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

Getting Back On The Horse!

Hello one and all, 

So after the debacle of last week I am slightly feeling better although I am fully aware that my Cystitis is still raging my downstairs mix-up and creating more hassle than its worth. I have the day off tomorrow though so I am hoping now my course of Antibiotics have finished I can go back and they can finally get to the bottom of why this is such a chronic issue for me. As another week has come and gone, yet another drama unfolds. Would it surprise you in the slightest if I told you that my absolutely lovely Mr. Warehouse has yet another job. Yes. I know. 

Meeting me after work on Tuesday en route to my second job I saw a solomn face that said something was wrong. Worried Mr. Warehouse was about to put us right back to square one, I asked why the long face. He explained that after finishing his job that afternoon and despite being told that he would be needed all week at the Steelworks, he had been told on Tuesday afternoon as he finished that his services were not required tomorrow and that they would be in touch if and when they did need him. Heart sinking and feeling the all too familiar now sickness return to the back of my throat I swallowed the anger and resentment and told him I loved him. "It would get better, wouldn't it?" I soothed myself. "I mean it has to right? Can't get much worse - Can it?"

"Come on then, be honest, there must be a reason why they would give everyone else work and not you. Just tell me. I wont be angry. I promise." I asked my beloved other-half. 
"I don't know. I really don't have a clue." He replied, puzzled. "Unless it was the fact that some women asked me to cut two-hundred-and-forty sheets of Steel and I cut two-hundred-and-forty-three as otherwise there would have been a lot of excess waste."
Disappointed I tried to hide it as I said to him that he needs to listen carefully to instructions and follow them by the book exactly or this will keep happening. 
"If this women has asked for two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's then she wants two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's! If she wants them rammed up her arse - She wants them rammed up her arse, no questions asked." I said trying to be empathetic although lacking slightly through frustration and anger. 

Arriving into town, we departed the bus and headed towards the call centre. After making several phone calls to the agencies in town that were still open with no luck I had said it would be a good idea to come with me to my place of work and enquire if they were still hiring as they may have been able to interview him there and then on the spot. Although Mr. Warehouse clearly had other ideas as he kissed me on the cheek and headed for the bus back home to the flat. 
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused. 
"I'm going home. I can't do this right now. I'm so sick and tired of this!" Mr. Warehouse flippantly said, unaware at just how close I was to boiling point. 
"What, and you really think I enjoy going to work every single evening at a call centre I am not even reaping the rewards from?" I simmered, although cooling myself enough to convince him to come with me and give it a go. 

No more than a few steps into our ten-minute walk to the call centre I heard moaning. 
"Well its not like you support me anyway is it?" Mr. Warehouse snapped. And with that phrase, so did I. Launching into Defcon-10, I ranted about how much love and support I have tried to muster over the last few weeks, all in the knowledge that my wages alone couldn't support us, especially not when we have a wedding to go to this weekend which we have barely anything saved for and my annual summer holiday with the girls which I again barely have a two-cent coin to run together let alone any spending money for Euros. Rant continuing after Mr. Warehouse had explained that 'its not what I meant - I meant financially' sent me into overdrive and I launched even further stating that given another week or two and it would be yours truly picking up his credit card bill and all other manor of bills he has. 

Boil over I arrived at work and sat on the wall outside looking into the storm in the distance. It began to rain. I thought about how it would ever get better if there is no motivation, confidence or skill to be had. I couldn't keep doing this. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? Would I be in a fortnight or so's time asking Mr. Warehouse to move out and calling an end to our relationship? What about all those horrible dates on Tinder? Who would I have pillow fights with at four-in-the-afternoon or tickle before I go to sleep? 

Worried I went to work and returned home in a zombie like state, going about the motions until it was time for bed. Someone was hungry but all I could think about was the fact that my boyfriend was yet again unemployed and in that very moment I could feel myself detach from him slightly and a little light in me went out. Scared for our future together and what may be round the next corner I struggled to sleep as the stiffness of an angry-jobless penis stuffed into my lower back, its owner oblivious to how it felt to be skewered like a shish kebab.  

The following morning I got dressed and ready for work, sighing as I looked at my sleeping Beau, only to feel the same as the night before. Grey. Leaving the house I was hopeful that something would come up, but all in the knowledge that the Xbox was still on standby. But I need not have worried so much, for by the time I sat down at my desk with my breakfast and morning coffee I had a email. It was Mr. Warehouse. He had a phone-call from the Agency and they had asked him to come it to do a drugs test as they may have got him a placement for a Temp-Perm contract at a Pharmaceuticals company. The same Pharmaceuticals company my doting father works at. Nervous and worried he wouldn't pass I encouraged him to be honest with them as to what he had taken medication wise in the last four-weeks and just get down to their town-centre offices to do the test. 

Couple of hours later I had the phone-call I had been waiting for. 
"I start tomorrow" Mr. Warehouse said down the phone in an excited and yet relieved tone. I was so proud of him. He had passed all his Math, English and Drugs test with flying colours and was now a fully fledged member of the temporary team working the daytime shift, aptly named 'The Golden Ticket' as it starts at 7am and your finished by 3pm - Perfect for parents, second-jobbers and lazy-bums alike. And with picking and packing it shouldn't be the hardest thing my little employee has had to do. I was absolutely over-the-moon for him and so was everyone around me, for I had turned into such a stress-head when Mr. Warehouse didn't have a job. 

