lemons I use to make it. Four, if you were wondering. I like my drizzle cakes very sour! I also discussed my love of dairy products in particular milk. This was in response to an odd but relevant question asked by Mr. Accent on what would be my favourite drink. So yes I'm sure that you can imagine the fits of giggles and spontaneous laughter that erupted when my mouth decided to talk poo.
After our date however we were asked our opinions and as truthfully as possible I answered that it was a really good date and an enjoyable experience. When asked if there was any spark and as to weather a second date was on the cards I replied with an honest and simple 'Dont Know' - although I did elaborate that there was no spark, but maybe it was a 'grower - like mould'! And with that comment teamed with Lemon-gate I was propelled into the social media and online forums, being hash-tagged and shared across all networks. I didn't mean it in a disgraceful of horrible way, just what was what I was trying to elude to. Unfortunately what Mr. Accent said next made sure that any relationship-mould was cleaned up with some anti-bacterial bullshit. When asked how the date went, Mr. Accent kindly expressed in an unusual way, stating that it was *pause* "very different". Mr. Accent went on to describe the encounter like being "stuck in a tunnel with a boulder at the end". Nice! Catapulted back to my sofa I noted that everyone was in discussed. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were horrified at his comments and enraged they took to the world of social media to vent their upset. I felt indifferent to it though. It was sad that it had happened as it made me out to look like I was a complete idiot who thought the date went well, whereas Mr. Accent had made it out to seem like a complete train crash. regardless of how we both felt, there was no denying that there was no spark and whilst it had been nice to meet, it wasn't a 'Grower'.
Completely unphased by his comments I ended the night by bidding a fare-well to my guests as they concluded that it was him that looked bad given his two-faced attitude and not me. Just as Miss Tweedle-Dee was leaving she checked my phone and asked whose number it was. I had only just recently got a new phone so dismissed it verbally as maybe someone who I hadn't messaged in a while. Then Miss Tweedle-Dee said the name of the sender out loud and suddenly a chill ran up my spine. Feeling my stomach do somersaults I took the phone from her. It read: "Just watched you ..... You looked so pretty and came across as the lovely warm person you are. Well done you. x" I froze. My eyes transfixed on the shiny screen. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knew who it was as others started to question. The message was from Mr. Workaholic's mother whom I became very close with. Essentially I treated her like my own absent mother. A thousand questions fizzled in my head. Why would she message me? Why would she still have my number after more than a year's separation from her beloved son? Why would him and his family yet again exhume those awful memories? Dismissing it completely and brushing it off I said my goodbye's. It didn't work with the Tweedle's though, they could see right through me and my fake smiles, because they knew that deep inside it was like someone had unleashed the maggots and it would only be a matter of time before they start to rot the good memories of our relationship once more. After Dad and his girlfriend had ascended the stairs to bed I followed.
Sitting in bed though reflecting on the past hour I began to wander deeply about the fresh communication between me and my ex's mother. I still loved him. Nothing to deny there. As I thought about her comments and what might have been if things had been different the tears began to flow. The realisation had set in that Mr. Workaholic had more than likely watched me too. He had seen me flounder on television whilst on a date with another man. Drowning in the depths of ridiculous conversation and silly comments. I felt worthless. Why had this happened? It had been nearly eighteen months and yet here I was curled up on my soft bed, crying like a child into my duvet. Thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and his friends laughing at me, his family judging me on every aspect like they did when we separated. Maybe Mr. Workaholic had moved on and had a wonderful new girlfriend with legs up to her ears, pretty face, small waist and large asset's - All the things I lacked. Mr. Workaholic was probably laughing at what a pathetic excuse I was right then. Was I over him? No. Do I think I ever will be? No. You see my friends, heartbreak his a horrible thing and I wish none of you have to experience it but I have and it has made me who I am today - A better, stronger, harder person.