Now sure, money would be tight, and will be at least for a few weeks until we are back from the wedding in Newquay. I still have no idea how we are going to pay for everything, but I am sure we will manage. What was that old nineteen-fifties saying I swear by: Make Do and Mend? Well I have made a couple of the wedding gifts and I have mended some bits and pieces together so hopefully we can still have a lovely time, just on a bit of a budget. I have numerous vouchers, discount codes and coupons clipped and stored away for meals out and cheap and cheerful days out. A combination of Sea Safari's, Aquariums, Long Beach Walk and Pirate Museums have me very excited to visit Cornwall - I have even convinced Mr. Warehouse to come horse-riding with me.

In all honesty I am actually really looking forward to going away with Mr. Warehouse who I am still proud to call my boyfriend. He may be a pain in the arse sometimes and we may row every now and again, but who doesn't. Here's hoping that Newquay will be just the break to rekindle our love for each other and that I can get back that little light that went out. I just hope he really see's just how much I have done for us and just how close to the edge we were from falling. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

L'amour est dans l'air!

Morning everybody, 

Much love to one and all this week as Valentines day sent the women into a mushy mess because their four year old made them a card and men into a panicked frenzy at the local petrol station for lack of Chrysanthemum's. Yes I, as I am sure you know by now, am not one for spending an entire day showering others with love. I prefer to give them a little bit every day instead. But that didn't stop me and the Bae, Mr. Warehouse heading to the Big Smoke for some much needed QT!

Arriving at work Friday excited and anticipating the weekend ahead I soon realised that time was dragging. Finally though the clock struck three and with my trusty partner in crime I left my desk (including several piles of papers) and headed to the station. Boarding a packed train we made quiet small talk as we people watched men on laptops and couples clearly heading for the Eurostar. Jealous ... You betcha I was! "One Day" I thought "One Day I will finally go to Paris, even if I do go it alone." 

Arriving into St. Pancras International, Mr. Warehouse and I hopped straight for the tubes and over to Soho for some dinner before heading back to our hotel room, for which we weren't holding out much hope. Drizzling and wet, London was lacking the glory and romance I had wished but as we settled after our meal I wasn't quiet ready to slip under the duvet just yet. Pouring with rain Mr. Warehouse and I navigated ourselves back to a bar we had seen earlier, Adventure Bar, and as I wrestled to the bar and ordered some cocktails I knew that this was probably one of the best spontaneous ideas I had ever had! Music coursing through the underground club and bodies everywhere we turned I watched Mr. Warehouse as he sipped his first cocktail called Bramble, a concoction of several spirits, fizzy champagne and soda over slippery glass-like ice cubes. Only being seven-thirty I was surprised it was so busy but was happy with the scene and only wished I had packed a pair of heels and a sexier top. Moments later that mood was somewhat destroyed when Justin Bieber came squeaking over the speakers. Yes, it was time to leave. So as I polished off my second cocktail I slipped the drinking vessel very sneakily into my handbag. Oh how I love a large tote. And oh how I love my new Martini Glass. But as my dearest love put it the other day "If you don't drink Martini's or even cocktails at home for that fact, why have you commandeered one?" Alas he is not the sharpest of tools in the box, but he knows not to question me when it comes to anything of alcoholic content. 

Walking through the streets of Soho and Piccadilly I soon made the grave understanding of mine and Mr. Warehouse's journey back to the 'Hotel'. CityMapper explained that the quickest route to our Shepherds Bush accommodation was via the District line alighting at Stamford Brook, a station I am sure you are all well established in the knowledge that this was where the late Mr. Cheese used to live and his fit flatmate also. Nevertheless I tried to control my talk of years gone by and focused on the here and now with my wonderful if a little broke Mr. Warehouse. As Mr. Warehouse and I were informed of our final destination arriving soon we geared ourselves up for disaster. 
"So is this the point in which you tell me that in actual fact we have a really nice double bedroom in a posh Chiswick hotel with views of the city" Mr. Warehouse asked, worried. And I wished that was the case. I had booked the room a few days in advance with the total coming to £34.00 for the both of us for one night. Being a twenty-minute walk from any tube line I expected the worst and when I discovered it was more of a studio flat than a hotel room I had booked, all did not seem well. 
"At least it will be a giggle when we tell everyone at work?!" I said as we turned into the street. Deep, pungent smells of cannabis filled our throats as we struggled to find number fifty-seven. And as the houses became more tightly packed, gardens less blooming and exteriors ever increasingly daunting the prospect that this was a good idea was fading fast. 

We were greeted at the door by a gentleman and shown to our room come studio. We both held hands and took a deep breath as he placed the key in the lock. But as he opened the door we both breathed a sigh of relief as the room, while not the most spacious was certainly large enough for what we needed. A under the counter fridge, kettle (with no tea or coffee) and a microwave complimented the wardrobe and super comfy double bed. A large walk in shower in a newly fitted bathroom inclusive of toilet and a stunning white, square butler sink. I was more than happy to sign away the paperwork and check-in. 

Closing the door on the way out we giggled like school children as we bounced on the bed and explored our new surroundings. Feeling like virgins again we took mere minutes to test out the bed, but not before locking that front door - Don't want any more Australians walking on in now do we?!