After pulling myself together I realised my phone was going loco. Taking a peek through blurry eyes I saw some beautiful messages. Messages of congrats and appreciation as well as the odd jibe at lemons or milk. Generally really lovely messages on how I have big balls for doing something like this and being able to stand up and get out there in terms of dating. So many wonderful supportive communications from old school friends, old work mates and people I didn't even know. I have even had a few admirers and potential next dates. So to those of you that said something nice, thank-you. You helped me to realise that despite the aftermath of my fifteen minutes of fame, I have come along way from Mr. Workaholic and the days that I was begging him to come back. As Miss Tweedle-Dumb put it, maybe this is a little push and a small nudging reminder of what he let go of. And who know's maybe he'll come begging soon?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after last week's hectic week I am finally relaxing on my comfy bed in my Pee-Jays! Another birthday has come and gone and at last Miss Tweedle-Dee has caught up with the rest of us girls and is now twenty-one! I feel old when I think about my last few months as a twenty-uno. Slightly depressing thought. Now aside from the manic week I have had, something more juicy ...
Now I am sure that if you are as addicted to television as I am then you will have watched a programme on Channel 4 in the UK called 'First Dates'. And if you watched especially carefully would would have seen a particular sexy face that was Moi! You see I have never been shy in front of the camera as when I was younger I used to be the star of all the home movies before my parents separated. As friends and family gathered around on sofa's and stool last Thursday evening we all waited in anticipation to see their loved-one on the telly. Forty minutes in I appear in a minty, white dress and black blazer with my hair tied up in a top-knot. Cringe was not the word. As I sat in front of the box, watching everyone squeal and squirm as they sat, glued to the screen. The conceited gentleman I had the pleasure of spending my evening with was a young Liverpudlian man whom some of you know as Mr. Accent. Now regardless on how I felt about Liverpudlian's in my last post (See Blind Date ...) from my perspective I felt it went well and I had a very enjoyable evening, although our date did consist of discussing for the most part food. This is one such event that you can now watch on repeat if you so wish to. So there I am on the box, with millions watching and I'm discussing on how I love to drink milk and love lemon cake ... the tarty-ier the better. It was a very minimal part of the date in which I was discussing with Mr. Accent my love of baking and in particular my lemon drizzle cake and just how many lemons I use to make it. Four, if you were wondering. I like my drizzle cakes very sour! I also discussed my love of dairy products in particular milk. This was in response to an odd but relevant question asked by Mr. Accent on what would be my favourite drink. So yes I'm sure that you can imagine the fits of giggles and spontaneous laughter that erupted when my mouth decided to talk poo.
After our date however we were asked our opinions and as truthfully as possible I answered that it was a really good date and an enjoyable experience. When asked if there was any spark and as to weather a second date was on the cards I replied with an honest and simple 'Dont Know' - although I did elaborate that there was no spark, but maybe it was a 'grower - like mould'! And with that comment teamed with Lemon-gate I was propelled into the social media and online forums, being hash-tagged and shared across all networks. I didn't mean it in a disgraceful of horrible way, just what was what I was trying to elude to. Unfortunately what Mr. Accent said next made sure that any relationship-mould was cleaned up with some anti-bacterial bullshit. When asked how the date went, Mr. Accent kindly expressed in an unusual way, stating that it was *pause* "very different". Mr. Accent went on to describe the encounter like being "stuck in a tunnel with a boulder at the end". Nice! Catapulted back to my sofa I noted that everyone was in discussed. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were horrified at his comments and enraged they took to the world of social media to vent their upset. I felt indifferent to it though. It was sad that it had happened as it made me out to look like I was a complete idiot who thought the date went well, whereas Mr. Accent had made it out to seem like a complete train crash. regardless of how we both felt, there was no denying that there was no spark and whilst it had been nice to meet, it wasn't a 'Grower'.
Completely unphased by his comments I ended the night by bidding a fare-well to my guests as they concluded that it was him that looked bad given his two-faced attitude and not me. Just as Miss Tweedle-Dee was leaving she checked my phone and asked whose number it was. I had only just recently got a new phone so dismissed it verbally as maybe someone who I hadn't messaged in a while. Then Miss Tweedle-Dee said the name of the sender out loud and suddenly a chill ran up my spine. Feeling my stomach do somersaults I took the phone from her. It read: "Just watched you ..... You looked so pretty and came across as the lovely warm person you are. Well done you. x" I froze. My eyes transfixed on the shiny screen. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knew who it was as others started to question. The message was from Mr. Workaholic's mother whom I became very close with. Essentially I treated her like my own absent mother. A thousand questions fizzled in my head. Why would she message me? Why would she still have my number after more than a year's separation from her beloved son? Why would him and his family yet again exhume those awful memories? Dismissing it completely and brushing it off I said my goodbye's. It didn't work with the Tweedle's though, they could see right through me and my fake smiles, because they knew that deep inside it was like someone had unleashed the maggots and it would only be a matter of time before they start to rot the good memories of our relationship once more. After Dad and his girlfriend had ascended the stairs to bed I followed.
Sitting in bed though reflecting on the past hour I began to wander deeply about the fresh communication between me and my ex's mother. I still loved him. Nothing to deny there. As I thought about her comments and what might have been if things had been different the tears began to flow. The realisation had set in that Mr. Workaholic had more than likely watched me too. He had seen me flounder on television whilst on a date with another man. Drowning in the depths of ridiculous conversation and silly comments. I felt worthless. Why had this happened? It had been nearly eighteen months and yet here I was curled up on my soft bed, crying like a child into my duvet. Thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and his friends laughing at me, his family judging me on every aspect like they did when we separated. Maybe Mr. Workaholic had moved on and had a wonderful new girlfriend with legs up to her ears, pretty face, small waist and large asset's - All the things I lacked. Mr. Workaholic was probably laughing at what a pathetic excuse I was right then. Was I over him? No. Do I think I ever will be? No. You see my friends, heartbreak his a horrible thing and I wish none of you have to experience it but I have and it has made me who I am today - A better, stronger, harder person.
After pulling myself together I realised my phone was going loco. Taking a peek through blurry eyes I saw some beautiful messages. Messages of congrats and appreciation as well as the odd jibe at lemons or milk. Generally really lovely messages on how I have big balls for doing something like this and being able to stand up and get out there in terms of dating. So many wonderful supportive communications from old school friends, old work mates and people I didn't even know. I have even had a few admirers and potential next dates. So to those of you that said something nice, thank-you. You helped me to realise that despite the aftermath of my fifteen minutes of fame, I have come along way from Mr. Workaholic and the days that I was begging him to come back. As Miss Tweedle-Dumb put it, maybe this is a little push and a small nudging reminder of what he let go of. And who know's maybe he'll come begging soon?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 21 May 2013
The Blind Date ...
Evening All,
So whats new this week, eh? Well alot in fact. As I am sure you know I have had a very busy weekend. On Saturday came the shopping which nearly gave me a heart attack having spent nearly £100.00 in my favourite high street store. Sitting in the car after some frantic and high energy retail therapy Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I decided it would be best to head home and start preparing for my blind date! It took a total of nearly two and a half hours to primp and preen me to a knock-out level for my blind date. I had the works; eyebrows - which killed like a bitch, full face of make-up, hair and nails too as well as my outfit. By the end I was ready to present myself to my parents and the rest of the public. Mumma Bear was very happy, almost crying at one point stating how grown up I looked and what a transformation I had made. After being dropped at the station by Miss Tweedle-Dumb I nervously stepped out of the car and headed for the platform. Petrified I boarded the train to take me to central London. Still bricking it I made my way to the area surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral but somehow walking past the monumental structure of beauty its self, seemed to calm my nerves. Taking a few moments to collect myself together and secretly having a pep talk I continued to walk into the restaurant where my blind date was already waiting at the table.
As the matradee took my coat and showed me to my table I glanced at the person I would be spending the next few hours with over dinner. My date stood from his chair to greet me and we had an awkward European kiss before sitting down, whilst I had to do a more awkward movement of sitting down whilst the matradee pulled out the chair for me and sadly then attempted to push me in not realising I was indeed a heffa-lump in disguise as a beautiful women. Almost immediately after that we were asked what we would like to order which threw me off given the fact I had only just realised where the menu was. After asking for a few moments to decide I struck up conversation with my blind date. Shock coursed through my veins as my ears sharped to hear his voice. I had been set-up with someone who I had previously stated that if I was ever to encounter a date with such person 'I might just have to shoot myself in the face right there and then'. I was hoping for a date with a sexy Welsh or Irish accent, but instead I was sitting across from a handsome Liverpudlian lad. To be honest though, it wasn't as bad as anticipated as his accent wasn't as strong as I expected, I mean I had heard worse and at least he wasn't Scottish. Soon though the dislike of his accent faded and I started to see past it.