As morning broke over London and Valentines day began we started our morning as every couple should, and in the best way. Morning Sex! Twice I think in the end. Rolling over though in a heated embrace we discussed our plans for the day and eventually decided on a visit to London Zoo. And after a much needed shower, Mr. Warehouse and I popped out for Breakfast at an old haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's; Carluccios. Taking a leisurely stroll back to the tube and making our way over to the Zoo we took in the sights and scenes of the city and discussed what it would be like to live somewhere such as Fulham and the likes the leafy, laid-back suburbs of London; all with their white picket fences, fancy cars and four storey houses.

No sooner had we arrived through the gates of London Zoo though I was greeted by a small child. Yes. My Valentine, Mr. Warehouse, had turned into an excited six-year-old and all at the sight of a guide book and a cast iron Gorilla. "Today is going to be entertaining" I thought to myself as we joined hands and entered the wondrous world of animals great and small. We scared each other in the creepy crawlies and reptile house. We held hands and pointed in the Monkey enclosures. We even managed to have a cheeky little kiss in the Aquarium. Exhausted and being hoofed out the Zoo at closing time we walked through colourful houses and lanes to Camden where we were due to have a table already booked, ready and waiting for us. Anticipating a quick bite to eat and getting the train back to my cosy flat in Bedford ready for cuddles on the couch just in time Saturday night TV. Alas after more than thirty-minutes and no table reservation we were not happy. Seating a frustrated and tired 'Pooh Bear' (My pet name for Mr. Warehouse. I am his Piglet) I go off to angrily speak to the staff and after a word with management I was able to get our dinner sorted, although this did mean having to share our table with another couple and also it being another forty minute before food actually arrived. 

Nevertheless it was a lovely Valentines, so much so Mr. Warehouse and I were even given a blessing by a Black man preaching about god and his holy ways on the way back to Kings Cross through Camden's Alternative scene. Suffice to say that this weekend was heavenly!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Compromising Position And The Unavoidable Question!

Evening All, 

So following events from last week after my best friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle Dumb, met the rather shy Mr. Warehouse I wondered what the next steps in the rather rapidly moving romance would be. One thing I never expected though was for my midweek dinner with my father to be such a hostile and fiery affair when it came to talking about my love-life. 

Daddy picked me up from work just after I finished, meaning I only had a few fleeting moments of stolen kisses and secret cuddles in the canteen with Mr. Warehouse before I saw his silver jeep purr into the car-park. Braving the cold winter air and hopping into the warmth of my Papa's car I looked forward to a good chin wag, even if it was an excuse for him just to kill time before a pre-arranged meeting. Sitting at the table ready to order I knew I wanted something meaty and saucy. Chicken and Rib Combo it was then! You see my friend, I am not one of these ladies (Dare I call myself that!) whose diet consists of skinny soya latte's with the possibility of a salad minus the caesar dressing. Yes, I am that girl. That girl who enjoys a mighty rack - of ribs. I adore a rare steak and need my meat to still have a heartbeat its that blue. You cant beat the feeling you get when your teeth sink into the cooked flesh and chew, swallowing all the meaty juices and don't even get me started on how amazing it is to have a right old naw on a set of ribs. Sometimes I wonder if I was a Lioness in a previous life, hunting antelope and getting a food-high on Zebra ass. Gosh I have just had dinner and now I am hungry again!

Anyway food was ordered and said food arrived but it wasn't until the dessert menu was cracked out that Dad really let loose. Parents are strange you see. Even as a girl in her early-twenties I still need my Dad and want to be around him and spend more time with him than I currently do. Although I appreciate him, his Girlfriend, work, extended family and voluntary work usually stand in the way though and so I have to be made happy with these fleeting post work gap-fillers. I get that he is busy and all with his own life, but that just makes it even more odd that he would act in such a begrudging way. And so, in between silly jokes and mocking comments about flaws that aren't really all that important there was some serious statements made. Comments like "If he hurts you there will be hell to pay" and "I hope he isn't using you because if he is then god so help me I will rip his balls off" followed in a wave of both interrogation style quick-fire questions and meaningful comments of somewhat intent. I understood though that by the comments my Daddy dear was making such as "I don't want to see you get hurt and cry any more" had a dual meaning. To me, as I sat across from my Old Man, I heard "I don't want to be picking up the pieces this time when it all goes wrong". And I understand his concerns. I myself am regularly transported back to one of the darkest moments in my life, The moment Mr. Workaholic left me. 

Desperate to change the tune, conversation turned to plans for Christmas and New Years. Being Mid-November already and with no-one having an actual plan to go with I became anxious for my own fate at Christmas. Would I be doomed to spend it alone - Opening pressies 'To me, from me' whilst wearing my pyjamas and eating copious amounts of chocolate Santa's and Cheese Footballs consequently ending the day by drinking far too much Port and watching back-to-back films and feeling sorry for myself for being a loner!? Or will I be forced to spend yet another Christmas with family members I don't wholly know, recognise or really give any care about given the fact I hardly ever see them. In all honesty though I think if I drove, Christmas morning alone wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I can have a lye in, get up and do what I wanna do, drink coffee in my Xmas panties and dance around my flat with my tits out to Slade. Either way I am hoping it will be entertaining and fun-filled. Maybe this year I will have someone to kiss underneath the mistletoe!? 