Astonished, my Liverpudlian date handed me the wine list which was encased in a posh looking leather bound book. I say shocked because I have never had wine with a man before. Mr. Workaholic rarely drank and when he did it was always a pussy drink like a brightly coloured alcho-pop. Still in awe of the gentleman across from me I flicked through the pages knowing that I was having an abnormally indecisive day and that making a decision was going to be tough. Closing the wine bible and handing it back to my date I asked him to choose as I was useless at making decisions on anything of late. And that was the first thing that we shared in common, indecisiveness. The first of many you could say as for the rest of the date we talked food and not much else. Giggling away,we were uncouthly interrupted by a waiter. Still reeling from the fact that Mr. Accent drank wine, we agreed on a sweet rose to settle our nervous stomach's. But then came the fumbling and odd procedure of the customers checking weather the wine is in actual fact out-of-date. I'm pretty sure that should be somebody's job out back - checking if the wine is off so that consumers don't have to. Nevertheless, Mr. Accent and I played along the game and became wine connoisseur, swirling it round and round in our glasses, sniffing and tasting. Was tempted to gargle but thought that might be too far.
As the date progressed, I found out that we had much more in common than originally thought. Mr. Accent and I had a passion for baking and loved to experiment with food which was another blow to the system as the most adventurous Mr. Workaholic got was chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles. Its funny how right now you think I am joking but oh no dear reader, this is true - Mr. Workaholic lived on chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles only to be alternated between chicken aeroplanes. Mr. Accent however was very keen on fish dishes and his favourite pudding was a speciality of mine - Sticky toffee, date and walnut muffins with gooey toffee sauce. Ironically as Mr. Accent and I were poured another glass of overly-priced wine we both selected a fish dish for our main meal, however, Mr. Accent's dish was missing the bacon. I didn't say anything but after the waiter had left I think Mr. Accent had sensed that I was wondering why he had refused the tastiness that is bacon. Another surprise. "I am a practising Muslim" Mr. Accent explained and whilst he has piercings and tattoo's he still believes in the core values of the religion, not that I had a problem or anything. The conversation soon left food and we went on to discuss family and life back home. As we continued our conversation the waiter arrived with our food presented beautifully and piled high on our shiny plates.
Chowing down on dinner in the most elegant way possible, I started to take in some of the features of Mr. Accent. Dressed in a rather provocative T-shirt showing an attractive young women biting at her own top in a sexual manner which was teamed with tight dark jeans and a black blazer Mr. Accent looked every bit the gentleman he was proclaiming to be. Mr. Accent was slightly bigger built to some of my previous Ex's and was quiet a bit older too - only twenty-three, but still older that prior love-interests. Mr. Accent, although a practising Muslim due to his father's heritage he was Caucasian and thanks to his mother's Norwegian background he had the most beautiful blue eyes. They sparkled like aquamarines in the light of the restaurant, large pupils indicating Mr. Accent was liking what he saw. With his facial hair and combed hair Mr. Accent resembled a face I knew of but still to this moment I cannot think as to where from.
Throughout pudding we discussed previous relationships and what exactly we were looking for. I explained in as little detail as possible about how Mr. Workaholic had just randomly one day came home to tell me he no longer wanted to be with me. This, although I thought was a horrendous way to break-up was topped by Mr. Accent. I was perplexed to learn throughout our conversation that Mr. Accent had been previously engaged to his last partner and was with her for a considerable amount of time before she cheated and ended the relationship. After discussing feelings and fears of a new relationship from both of our situations, I could see how hurt he still was by talking about his ex-fiance's infidelity and I tried to move the conversation onto better, more positive things. I think though that in hindsight he is still a little hung-up on his Ex and would like to rekindle things with her. It would seem a shame if Mr. Accent was to get back with his Ex as he is such a lovely guy and deserves much better than her cheating skanky ass.
The date ended well though and on a high. After nearly having a coronary after paying fifty-quid towards splitting the bill, Mr. Accent and I left the restaurant, but not before telling the matradee off for trying to dress me in my coat when that was clearly his job to do as a proper gentleman. Obviously this was never said out loud but I am sure that is how it would of happened if vocabulary was involved. Walking into the cool summer air surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral we exchanged numbers and went on our way into the night. Cleverly Mr. Accent had bagged a hotel room for the night and I couldn't help thinking that I should have too. By the time I got home it was gone three in the morning and I was shattered. Falling into bed I made a decision for the first time that day that although Mr. Accent was a charming, handsome, wonderful man it was sadly not meant to be. I am sure though that one day he will make a lady very, very happy.
And so the quest continues to find me a man. If you are over twenty-one and have matched most of my 'Hit List' (Sexy hair - Preferably dark, Gorgeous eyes - Again preferably dark but open to suggestions, Good teeth - Because nobody wants to make-out with a horse and Nice shoes - Just because) then please feel free to apply below. Besides, there is always next time isn't there. And it's not all a waste as I have a good friend in Mr. Accent. There is also a busy bank holiday weekend coming up. Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday, a night on the tiles with Miss Chocolate and a day trip to the seaside - Yes, alot to cram into one weekend. Somewhere in all of that fun I have to make time for drinks with Mr. Mot which I am sure will end with another story to tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx
So whats new this week, eh? Well alot in fact. As I am sure you know I have had a very busy weekend. On Saturday came the shopping which nearly gave me a heart attack having spent nearly £100.00 in my favourite high street store. Sitting in the car after some frantic and high energy retail therapy Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I decided it would be best to head home and start preparing for my blind date! It took a total of nearly two and a half hours to primp and preen me to a knock-out level for my blind date. I had the works; eyebrows - which killed like a bitch, full face of make-up, hair and nails too as well as my outfit. By the end I was ready to present myself to my parents and the rest of the public. Mumma Bear was very happy, almost crying at one point stating how grown up I looked and what a transformation I had made. After being dropped at the station by Miss Tweedle-Dumb I nervously stepped out of the car and headed for the platform. Petrified I boarded the train to take me to central London. Still bricking it I made my way to the area surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral but somehow walking past the monumental structure of beauty its self, seemed to calm my nerves. Taking a few moments to collect myself together and secretly having a pep talk I continued to walk into the restaurant where my blind date was already waiting at the table.
As the matradee took my coat and showed me to my table I glanced at the person I would be spending the next few hours with over dinner. My date stood from his chair to greet me and we had an awkward European kiss before sitting down, whilst I had to do a more awkward movement of sitting down whilst the matradee pulled out the chair for me and sadly then attempted to push me in not realising I was indeed a heffa-lump in disguise as a beautiful women. Almost immediately after that we were asked what we would like to order which threw me off given the fact I had only just realised where the menu was. After asking for a few moments to decide I struck up conversation with my blind date. Shock coursed through my veins as my ears sharped to hear his voice. I had been set-up with someone who I had previously stated that if I was ever to encounter a date with such person 'I might just have to shoot myself in the face right there and then'. I was hoping for a date with a sexy Welsh or Irish accent, but instead I was sitting across from a handsome Liverpudlian lad. To be honest though, it wasn't as bad as anticipated as his accent wasn't as strong as I expected, I mean I had heard worse and at least he wasn't Scottish. Soon though the dislike of his accent faded and I started to see past it.
Astonished, my Liverpudlian date handed me the wine list which was encased in a posh looking leather bound book. I say shocked because I have never had wine with a man before. Mr. Workaholic rarely drank and when he did it was always a pussy drink like a brightly coloured alcho-pop. Still in awe of the gentleman across from me I flicked through the pages knowing that I was having an abnormally indecisive day and that making a decision was going to be tough. Closing the wine bible and handing it back to my date I asked him to choose as I was useless at making decisions on anything of late. And that was the first thing that we shared in common, indecisiveness. The first of many you could say as for the rest of the date we talked food and not much else. Giggling away,we were uncouthly interrupted by a waiter. Still reeling from the fact that Mr. Accent drank wine, we agreed on a sweet rose to settle our nervous stomach's. But then came the fumbling and odd procedure of the customers checking weather the wine is in actual fact out-of-date. I'm pretty sure that should be somebody's job out back - checking if the wine is off so that consumers don't have to. Nevertheless, Mr. Accent and I played along the game and became wine connoisseur, swirling it round and round in our glasses, sniffing and tasting. Was tempted to gargle but thought that might be too far.