Now Siri is a wonderful thing. it can help you find out things just by speaking to your mobile phone. So whether it is and enquiry into the forecast for the next few days or to Google 'How long an elephant is pregnant for?' - of which the answer is twenty-four-months, Siri knows the answers. However there is one thing she does not know. And that is whether someone will commit or not. As I flicked through the channels I noticed Mr. Warehouse talking to Siri. He had asked a multitude of questions including "When will she be mine?", "Am I good enough for her?" and "When do I ask her out?" to no avail as the answers were null and voided. Laughing to myself as he was told off by Siri due to the foul language of the next sentence out of his mouth, I mouthed some dangerous words. And as little giggles and flirts turned into full on Petting Season at the Zoo I made a move I probably shouldn't have. Now I know (As usual) I am beating around the bush but after a good half-hour of skirting around the issue, I was now in a very compromising position, straddled on my bright orange couch, when I was asked a question I shall never forget the context of. As my lover panted his way to the finish line, one simple question was whispered in my ear. 
"Will you be my girlfriend?" Mr. Warehouse groaned, banishing all memoirs of the same phrase being used in the playground in high school. I responded the only way a lady should and that was with an almighty powerful 'Yes' leaving us both lost for words and out of breath. Truly the most memorable way I think I have ever been asked out and something I am looking back at right now as I write to you all with a grin on my face as wide as moon shining through my window. 

With work colleagues have already jokingly asking when will be the best time to buy a hat for the wedding, I don't think it will come as a big shock to those who I work with. Maybe the circumstances, but definitely not the shift ion relationship status. Its strange to think that Mr. Warehouse and I have only known each other for four-and-a-half months, and only really started seeing each other properly since I turned the ripe old age of twenty-three back in September. Somehow it feels like we have known one another for an eternity. And although now we are metaphorically, physically and sexually in a relationship, mentally I am still trying to get my head around it. You see for someone that has been so brutally scorched in the past I still find it difficult to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment. I am getting better and find myself now casually daydreaming about the future and what it might hold for Mr. Warehouse and I. Optimistic I am, however anxious that I have yet to have a wild party weekend in Ibiza or a Summer travelling round somewhere exotic. So whilst I have finally jumped and taken the big step to be in a committed relationship with someone like Mr. Warehouse I will stay true to myself, my friends, my family and most of all The Tweedles, for I am only twenty-three and there is so much more to life than just living!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fright Night!

Bonjour!

So this week in Blighty it was Halloween - That magical time of year where, as a women, you can dress like a slut and get away with it. But horror struck much before all hallows eve for me as a shock email sent me spinning into somewhere very, very dark! Completely unprepared I was, just packing up my desk on a Thursday evening ready for another shift at my second job when something pinged in my inbox. Subject line being 'My dearest friend' and from the wonderful Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee I opened it quickly, already anxious to make my connection. Reading my mouth gaped open, shivers down my spine and a chill coming over me I felt the full force of the unprepared tidal wave hit me. Mr. Cheese was home!

Adrenaline gushing I snatched my bag and left the office already dialling the Tweedle's numbers to discuss this further. Reading the email back in my head, over and over and over again. "Do not call him! Do not message him! Do not contact him!" were the grave words of warning from my closest of friends. I knew I shouldn't and in my heart I knew I wouldn't do any of those things but a part of me was knocked me over when I heard the news. Question is, how did this happen? Mr. Cheese wasn't meant to be back for at least another six weeks. Why was he home so soon? Did he hate it? Does he have Ebola? Is his family OK, are they hurt? All these pondering's whirling through my brain rushing in every direction. I couldn't make sense of it all and as I reached the bus stop I struggled to see clearly and thought I may faint. What am I going to do? I am completely unprepared for this! Am I over Mr. Cheese?! I should be, but am I? What happens if he calls me? What happens if he has changed his mind about us like I so wish he had before and wants to give us another go, because obviously lets face it I am incredible? What will I do!? 

As the caller answered I spoke in hurried tones as I was abruptly told to calm the fuck down, relax and forget about it. As far as I was concerned Mr. Cheese was still on his Gaaap Yaaar to Ghana having pictures with lesbian-esk Germans. It didn't matter whether he was five-thousand miles away or five-miles away; If he wanted me and really cared about me he would have shown it by now. Besides didn't I have so many other better things in life to focus on that silly boys with heads!? Yes. Las Vegas was nearly to be paid for (Well the flights at least), I was doing well at both of my jobs and I had a good thing going with my social-life balancing act. Panic subsiding but not fully aborted I let Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee get back to work. Scatting in the numbers across my keypad I called someone for the very first time. Answering the phone I was taken aback with the girlish, childlike voice. Confirming who it was I blurted it out. 

"He's Back!" I spilled, continuing without as little as a breath into the blathering's in my head. I was soon halted in my tracks but an unfamiliar voice with a familiar caller ID. In agreement with my best friends I knew that Mr. Warehouse was right too about what I should do, or shouldn't do as the case may be. Suffice to say the evening ended better than it had began and after work I consoled myself in the best way a human can be consoled with a little TLC. Well that and a Peanut Butter KitKat Chunky! 

And so as the weekend finally arrived and Halloween morning I woke bright-eyed and bushy-tailed I crowned my head with cat ears and painted on my nose. Today was Friday. Today was Friday the 31st October. Which only meant one thing! Dress down Friday was going fancy dress; Halloween Style! Strutting my style I hailed a bus into work with some odd looks. Arriving into work I was met with a few gasps and giggles along with a multitude of comments about pussy. I even scared one workman coming into the office out of his skin. Haha, obviously not a cat person! Unfortunately though I had forgotten both my tail and whiskers and so wasn't wholly Kitty! I did however have that Friday Feline! (Is it bad how I just laughed at my own joke!)