As the date progressed, I found out that we had much more in common than originally thought. Mr. Accent and I had a passion for baking and loved to experiment with food which was another blow to the system as the most adventurous Mr. Workaholic got was chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles. Its funny how right now you think I am joking but oh no dear reader, this is true - Mr. Workaholic lived on chicken dinosaurs and potato waffles only to be alternated between chicken aeroplanes. Mr. Accent however was very keen on fish dishes and his favourite pudding was a speciality of mine - Sticky toffee, date and walnut muffins with gooey toffee sauce. Ironically as Mr. Accent and I were poured another glass of overly-priced wine we both selected a fish dish for our main meal, however, Mr. Accent's dish was missing the bacon. I didn't say anything but after the waiter had left I think Mr. Accent had sensed that I was wondering why he had refused the tastiness that is bacon. Another surprise. "I am a practising Muslim" Mr. Accent explained and whilst he has piercings and tattoo's he still believes in the core values of the religion, not that I had a problem or anything. The conversation soon left food and we went on to discuss family and life back home. As we continued our conversation the waiter arrived with our food presented beautifully and piled high on our shiny plates.
Chowing down on dinner in the most elegant way possible, I started to take in some of the features of Mr. Accent. Dressed in a rather provocative T-shirt showing an attractive young women biting at her own top in a sexual manner which was teamed with tight dark jeans and a black blazer Mr. Accent looked every bit the gentleman he was proclaiming to be. Mr. Accent was slightly bigger built to some of my previous Ex's and was quiet a bit older too - only twenty-three, but still older that prior love-interests. Mr. Accent, although a practising Muslim due to his father's heritage he was Caucasian and thanks to his mother's Norwegian background he had the most beautiful blue eyes. They sparkled like aquamarines in the light of the restaurant, large pupils indicating Mr. Accent was liking what he saw. With his facial hair and combed hair Mr. Accent resembled a face I knew of but still to this moment I cannot think as to where from.
Throughout pudding we discussed previous relationships and what exactly we were looking for. I explained in as little detail as possible about how Mr. Workaholic had just randomly one day came home to tell me he no longer wanted to be with me. This, although I thought was a horrendous way to break-up was topped by Mr. Accent. I was perplexed to learn throughout our conversation that Mr. Accent had been previously engaged to his last partner and was with her for a considerable amount of time before she cheated and ended the relationship. After discussing feelings and fears of a new relationship from both of our situations, I could see how hurt he still was by talking about his ex-fiance's infidelity and I tried to move the conversation onto better, more positive things. I think though that in hindsight he is still a little hung-up on his Ex and would like to rekindle things with her. It would seem a shame if Mr. Accent was to get back with his Ex as he is such a lovely guy and deserves much better than her cheating skanky ass.
The date ended well though and on a high. After nearly having a coronary after paying fifty-quid towards splitting the bill, Mr. Accent and I left the restaurant, but not before telling the matradee off for trying to dress me in my coat when that was clearly his job to do as a proper gentleman. Obviously this was never said out loud but I am sure that is how it would of happened if vocabulary was involved. Walking into the cool summer air surrounding St. Paul's Cathedral we exchanged numbers and went on our way into the night. Cleverly Mr. Accent had bagged a hotel room for the night and I couldn't help thinking that I should have too. By the time I got home it was gone three in the morning and I was shattered. Falling into bed I made a decision for the first time that day that although Mr. Accent was a charming, handsome, wonderful man it was sadly not meant to be. I am sure though that one day he will make a lady very, very happy.
And so the quest continues to find me a man. If you are over twenty-one and have matched most of my 'Hit List' (Sexy hair - Preferably dark, Gorgeous eyes - Again preferably dark but open to suggestions, Good teeth - Because nobody wants to make-out with a horse and Nice shoes - Just because) then please feel free to apply below. Besides, there is always next time isn't there. And it's not all a waste as I have a good friend in Mr. Accent. There is also a busy bank holiday weekend coming up. Miss Tweedle-Dumb's birthday, a night on the tiles with Miss Chocolate and a day trip to the seaside - Yes, alot to cram into one weekend. Somewhere in all of that fun I have to make time for drinks with Mr. Mot which I am sure will end with another story to tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Casting A Line ...
Hello,
Bloggers Note: This post has been changed as per Wednesday 15th May 2013 as a result of some advice given to me regarding
subject matter. Don't worry I am sure I will update your more at a later date :) - - - Love A.Lou xx
What a week! Well there has been alot going on in the wonderful world of me this week. Now as I am sure you are aware I recently went for a casting in London a few weeks ago. (See Lights, Camera, Action!) So at the end of last week I had a phone call from a very enthusiastic young women who told me I had been short-listed and asked if I would be able to come down to the city for filming. Brilliant news and something I have been both excited and unusually nervous about.
So for the past seven days or so I have been scouring the high street for the perfect 'me' look that says that I am an intelligent individual who loves to have fun whilst being sexy but without saying 'how much do you charge an hour?' After going shopping with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb on Saturday, supposedly for a holiday shop - Part one of many I might add; the girls and I found a perfect outfit that said classy and sophisticated yet playful and cute. Collapsing onto my bed back home I was exhausted, but looking up and my minty green dress and smart blazer I convinced myself that it was perfect, but not for something that is meant to represent more 'me'. After talking to my parents I decided to hit the shops before work the following day and found the perfect outfit for under fifty-quid. Pleased as punch I grabbed a coffee and headed to work at my new job.
Finally the day rolled round where I was due to go and film. Forgetting half of my outfit at home in the morning I scrambled around the rails at the store where I bought it from praying they would have an identical one in my size. All in vain though as I had grabbed the last one off the shelf a few days prior, but there was another similar styled garment in my size so I dashed to the counter with it in toe, knowing that in less than a week I would probably be bringing it back. Rushing around like a headless chicken I made it too the station on time and hopped on the first train to the capital. I never realised how damn hot it is on a tube, I mean I'm a warm individual and am always cold, but the temperature in those tin can's on wheels is unbearable. I'm surprised people were not getting their kit off! Regardless, arriving in central London and having no clue where I'm going I started to walk in the soggy weather to the address given, pondering the fact that every time I come to London its always raining. I mean for once can it not just be nice weather. I do find it funny though how the weather reflects the mood in London - literally no-body smiles, its like they've had there happy-gland taken out and a pole up their arse in a bid to replace it. Slightly late although in one piece I looked around at the rows of houses wondering ideally how much it would cost to buy one. I know I could never afford one, but its always nice to dream.
Upon walking into the spacious and well decorated hallway a gentleman appeared and lead me downstairs to the studio's. To be honest, it reminded me of all the set-up we used to make in college. Straightening my skirt and sitting down on a plastic chair I knew I would carefully have to peel my self off later, I looked around curious at what will happen next. A bearded man appeared and proceeded fiddle with stuff but just as soon as he appeared he had gone again. I wasn't left alone for long though and soon after a tall, bald man introduced himself and he started to tell me a little about what would happen. It was reassuring being in his company and he made me feel less nervous and brought out the shine in myself that is only comes out when I am centre of attention. We went through the same questions as we did in the first casting and things went swimmingly until we came to the subject of my mother (I will get around to telling you what happened one day, its just there are more important things to talk about than 'her').
Awkwardness cast aside and a few harrowing minutes later I was back to bubbly and happy Abbey-Lou. The rest of the questions we sailed though on; discussing my blog (TATOATS), where I see my writing career going and what I want from life but then came an odd question. "Do you ever have somebody or something in your head telling you stuff, almost like a little voice?" said Mr. Bald. I smiled but only because it was true. In fact at that revise moment my 'voice' was telling me about how Mr. Bald's wrinkly forehead looked funny against his round face. Pushing that thought to the back of my head I replied with a simple 'yes' and some small anecdote, one not including wrinkles. In hindsight, wrinkled foreheads remind me of Mr. Workaholic's Dad and his scrunched up head-rolls. I continued and as the filming came to a close Mr. Bald said that he had some inside information to show me. Now, anyone that has been able to get a glimpse of my 'Virgin' post of Casting A Line ... before it was reviewed will know of this secret information but for now unfortunately I have to keep it a mystery. Rest assured though, I will be able to reveal all at a later date!
Leaving said address and walking out into the wet evening weather of the city I started to feel like things were maybe moving faster than expected. It still even as I am writing seems so surreal. So were all set for this coming weekend. It will be a busy one as I have holiday shopping part two on Saturday during the day, a blind date Saturday evening, early Sunday morning Ive got a boot sale to do with Miss Chocolate and then Sunday afternoon I'm visiting family for my granddad's seventieth birthday BBQ - If the weather holds out.
Now, speaking of BBQ its making me hungry so off I go to raid the fridge ... Shhh, don't tell dad!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Bloggers Note: This post has been changed as per Wednesday 15th May 2013 as a result of some advice given to me regarding
subject matter. Don't worry I am sure I will update your more at a later date :) - - - Love A.Lou xx
What a week! Well there has been alot going on in the wonderful world of me this week. Now as I am sure you are aware I recently went for a casting in London a few weeks ago. (See Lights, Camera, Action!) So at the end of last week I had a phone call from a very enthusiastic young women who told me I had been short-listed and asked if I would be able to come down to the city for filming. Brilliant news and something I have been both excited and unusually nervous about.
So for the past seven days or so I have been scouring the high street for the perfect 'me' look that says that I am an intelligent individual who loves to have fun whilst being sexy but without saying 'how much do you charge an hour?' After going shopping with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb on Saturday, supposedly for a holiday shop - Part one of many I might add; the girls and I found a perfect outfit that said classy and sophisticated yet playful and cute. Collapsing onto my bed back home I was exhausted, but looking up and my minty green dress and smart blazer I convinced myself that it was perfect, but not for something that is meant to represent more 'me'. After talking to my parents I decided to hit the shops before work the following day and found the perfect outfit for under fifty-quid. Pleased as punch I grabbed a coffee and headed to work at my new job.
Finally the day rolled round where I was due to go and film. Forgetting half of my outfit at home in the morning I scrambled around the rails at the store where I bought it from praying they would have an identical one in my size. All in vain though as I had grabbed the last one off the shelf a few days prior, but there was another similar styled garment in my size so I dashed to the counter with it in toe, knowing that in less than a week I would probably be bringing it back. Rushing around like a headless chicken I made it too the station on time and hopped on the first train to the capital. I never realised how damn hot it is on a tube, I mean I'm a warm individual and am always cold, but the temperature in those tin can's on wheels is unbearable. I'm surprised people were not getting their kit off! Regardless, arriving in central London and having no clue where I'm going I started to walk in the soggy weather to the address given, pondering the fact that every time I come to London its always raining. I mean for once can it not just be nice weather. I do find it funny though how the weather reflects the mood in London - literally no-body smiles, its like they've had there happy-gland taken out and a pole up their arse in a bid to replace it. Slightly late although in one piece I looked around at the rows of houses wondering ideally how much it would cost to buy one. I know I could never afford one, but its always nice to dream.
Upon walking into the spacious and well decorated hallway a gentleman appeared and lead me downstairs to the studio's. To be honest, it reminded me of all the set-up we used to make in college. Straightening my skirt and sitting down on a plastic chair I knew I would carefully have to peel my self off later, I looked around curious at what will happen next. A bearded man appeared and proceeded fiddle with stuff but just as soon as he appeared he had gone again. I wasn't left alone for long though and soon after a tall, bald man introduced himself and he started to tell me a little about what would happen. It was reassuring being in his company and he made me feel less nervous and brought out the shine in myself that is only comes out when I am centre of attention. We went through the same questions as we did in the first casting and things went swimmingly until we came to the subject of my mother (I will get around to telling you what happened one day, its just there are more important things to talk about than 'her').
Awkwardness cast aside and a few harrowing minutes later I was back to bubbly and happy Abbey-Lou. The rest of the questions we sailed though on; discussing my blog (TATOATS), where I see my writing career going and what I want from life but then came an odd question. "Do you ever have somebody or something in your head telling you stuff, almost like a little voice?" said Mr. Bald. I smiled but only because it was true. In fact at that revise moment my 'voice' was telling me about how Mr. Bald's wrinkly forehead looked funny against his round face. Pushing that thought to the back of my head I replied with a simple 'yes' and some small anecdote, one not including wrinkles. In hindsight, wrinkled foreheads remind me of Mr. Workaholic's Dad and his scrunched up head-rolls. I continued and as the filming came to a close Mr. Bald said that he had some inside information to show me. Now, anyone that has been able to get a glimpse of my 'Virgin' post of Casting A Line ... before it was reviewed will know of this secret information but for now unfortunately I have to keep it a mystery. Rest assured though, I will be able to reveal all at a later date!
Leaving said address and walking out into the wet evening weather of the city I started to feel like things were maybe moving faster than expected. It still even as I am writing seems so surreal. So were all set for this coming weekend. It will be a busy one as I have holiday shopping part two on Saturday during the day, a blind date Saturday evening, early Sunday morning Ive got a boot sale to do with Miss Chocolate and then Sunday afternoon I'm visiting family for my granddad's seventieth birthday BBQ - If the weather holds out.
Now, speaking of BBQ its making me hungry so off I go to raid the fridge ... Shhh, don't tell dad!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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