And so as the moon rose on Friday out came the infamous fancy dress box and I transformed into my second outfit of the evening - A Fallen Angel! Messy back-combed hair, dark lipstick and a studded dog collar I felt about fifteen again and despite resembling something like my mother I knew I was way hotter! Necking a few odd tasting cocktails and surrounded by a dead 1920's flapper girl, the zombie cheerleaders and a couple of werewolves I looked around the country pub. It was ironically dead and after taking one look around me my date and I decided to ditch this joint. So when no one was looking we snuck away into the fresh Autumnal air. Dancing all the way home with what appeared to be a very tired Mr. Warehouse chasing after me I conquered a roundabout, played hide-and-go-peek in a few bushes and even fell through the front door trying to let myself in. Suffice to say that I was a little bit drunk and that work the following day would not be welcome. Saturday sauntered by at a leisurely pace and by the sun set on what seemed to be a wonderfully sunny day I dove into my treasure chest again in search of a fairytale I had longed to be for a while. Snow White! As the partying began with work colleagues and friends I felt every bit the princess I was dressed as, but a little someone was about to show me just how much of a princess I was to them! 

And so I divulge to you all a little secret I have kept. A secret that even innocent Snow White herself would have struggled to keep. Something that will probably come as no shock to those that know me. Words are failing me right now to be sweet and fluffy about this so I shall just come out and say it: Mr. Warehouse and I have slept together!

Not once or twice whilst on a drunken fumble. A few times. Nine times last weekend alone. This weekend we lost count and we weren't even in each others company that long?! Throughout the past week I don't think there is a subject of the sexual language we have not scoped. There have been toys and showers, dressing up and getting down, not to mention the multitude of positions we have got through in the very short amount of time. Hell I can't even remember the last time I had so much fun in the bedroom it physically wore me out to the point of being sore! I mean I know I was settling when with Mr. Cheese but now I know just how much I was selling myself out by! I mean good lord of the heavens above me (which actually is not true since God, Jesus Christ our Saviour and all manor of other religious celebrities do not exist - Science out-ways religion. Fact). What was I thinking even considering being with Mr. Cheese. For nearly a whole year I put up with the constant mind-games and torturous train journeys back home from London just wondering why I felt like such shit when I should have been so blissfully happy even a man with a chainsaw couldn't make me sad. 

Lying there Sunday morning cradled like I was supposed to be I felt at ease. Peaceful and happier than I had been in months I started to wonder why I had been fighting this for so long. Mr. Warehouse definitely wasn't the most attractive man I have ever dated. He wasn't the most intelligent nor was he the most financially endowed. But what he lacked in simple material un-necessaries he more than made up for with wit, humour, fun, tickles, cuddles and all-round freshness which up until a few weeks ago I had lacked ever since Mr. Workaholic left. I never thought that I would find someone who would cherish me in such a way again, prioritise me above everything else and make me feel as if I was worth it. Simple things like making a cup of coffee for me and little pecks on the cheek reminded me over the course of the weekends we have spent in each others company that maybe if I just allowed myself to be happy again that it might just happen. Sex should be fun and at twenty-three that's just what it is. Fun. Not regimented. Not after four episodes of David Attenborough and a Chiswick Ice-cream. Just Fun. Tickles, that turn into kisses, that turn in to fumbles that eventually turn into happy and contented sighs as we lay spooning, in which I have missed this past year ... Alot! 

Now don't get me wrong, Mr. Cheese was great and my time spent with him was absolutely blisteringly and blindingly brilliant at times with some memories I shall hold dear to me forever. But it is time to move on. And move on I shall. Move onto Mr. Warehouse? Who knows but one thing is for sure and that is I am happy when I have him around ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Number Nine!

Well Hello Everybody, 

I hope you have all been well. I have not unfortunately and as explained last week I have been struck down by what seemed to be a bit of a cold. Nevertheless on with the show ... 

Slipping on my heeled boots and cramming my daisy print jumper for later into my Ted Baker handbag I hurriedly whizzed our the door. Eight or nine? I couldn't remember but either was I was buzzing, if slightly tired from the night before and my now subsiding cold. Fearing being late for my date I wondered how long it had actually been since our first date. Waiting in the designated spot I had done more than two-months prior I awaited my Date's arrival, soon enough though he was there. As Mr. ToyBoy and I embraced conversation immediately turned to his hangover and the fact that the night began as an 'only one drink' affair. I struggled to sympathise but found myself being cast back to a last weekend in all its messiness. 

Walking along the packed out, cobbled streets of Bedford Town centre on what was a very busy Saturday afternoon I felt as if I was waiting desperately for something good to come up in conversation. "I don't remember it being this dry the first time round?" I thought to myself for the second time so far that day. However entering the West London inspired Coffee House I revelled in the fact that we would now have each others sole attention. Seating at the same table we had first encountered each other at nearly nine weeks ago I looked at an attractive face I knew would just be another one to add to the hall of infamy. Tall, dark and handsome Mr. ToyBoy encompassed all the things I looked for in a potential boyfriend - Nice set of teeth. Good shoes. Hair I can run my fingers through and maybe grab a little tuft once in a while and a beautiful set of deep brown eyes that I just want to fall into. Unfortunately conversation ebbed to a point in which he ended up checking the football scores and I wondered as to when I can let this one go. I had already been with someone that was obsessed with sports, I didn't need another. 

Staring out at Mr. ToyBoy over my iced Vanilla Chai milkshake (It was sooo good) I wondered how big his dick was. I know alright, I'm a shallow, terrible person but once you have encountered something as unreliable as public transport then you will know where I am coming from. I understand that size doesn't matter and that sex is only a small part of a relationship but to me it is more than that. It has to be fun and whimsical and entertaining. For too long I have had to suffer and it's about time I got what I wanted! Needless to say as I smiled cheekily at the bubbles in my milkshake as my date twittered on about Game of Thrones my mind wandered to fantasies including classical music blaring from speakers as I reached my first orgasm. Images of him throwing me over coffee tables, my bare arse being splintered as he held me in place, taking me whilst I screamed out in a pleasure infused scream. After controlling myself and bringing my smirk back around to a more serious, grown up conversation about the Illuminati of which I still don't fully follow, understand or even to be quite frank care about, I realised that this was not going to be something I could fully invest in any way. Mr. ToyBoy, whilst older in appearance and as adorably fucking hot as he is, unfortunately won't be the one to take off my garter! At least I doubt it anyway - I mean lets not rule it out! 

A combination of being too young, still in college with prospects of university as well as completely unable to be financially savvy brought me to the conclusion that this would probably never work out how I would like it. Yes he probably had a big willy and yes he was probably (And even if he wasn't I would make him) good in bed, but I need more than that? Don't I? Ascetically I could not fault the lad, I had palpation's just looking at him, but would he make me feel like a Queen, I doubted it. Uhh! But he was such a good kisser as well! As I asked the Barista for a duplicate order I cast my mind back to long, soft make-out sessions, gently nibbling each others lips with our tongues exploring the unknown under a stormy August afternoon sun. I was getting moist at the thought of it. But alas, it was never meant to be. As we parted and went our separate ways I knew we would still keep in contact. Friends maybe. Just missing the benefits part! Maybe we will pick it up sometime, but then again maybe not. But rest assured I wont be lonely for long. Somehow, leaving dearest Mr. ToyBoy at the bus stop to be a bus-wanker home, I knew that I wouldn't be too saddened for long. Hey, there is plenty more fish in the sea right? But maybe I need to stop looking in the sea and start looking a little closer to home ... 

You see, as I am sure you are well aware there has been an increasing romance and somewhat tension struggle that is between myself and a fellow work colleague, Mr. Warehouse but I have started to allow history repeat itself and at present I am now in the elastic band state of mind - Constantly being stretched mentally between wanting to be in Mr. Warehouse's company all the time and also wanting to be single and having the freedom to do as I please when I please it and with who I please (Or more-so how they please me but that is by the by). Pinging between the two has been somewhat exhausting not to mention being ill also. Its complicated I know, but I almost feel as if I haven't moved very far from this time last year when I was constantly battling my head and my heart around the whole Mr. Cheese saga. And I haven't exactly made things easy for myself this week either. 

These feelings however and in particular the bond I have with Mr. Warehouse is very, very different indeed to what I had and probably still have with Mr. Cheese. Up on my pedestal I sit, looking down I realise that over the past few weekends I have spent with Mr. Warehouse, I have had more laughs and giggles and simply childish fun with him than I have ever had with anyone since Mr. Workaholic. Playful tickles, cuddles and stolen moments all add up and are slowly contributing to the way I feel overall about him. I never saw his flaws and I am slowly getting my head around the things that I originally could not deal with. The fact I didn't and still to a certain extent at times don't find him attractive in the conventional sense is starting to become less of an issue. He likes me for me. Not who I want to be nor who I will become but everything I am right here and now. He doesn't like some of the things I do and say sometimes but that the same with everyone. 

The thing is that Mr. Warehouse is very much like my father and as a result, in fact as far as scientific and psychological research goes (That is my Psychology and Science A-Levels speaking!), women find men resembling and embodying qualities and aesthetics of their fathers, attractive and appealing. But its more that all those things. He is the one person I can just be ridiculous with, the one person I can laugh and joke about with and the one person that will still find me attractive despite my messy morning hair, panda eyes and pale-sickly-flu-face. Scary thing is though is that there are two words that are coming up more and more often. The. One. 

Could it be? Maybe? I don't know? It scares the fuck out of me to think that it might be and that this might be it, my husband for ever and ever 'until death do us part' and all that malarkey but I know deep down that I am not completely intolerant to the idea. Mr. Warehouse has the most wonderfully loud, colourful and extravagant family I can ever think I have met and one that I wouldn't wholly disapprove of entering but those two little words are a big deal, especially at just twenty-three. But after a discussion with my Father yesterday over what was an orgasmic Sunday Roast Dinner I discovered that he was only a year older than I am now when he married my mother. And it got me really thinking. What would happen if I just let go of being cautious and scared of loosing everything. What happens if I just forget all the hurt and those stupid guys in the past that quite frankly will never in the rest of this earth's life cycle meet someone as amazing, funny, brilliant, witty and spectacularly incredible as me. What happens if maybe I gave it a chance to grow? 

Spookier things have happened. And with Halloween almost upon us I can only dream of what hellish and gorey scenes will poison my memory next week as I take to my fancy dress box and don a cute yet slutty outfit in preparation for the best time of year - Halloween!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Head to Head!

Evening All, 

As the sun slipped away into the shadows it began to pour with rain on a dreary Wednesday night. Pacing the canteen, I didn't need to be told twice. I already knew my plans were a bad idea but still I grappled with the thoughts and wonders of 'What If'? I knew he was right, I just didn't want to admit it. I was meant to be awaiting a connection in Bedford for a bus to a little village I knew well. I was meant to be on my way to an audition. I was meant to keep my foot in the door. Tonight was the night I was going to start my Quest in attempting to win back my Ex - Mr. Cheese. And whilst The Cheese may be over four-thousand miles away in Ghana on a *insert posh voice* "Gaaap Yaar" I still thought that auditioning for the part of Dorothy in his eldest brother's rewritten adaptation of The Wizard of Oz would maybe somehow make him realise just how fricken' amazing I am. But as I began talking to Mr. Warehouse on what seemed to be a now regular occurrence of us meeting as I finished work and he started a night shift, he silenced himself as I rambled on about the Pro's and Con's of attending tonight's social activities. It was as he gazed into my eyes with his goofy hippo-grin that I realised it was time to let go. And as simple as that, it was gone. Deleted. Erased. Forgotten. If he hasn't realised I am mind-blowingly incredible by now then he never will. Why would I ever want to go back to someone who didn't please me in the way I needed? Why an earth would I want to endure any more torment or hell that is Mr. Cheese and I. Yes he was lovely and romantic and wonderful at times but at twenty-three I have needs and have to have them attended to as regularly as possible. He was never 'The One' so I should take myself off the hook and move the fuck on! I know right - Hallelujah!

Changing the tune from Cheese (finally) and after last weeks post I gathered that maybe I needed to distance myself from Mr. Warehouse. Although this proved harder than expected and before I knew it I was finding excuses to see him; making everyone in the office tea at precisely ten-to-three in the afternoon and staying later in the canteen after work just to steal some moments alone in his company without the beady eyes of gossip-queen's about. Even not texting back was a struggle. But I needn't be so cautious as Mr. Warehouse and I were just reaching the peak of the roller-coaster. So after having no entertainment for Friday night and feeling reluctant to work it at my second job in the call-centre, I messaged Mr. Warehouse to enquire of his plans for the hours that followed home-time on a Friday. Other than looking after a Nephew there was no other plans but to hit the pub with Mr. CWG and within a split second I knew that some dodgy village pub would be better than my plans of a my sofa and surfing YouTube for Pugs making noises. Hitching a ride into the small village just outside of where we all work I knocked on his door with anticipation and a slightly nervous stomach. '"Mr. Warehouse is in there alone" I thought to myself as I waited patiently for the door to open. "What happens if he tries to kiss me? What happens if something happens? We have a work's night out tomorrow! They will ask lots of questions!" My head began to lose sight of what this was. Just two friends from the opposite sex hanging out on a Friday night. 

Snapped back into reality the door clunked open. Standing before me was the giant that was Mr. Warehouse. Towering over me he welcomed me in and ushered me through the small porch to the cosy sitting room. Commencing a tour I was showed every nook, cranny, cupboard and crevice. Once that was done Mr. Warehouse and I slumped into the soft sofa, Relaxing after what had been a long week at work I let the sofa swallow me in its plumpness as I rested my head on Mr. Warehouse's shoulder. And so commenced the flirty games once more. In a mixture of flirting, play fighting and serious talk about academics and how he failed most things at school there was a heady tension that was nearing breaking point. Just as we encountered one of these moments the baby Nephew arrived and so the roles changed. Whilst my body went ridged with tension and anxiety at the presence of the child that may at any moment start crying and howling, Mr. Warehouse became a completely different person, playing the doting Uncle, making giggles and soothing screams even feeding. As surreal as it all was I took a look at the situation from my minds-eye. There I was looking as uncomfortable as hell for the fear that 'Baby' would cry and I would not know what to do with him! I was a female. I am meant to be maternal and child-friendly. It was as if our roles had been switched and as I watched Mr. Warehouse play with the most recent edition to the family unit, my thoughts turned to the inevitable when in that situation. Shaking them off and telling myself not to go there I tried desperately to think of something else to distract my mind from blissful fantasies I hoped one day would be reality. 

Soon enough though it was time to head to the pub and with the baby gone my body was relaxed once more into the plush settee. Heavily flirting again this time there was no getting away from the fact that every time Mr. Warehouse brushed my face with his palms I felt my heart melt a little more. Was I slowly falling? But my mind had no time for questions as the tension reached a new height. Stubbornly arguing over something petty we reached a nose-touching, head-turning, mouth opening conclusion and after donning our coats and jackets we headed out to Mr. Warehouse's local to meet Mr. CWG and company. After a leisurely twilight walk we arrived at a small quaint pub that was about the same size as a family home. Cosy and busy with regulars including an old blind man and his dog that looked very similar, we joined in with the rest of them and before we knew what had happened we were all celebrating pay-day with Jagerbombs. Several hours later and with the alcohol flowing, Mr. Warehouse and I began to loosen-up even more and with a cheeky spank here and a naughty look there we were glad to share at least one secret between us. At least for now anyway!

As the hours flew by in a slur of posh accents and bad jokes about a poorly phrased raffle, I decided it was time for the last cigarette of the night before I called a cab home. Whilst perched on a bench I revelled in the attention as a couple of old men complimented on my drunkenly posh accent telling me that I "obviously went to private school somewhere in Berkshire" and that I probably worked in finance somewhere in London. Taking humour in this I then attended to a conversation with Mr. CWG but from the corner of my eye I watched the night unravel quickly. As I noted the dry heaving I could tell that any moment now Mr. Warehouse was going to chunk-up. Thinking fast and being an expert when it comes to a tactical chunder I moved an empty pint glass towards him. My fast-thinking went unnoticed and within minutes of us sitting down I had sick on both my shoes and my handbag. Without a care in the world Mr. Warehouse continued his decent into the sweetcorn-pit-of-doom, proceeding to barf everywhere. As the bell was rung for last orders and the Landlady arrived it was apparent she was not happy and asked us to leave. 

Staggering outside I took ahold of Mr. Warehouse; With his arm slung around my shoulder and struggling to keep him up we stumbled to the front of the public house. Making it only just to the drainpipe I began my mother-hen duties and started to rub Mr. Warehouse's back and help him to be sick. As gross as this all sounds I am well equipped to deal with pukey pals. Many a night out has ended and indeed some cases began with a little vomit between friends. This was no different, except its alot easier as Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hair always had some renascence of spew tangled in it the next morning from me not being able to hold it all back. Sobering up quickly, we stumbled along the path where I was joined by Mr. CWG and the others, although unsympathetic to Mr. Warehouse's self-made situation I was worried. Struggling to walk I turned round to find my date for the evening was passed out cold on the grass verge by the road. Someone called an ambulance stupidly and I concluded that we just simply needed to get Mr. Warehouse back home to bed. After much heaving and attempting to lift his heavy and by this point limp body off the pavement I made Mr. CWG call a friend to help ferry the Drunken Mess back to his Mom's house. 

I couldn't just ship him off without a word and so as we watched the black estate speed off into the night Mr. CWG and I made our way too. Arriving at Mr. Warehouse's door for the second time that evening I suddenly became very aware of myself once more. "Inside these brick walls is Mr. Warehouse and his life with his mom! Oh dear lord his mom! I will have to meet her! She will want to know all about me and Mr. Warehouse. I will be asked questions about whether we are an item or not! She may fall in love with me and think I am the next bearer of grandchildren!" I panicked. But before I even had a chance to think about anything the door was opened and we were ushered in. Without thinking about anything else I quickly attached myself to Mr. Warehouse's sickly side, positioned on the arm of the couch and stroking his head as he continued to throw-up I laughed along with his mother about the predicament he was in. Sympathy lacking Mr. CWG, Momma Warehouse and I listened to the wonderful words of a more than tipsy gent. I think the penny finally dropped. 

"I'm sorry you had to meet my mommy under these circumstances!" A weary Mr. Warehouse slurred in between burps and dry retching. Glancing shyly over to Momma Warehouse I smiled as she said "So you must be Abbey?" Agreeing and introducing myself we resumed listening in to the ramblings. I was asked yet again for my hand in marriage and, after declining the woozy proposal with an awkward look shared at Momma Warehouse I continued to care for him, making sure his airways were clear enough to be sick so he could heave into my towel covered hands. 

After hours of apologies, drunken rants and targeted abuse at Mr. CWG, I mentioned about getting Mr. Warehouse into bed. This kindly gesture was only to be followed by a sweet but slightly embarrassing request for me to join him. Looking at his Mother in shock she made me feel at ease with her sniggers. However I would have to endure many a more moment before we eventually called it a night. As I stroked his head and patted his back down I felt a familiar hand on my thigh but before I even had a chance to swat it away a bark from Mommy Warehouse made his hand retract quicker than a turtle on a BBQ. After saying goodnight to Mr. CWG I asked for a cab number. Being told that I was not getting into a cab this late at night (but by this point it was morning, 4:34am to be precise) I was offered Mr. Warehouse's bed since he was not moving from the lounge. Graciously accepting I ascended the stairs in consideration for the day that would follow. So many questions will be asked and to think that we both will have to do another night out all over again. Only this time I don't think Mr. Warehouse will be drinking anything but Coke. Waking in the morning and with traces of Mr. Warehouse's sick on me, I reluctantly left and went to work but not before I said good morning to a rather sore-headed bear still lying where I left him. Telling him the tales of the night before I bid farewell and thanked Momma Warehouse for what was a really, really comfy bed for the night. Just a shame I suppose that the only spooning happening was between me and the wall. 

Nevertheless the weekend as a whole was more dabaucherous and messy than expected. And as Mr. Warehouse and I joined the rest of our work colleagues at a local Tavern we could help but smile in the knowledge that still our little secret was safe. As we partied the night away in a cycle of betting, winning and losing I soon made the grave discovery that I had lost my mobile phone. Mourning its loss and with the lads from work checking all the bars, toilets and ballot booths I concluded I had left it somewhere. Saddened and upset at the fact I had lost my life (pretty much) I headed to the dance-floor and in turn ended up having a cracking time with the lads, dancing and flirting outrageously with them all in the knowledge that even though we were playing it made Mr. Warehouse squirm with jealousy. Feeling sorry for myself at loosing my phone I decided to head back with Mr. Warehouse so I could use his phone in the morning to call my network and cancel my contract. That was until we arrived back to the car and realised that the flashing object on the back seat was just my mobile, complete with forty-two missed calls from an gentlemanly Mr. Warehouse who had been constantly calling it all night from the moment the news broke. 

And so with that I declare this weekend as over. Tired and developing somewhat of a flu I am really feeling the effects of two-nights out in a row. How do students do this I have no idea but all I do know is that I need my bed. But I am sure as I lay my head on my silken pillows tonight I shall cast my mind back to the little moments stolen when no-one was looking!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx