Vacation Over: Officially time to return to knowing what day of the week it is!

Evening everyone, 

Crashing back down to earth I would sooner be writing to you all from the beach bar in sunny Marmaris, Orgasm in hand and cocktail menu not too far away than where I am now. But alas our "Up yours COVID" holiday had to come to an end soon and so I am here writing to you from a very dark, blackened Autumnal night with drizzly rain and cold weather that hamper my spirits. Now, where did I leave you all ...

So after booking some excursions and haggling down the price, we had indulged already in a traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (again I urge you if you have yet to see some uncomfortable bathtime photos you should really head over to my social media, they're a right scream) and also sampled some of the best Turkey had to offer with a boat trip. However what was meant to be our wedding night had been messy, to say the least, not many cocktails consumed but nevertheless woke up with a sore head. 

You see it all started the previous evening when Mr Warehouse and I were trying to enjoy a nice steak dinner with each other at a time when we should have been dining on our wedding breakfast and dancing the night away with friends and family. As I have been doing throughout this holiday I was capturing our holiday and tonight was no different so as we grabbed our banana and strawberry daiquiris and posed for a selfie this strange man came out of nowhere and snatched my phone from out of my hands. Shocked I looked at him in absolute horror and disbelief as he placed the phone on the table and asked us to pose whilst he took a photo on his professional Canon. I was fuming and instantly it had ruined what was meant to be a happy moment in a bitter situation. 

Now it was more bitter than a lime that had been snubbed for an Oscar. The last few days have been wonderful and now this. Mr Warehouse was pissed and asked him what the fuck he was doing and to hand the phone back to me. He didn't. As Mr Warehouse, my knight in vest-tops and jean-shorts (not the hot pant kind don't worry), got up to grab my phone from just the other side of the table our Turkish answer to Annie Leibovitz snatched it back and attempted to take photos on it. This is when my Beau really lost his rag. He demanded that the blog give the phone back or he would knock him to the floor. I knew he meant it, despite being such a reserved character normally he could see it was upsetting me and obviously wanted to make things better. But it was too late, we were flat and done. As he shrugged his shoulders and walked off after handing back my phone I looked at Mr Warehouse. He was ready to walk out. We had full and overflowing frozen cocktails but he was millimetres from throwing in the towel and just walking off and I could see it. He was fuming. Seconds later the bread come out and we had to say something. 

The waiter apologized and explained it was a photographer from the strip that had nothing to do with the restaurant and was not affiliated. We explained the situation to both him and management and they seemed to take it seriously enough when we started we were seconds from walking out. Finishing our meal, however, we were brought a complimentary (although disgustingly toxic) shot of alcohol. Lord knows what the frick was in it, but it tasted like anti-freeze. And that's how we got talking to Mrs & Mrs Brave. 

Leaning over the Scottish wife and wife asked us if we knew what was in the virulent shot. We shook our heads but laughed along as we all swigged in unison. As we got up to leave they asked about what had happened and we gladly explained. Mrs & Mrs Brave explained that if we were looking for a good night out we should head over to "Talk of the Town" as they knew a lot of the locals and some of the lads in the show, one of the only one's still operating in the small tourist hotspot. And so on the authority of good advice from some lesbians, we had just met we headed on over and booked our tickets for the following night. 

And so following the football, Mr Warehouse and I spent the rest of the afternoon doing some more shopping (albeit stumbling around due to the intensity of said Orgasm cocktail) and hunting out fake goods at bargain prices was a breeze, including a Gucci scarf I am in love with for the upcoming season, a YSL glittery pink bag that screams "Clueless" or "Mean Girls" plus some cute Gucci sneakers a la Insta, Nike sliders for some poolside chic and a Gucci beach towel to make sure those Germans know we mean business with our sun loungers. Oh, did I say I liked Gucci? 

Once we had shopped until we dropped, we headed back to the hotel for a few drinks and a chill by the pool before heading out. And tonight didn't seem to be faring much better in the way of drinking as we donned our glad rags for one of the only shows still in town. "Talk of the Town" has been one of the most hilarious shows in Marmaris which dates back to 1996 with a cabaret that guarantees a humorous evening out filled with outrageous antics and laughs all round. And Mrs & Mrs Brave did not disappoint. I had been to one or two drag shows and nights in the past but honestly one of the best nights I think I have had in my entire life. With the lad(ies) belting out hits such as Disney's Frozen; Let It Go and Titanic's OST My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion I was sure that I was being left with no voice tomorrow. Heck, they even put on a performance of Baby Shark halfway through which was a right roaring success, clearly among adults escaping the kids for a week or two. 

Mrs & Mrs Brave seemed to enjoy it too whilst we shared their table and got to know them a bit more. I thought to myself as I sat talking to these married women, maybe fifteen or twenty-years my seniors, how similar they are to myself and my very own lover. Like chalk and cheese one of us was singing our lungs out whilst the other tapped their foot along in appreciation. Both quite short and portly, one with dark short hair and the other long and greying blonde they spoke fondly of their daughter back home and son and his new wife out in Australia whom they seemed to miss deeply. I couldn't help but think that maybe for a night or two, we were the replacement family - And they treated us as such, even inviting us on a specially arranged boat trip with a local friend for a couple of evening's time, just the four of us so as to celebrate a wedding that never happened and I suppose a holiday friendship. My god, is this how it starts! 

Walking off after the show I was high on cocktails and my cheeks hurt from laughing (even if it was interrupted slightly by a brawl between two-lassies and their mom's beefing it out because someone was dancing to close to their table and you know, 2-Metres and all). This was insane. Swapping numbers Mr Warehouse and I made out way back to the hotel, laughing at the fact that one day were eating out at a crumby restaurant with basic steaks, the next were drinking in the company of some amazing Scots-women and in the next couple of days, we could be sharing their chartered Yacht around the small secret islands off Marmaris.  

The alcohol soon wore off though and as we awoke early the following morning, promises of not getting too drunk that night we slipped into our swimming gear for our Jeep Safari. Looking for some sheer adventure during our Marmaris holiday, Mr Warehouse had really run out of steam by the time our adventure awaited in the form of a Marmaris Jeep Safari. The day started off well enough with us shunning the fried breakfast offered by the pitstop and instead opting to hunt out a local corner shop for something fresher, an apple it was decided and a bottle of water. As we continued our journey, exploring the terrain around the countryside among the stunning Bozburun Peninsula and the Marmaris National Park all in military designed jeeps (ours was aqua coloured!) As the convoy of jeeps bombed it down the highway at full throttle we soon reached the well-beaten tracks that we struck at full force! 

As sold to us we were soaked by the time we came to our second stop of the morning, a small family-run resort, seemingly someone's home come pool, come shop, come cafe where we met the most adorable Akita pup, still teething and quite bitey at only a handful of weeks old. It took every ounce of Mr Warehouse and I not to smuggle him into said jeep and take him home with us. Heading to our next stop was Jesus Beach, jam-packing it in so you could walk the famous lake where the water was so shallow you could look like Jesus walking on water (although unfortunately thy hallowed had not been a visitor before) all before whizzing off for a basic yet tasty chicken and pasta salad lunch in a dusty layby hideout seeming for locals and probably home for them too. No rest for the wicked though as we were all frog-marched into the Jeep's for our next and final stop before home to the hotels - A beautiful natural spring pool and waterfalls, Turgut Falls, set deep in the forests outside of İçmeler to the west of Marmaris. 

As Mr Warehouse and I headed back to our plush and less dusty hotel for a shower and freshen up before dinner, we thought it a good idea to decline the invitation from Mrs & Mrs Brave. In the joyousness of the evening, I had instead taken their number and them not mine, therefore meaning unless we reached out we would be nothing more than a tale to tell. One of the reasons I couldn't fathom a private chartered sunset cruise on a Yacht was that it did simply seem too good to be true. We had only just met these people and as red flags go, not knowing their actual surnames is probably one of them. Now I am sure it would have been fine, however I have watched enough serial killer docu-films and read enough crime books on murder and homicide to know that this has "press conference to find our missing family members" all over it. Now I am almost certain as I write this that our Scottish lesbian holiday friends were just looking for some simple company to share their boat trip, celebrating a wedding that should have been and welcoming in a new friendship soley exisisting over social media with the odd Christmas card thrown in. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that Mr Warehouse and I knew nothing of them, barely where they were from or what their lives were like, and being on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no phone signal and no internets connection just screamed Channel 5 documentary with a grizzly end. 

Suffice to say the rest of our holiday was spent lazing by the pool, splashing around, drinking cocktails, reading a good book and of course some last minute spending, haggling (or at least Mr. Warehouse was, I seemingly, had lost my touch and couldn't haggle my way out of a paper bag) on hoodies and handbags we definatly didn't need. Leaving our luxe surroundings and comfortable hotel, our journey back home was not as eventful as the journey we started with however within moments of Mr Warehouse and I grabbed a bite to eat in the airport we had located out friends, brick-shit-house-Stormzy otherwise known now as BSS, Regina George and some other face from the Airport scrap that nearly happened on the way into our holiday. However, a couple of noted faces were missing including the someone impersonating Post Malone and the white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. We chose to believe that the threat about "meeting outside the airport" was true and it had all ended in hideous bloodshed and we would hear all about it when we got home, which of course, never actually happened. Landing on a darkened and drizzly Thursday morning at 1am I was ready for bed and excited to be soon at home with our fur babies - Oh and our Fourteen-day self-isolation to begin!!! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Good Way To Waste Time

Afternoon All, 

I know a day early but the Arsenal game is on and better to do it now than try to find good WiFi tomorrow. 

Boarding the plane on a grey and drizzly Wednesday afternoon I was excited to be soon at our 4-star adults-only spa hotel, the most stars I think I have ever stayed in, considering normal holidays are a little more conservative and less flamboyant. Less than ninety-minutes into take-off there was trouble afoot as a girl in her early twenties (the kind that at school would bully you and make you cry for the way your face looked, only to message you a few years later after seeing you grow into an acclaimed MUA and asked for a freebie because "we were friends at school") refused to wear a face covering and started spouting off to customers. Then a Stormzy-esk Black man, built like a brick shit house stood up and proclaimed something I wish I had heard if it wasn't for my ears not popping. Things seemed to quieten down, but not for long as there was another flare-up, again between Regina George and another flyer, an older woman who seemed to disagree with Regina about the fact that her sleeping eye mask was hardly a good face covering. In her defence, however, I must admit that the thick fluff and layers of material would in actual fact be probably a darn sight better than those some others were wearing on board. 

Nevertheless, agreeing to disagree on the scientific evidence behind facemasks and the prevention of spreading Coronavirus was not on Regina's radar and instead, she proceeded to launch herself over the back of her seat and touch the disagreeing women. This was all too much for everyone and instantly there were lots of people who had needed to "use the bathroom" in order to get a better view or had put down their books or paused the movie in order to tune into what was evidently a much better episode of drama than anything by Jilly Cooper. Airhostess' calming things down it put a patch over the gaping wound until another passenger made a complaint about another for not wearing her face covering whilst drinking. This, in turn, turned into a heated debate with the airline staff about what is an acceptable amount of time to not wear a face mask if you are sipping a gin and tonic. The airline did all they can but soon the slanging match started and I really thought that at this rate the plane will be diverted and I will be called tomorrow by The Sun to see if I have any video evidence of "Karens" in action. 

On landing, it didn't get much better as waiting for mine and Mr Warehouse's luggage a fight broke out between brick-shit-house-Stormzy, someone impersonating Post Malone and another would-be rapper and a white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. And all because someone pushed in front of someone else to collect their bags. A few words were said (I think one of them had called him a paedo) and before I knew it brick-shit-house-Stormzy had Human-Centipede-2 almost flat out on the floor. I expected something racist to come out, however, Mr Warehouse, who was in the thick of it on the front line assures me nothing of the kind was uttered. Threats to "meet me outside and we will see" were shot, however, Mr Warehouse were tired and despite the extended episode of Easyjet-Oaks, we had a transfer to get to, all in the hope that neither of that episodes characters would be present on our bus. 

Arriving at our hotel it was late, past midnight and we were shattered from the nigh-on four-hour flight, Airport dramas and two-hour transfer. Our hotel was everything we expected and more. The Poseidon Hotel had even switched out our rooms for an upgraded front aspect room with a view of the sea and a balcony to enjoy the view on, albeit when it wasn't pitch black. The air conditioning was much appreciated and the complimentary fruit bowl and bottle of red wine was a sweet touch, even though we were a little confused at first if it was a gimmick in order to get us to spend more money and charge us. 

Waking in the morning, sunlight streaming in through the window I rose and looked out at probably one of the most incredible views I have had from any hotel window since Vegas back in 2015. It was just beautiful with the pointed mountains surrounding the Mediterranean resort town of Marmaris. I could certainly understand why this was labelled as the Turkish Riviera, squinting as the Turquoise Coastline glittered in the morning sunshine. Looking down from our third floor I could see the palm tree-lined sea promenade and pebbly sand beach, perfect for just getting away from it all. Heading out after breakfast Mr Warehouse went to explore, although not before the hotel had a chance to have a "meeting" with us. Basically, it was a tour operator who obviously got some sort of commission from upselling over-priced excursions and day trips to holiday-makers who are still weary from their travels and have not had a chance to explore the local area for other prices yet, ultimately taking advantage and exploiting the unaware traveller(s). 

We booked some excursions and haggled down the price, scouted out the shops and dabbled in the bargains to be had and how much you could haggle a man down by for a pair of sunglasses. Mr Warehouse had made me so proud. After all the years of knowing him and his constant shame in me asking for a discount or using money off codes and vouchers, the many Youtube videos of Asian fake markets and vlog-hagglers had paid off. Walking into the shop and watching from afar it was clear to see he was a man about to do business on his terms. Selecting a pair of sunglasses and eyeing up (pun intended) a second pair the shop keeper unveiled the price; four-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £40.00. Fake Oakley red and black wrap-around sunglasses and some classic RayBan wayfarers. Not worth it. 

Mr Warehouse laughed nervously as he said it was too much and offered half. A bold move I thought to go in at half the cost. The shop keeper seemed to think so and offered a slightly lesser amount, hoping my fiance would crumble. Nope. Sticking to his guns Mr Warehouse proceeded to tell the man what he wanted to pay and not a penny more. Walking out proved a successful ploy as immediately, almost too easy the shop keeper folded and accepted the half-price offer of two-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £20.00. I was like a mum on school photo day, so proud and urging him to do more so I can see the pro at work. 

That afternoon we went back to the hotel and after awaking from our afternoon nap Mr Warehouse had some bad news. The UK government had listed Turkey as a no-go-zone and from Saturday morning at 4am would impose a fourteen-day quarantine rule on anyone returning from the country. Annoyed and frustrated, we had a couple of options, either pack up where we were right now and try to phone the airline and travel company in order to see if we can get an alternative flight back before the cut-off time, or stick it out and suffer the cost implications. We chose the latter, although when faced with flights of £900+ each for a rescheduled flight home less than 24-hours after arriving, there wasn't much of an option. We knew that this may have been a risk when departing however with my work being possible to do from home, it wouldn't be a huge dip in income, and we could always make ends meet with savings if we really needed to. 

And so we stayed. The last few days have been wonderful; A traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (although anyone who follows me on social media will know the hilarity of the tale behind this experience as we were ambushed by the spa photographer as if that is even a thing for an impromptu photoshoot; noting in the photos posted the absolute terror in my eyes as he poked his head around the corner just as mere bubbles hide our modesty). Yesterday on our would-be wedding day (the whole reason we took this damned holiday) we also sampled some of the best Turkey has to offer with an excursion we just couldn't miss out on all aboard a boat. 

I awoke that morning and for a short while forgot what the date was and what the day should have meant. I should have been donning a white dress and marrying the man of my life but instead it was going to be very different for all sorts of reasons, but now the date had arrived there was a mixture of emotions bubbling away. I was sad for our day not being when it was meant to and upset I did not wake up with my girls and get ready together, friends and family dropping by to wish me well and tell me to "hurry the fuck up". I was disappointed I couldn't have danced the night away with loved ones and frustrated I still have yet to start the rest of my life as Mrs Barlow. But the day was not all lost as we boarded our vessel for a beautiful island tour boat trip. 

Setting sail from Marmaris harbour, we stopped for a swim break off the coast of the rocky mountain islands Mr Warehouse and I had seen from our hotel balcony. I was brave enough to take a dip, but not as brave as some people, diving in from the side of our ship. A while later we arrived just off Dalyan where lunch was served as a fish or chicken dinner and once finished we were transferred to small wooden boats to cruise on the seas surrounding the infamous Turtle Beach where three different types of turtle come to lay their eggs and where the salty seas meet the fresh waters of the African Queen, a reed-filled riverbank giving the feels of Floridian swaps and marshlands similar to that of the Everglades, I imagine. 

Continuing our journey we sailed past the Temple Tombs carved into the mountainside and said to house the dead of rich and famous of centuries gone by and their Egyptian slaves and into Dalyan, a town on the Dalyan River, just inland from Turkey's southwest coast. Sailing further on to the northwest on the Dalyan shore of Lake Köyceğiz is the village of Sultaniye, known for its thermal mud baths. There Mr Warehouse threw caution (and some mud) into the wind and immersed ourselves in the therapeutic natural clay masks and thermal springs before heading back to the ship for home and a night out on the tiles. 

So far our holiday has been everything we wanted and more. Granted I will need to work from home once back and I might regret coming in a few months time if bills are tight because of our frivolous trip but sitting here having my fourth Orgasm (not actual, obviously I'm in public) in a row doesn't feel like a bad way to spend some time with my future husband. Now where's that cocktail menu again ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Sunning Ourselves in the City by the Sea

Morning one and all, 

Last week I explained of the issue I had with my Landlord in paying back my deposit which was rightfully owed to be following Mr Warehouse and I moving out in November 2018. No sooner had the money hit my bank account my fiance was asking what I was going to be spending my money on. Jokingly I said about going on a holiday, expecting his normal response of "No, we cant afford it". But, on this occasion there was something different. 
"If you can find a holiday for under £400.00 then we can go!" Mr Warehouse said playfully. And so, heading to my go-to websites I found a flight for under £100 for both of us. Not booking any allocated seats and only one bag between the two of us I was off to a good start. Heading over to the hotel websites I found a great little hotel, less than five minutes from the beach and with a pool and air-con. Even better was the £250-odd that I had been saving up in Tesco Clubcard vouchers paid for it entirely. Malaga here we come!

It was dark. It was fucking dark. But we were now hours away from boarding a flight to the sunshine coast of Spain. We had only been asleep for a few hours after partying with some of my work colleagues at a friends 30th birthday party so to say we were tired was an understatement. However, driving down as dusk broke and checking ourselves through security I could feel Mr Warehouse becoming more and more anxious about the baggage and seating arrangements. After a quick spot of breakfast we were on our way and stepping into the Ryanair Jet, bound for Spain. 

The flight itself was nice and mainly smooth going, helped along by the film Baywatch and a pecan plait from home. Arriving in Malaga airport I could feel the humidity hit as the doors of the plane opened. Reunited, Mr Warehouse and I headed through the airport and outside where we decided not to get a transfer or taxi and instead opted for the local bus, only three-euros and was less than forty-minutes, about the same as a cab. This saved us about twenty-euros and whilst we had not necessarily pre-planned this, I would certainly recommend. As we left the comfort of the bus, Mr Warehouse and I walked through the beautiful botanical-inspired gardens to our hotel, located as described, perfectly between the beach and harbour. 
"So is the pool on the top floor?" I asked the clerk who met us there to show us around our apartment. He looked at me confused. I repeated my question and this time he responded, telling us that there was no pool. Annoyed slightly the clerk and I both looked through the photos n the website and sure enough there was not any, however I was certain to have booked one with a pool that all the holiday apartments shared. Signing away the papers I vowed to check once settled, although after checking it seems I may have been thinking of another hotel that was in running when booking. 

And so far since then our little holiday has been great. Halfway through now and still lots left planned in. Our first few hours were spent exploring and finding the amenities such as the beach, cafes, restaurants and the Harbour before having dinner and getting an early night. Yesterday was spent again mainly exploring and having a walk around the old town of Malaga City. We have yet to go to the traditional indoor market however we have booked onto a trip to visit my fathers birthplace tomorrow - Gibraltar (hes not Spanish, just part of a travelling military family). 

Yesterday evening I think was the best so far by a mile as Mr Warehouse and I boarded a catamaran boat trip to watch the sun set over the city by the sea. Standing in line we waited patiently. Mr Warehouse had ushered that the group of Spanish teenage boys behind us a few meters away were also boarding the catamaran. 
"Oh god I hope there not a little bunch of Arseholes" Mr Warehouse stated. Agreeing with him I nodded. A few moments later the queue we were in began to move and people began to board the boat and take up their places on the netted seating/sunbathing area. 
"Excuse me you were here first," Mr Warehouse said ushering the man stood next to him to take the spot in front of him in the queue. Clear and concise came his reply. 
"No, No. I'm with the group of boys over there" the Spanish looking man said in plain English. Oh Fuck! Feeling embarrassed Mr Warehouse said nothing and turned back to face the front. Whether he heard us or not make the comments about his pose/crew, Mr Warehouse and I now had to spend the next few hours out at sea with him and his gang of 'youts'. 

Sailing away on the deep ocean with nothing but water between us and North Africa, it was nice to see my fiance fully relaxed. 
"I am really glad that you push me out of my comfort zone and to do things and go places I have never been to before" he said, quite out of the blue. Sweet and romantic, my earlier naughty dream only reinforced the fact that I knew he was the one. To think that this may be the last holiday I have with a an unmarried name! The boat trip was beautiful and I have taken many many photos which I am hoping, when I have a free moment that I can make into a little holiday montage and video, similar to what we did with our Tenerife vlog! 

Tonight I think we will head up to the old town again, hoping for some yummy Paella and fresh seafood before a spot of shopping for nic-naks and holiday crap before an early night as we have to be up and out before 7am in order to get the transportation to Gibraltar - The home of my ancestors, named after the rock itself and to be forever adorned with monkey's. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Newquay - New Life?

Hello-Hello, 

Seven-and-a-bit hours on the road, most of it in traffic and I was glad to seeing signs for Newquay. But as we bid farewell to our driver AKA Mr. Warehouse's cousin and uncle, the boyfriend and I prepared ourselves for the hell that could be awaiting us in the hotel we booked - Berties Lodge, Newquay! The reviews had not been kind, some of them utterly hilarious, but all with distasteful comments. One person had written that "After a long and sleepless night, we were happy to find a sea view (if we craned our necks), and that we wasn't murdered in our sleep." although this review was entitled: Have stayed in nicer crack-dens. I have enclosed the link - Trust me you'll be wetting yourself by the end as was I and understandably you can understand how I was shitting myself so much for checking-in. 

Reading on the website that we had to check in at the neighbouring hotel, we thought it was odd but continued. Walking into the typical 17th Century building, Mr. Warehouse and I marvelled at the beauty the Hotel Victoria had to offer and begrudged all the people that were residing there all in the knowledge we would soon be in our 'not-so-nice crack-den'. Talking with the Receptionist, a young girl I have since made friends with, she explained that for one reason or another (to which I am still not sure why) mine and Mr. Warehouse's room had been transferred over to the gorgeous Hotel Victoria. Looking at each other we were stunned and had to check that everything was correct with the young reception girl several times to help us believe the luck we had again. Booking hotels had always seemed to end well for myself and Mr. Warehouse including the under-thirty-quid hotel room we booked in west London our first weekend away together near Christmas a couple of years back. Or even last year at the wedding we went to in Wisbech. I booked a hotel on the outskirts of the town only for the fact it was cheap and had a pool and spa area however when we arrived, we ended up in a beautiful Apartment-Suite with a balcony and all because our room had suffered a flood the evening before. Upgrades seem to come naturally to us when we book and clearly our trip to Newquay was also something of a little win!

Checking into the room and dropping our stuff off we headed straight out to join the Bride and her family down here in a local Taverna for some drinks. Cider flowing and Chocolate cake on order, talk soon turned to whose wedding was next and what a surprise it was Mr. Warehouse and I that were in the firing line. 
"Maybe we should just tackle one wedding at a time, shall we?!" I said, looking at Mr. Warehouse for advice. Unfortunately all I got was a smirk but soon enough the Bride came over and introduced herself as Mr. Warehouse's Cousin, soon to be married tomorrow. The subject soon turned to Newquay and what a wonderful place both her and her Husband-to-be live. Although what happened next was a slight shock to say the least. 
"You should move down here" the Bride said, seeming enthusiastic. Mr. Warehouse looked my way with a considering look in his eyes and I answered his assuming gaze with something about getting a job and finding work down here. 
"Hey man, I work in warehouse, I could easily find you a job tomorrow!" the Bride answered chirpily. 
"But what about a house? The rent must be extortionate around here, and buying a home in the future - Forget it!" I replied. 
"Well, our rent is £450 per month for a one-bedroom maisonette, less than five minutes from the beach. House prices are not as crazy as you may think, with a standard three-bed-semi setting you back around £185,000" the Bride came back with. 

Mr. Warehouse looked at me. I looked at him. The weather was nicer (at least at that point anyway). The beach looked lovely. Roxy would love the long walks on the shoreline and for sand to be in between her paws in the final years of her life. House prices I knew already were not too bad since looking in the Estate Agents window on the way to the Taverna so home wise it would be not so bad. School places wouldn't be as sizable as they are up north and the cost of living was about the same anywhere you go now in England. The only deal clincher really would be my salary as I would refuse to move for the same or less money I am on now. And 100% I would need to drive. We had barely been in Cornwall a couple of hours and already they were trying to make us stay but I knew that as I looked at Mr. Warehouse's lit-up face we would be having a long discussion about it at some point over the weekend. 

After a long beach walk with Mr. Warehouse and his other cousin that we drove down with, Saturday morning came and with the alarms we got dressed and headed out for breakfast, finally settling on a good old 'spoons brekkie. A long day ensued with all the trimmings you would expect from a wedding; A nervous groom, a beautiful bride, tear-rendering speeches and some oddly-attired guests. All in all though it was such a wonderful day and the weather, thank goodness held out for the happy couple. Myself and Mr. Warehouse took care of his little nephew until that it it was time to head to the reception venue to watch the newly-wed's dance the night away. 

Soon enough though Sunday morning arrived and with it came the rain. Oh Jesus fucking Christ the rain. It rained and rained and rained and rained. All. Day. Long. So we did what all British people do in the rain. Walk around aimlessly and grumble that there is nothing to do. After paying over a tenner each to get into what was advertised as an aquarium but was more like a large garden centre, we spent the next half-hour peering into tanks whilst avoiding snotty children and prams galore. I mean why on heaven or earth would you bring a small baby to an aquarium. What need does a seventeen-month-old have to see a pufferfish or black-tipped-shark? Nevertheless we headed reluctantly back to the hotel and spent the afternoon watching films and planning what to do tomorrow if the weather was equally shite. 

Before ordering a Chinese supper I spent some long moments exploring the winding halls and long Shining-esk corridors on Sunday. An old styled grey building, the Hotel Victoria looks out over the Atlantic Ocean and has many, many reception rooms to explore including a well-maintained lawn with pergola overlooking the sea, perfect for weddings. A plush and cosy orangery/conservatory also looks out across the lawn and beautiful views of the horizon something I cant help think must look incredible with the sunrise or sunset. A grand ballroom follows through from the glass walls of the orangery/conservatory and includes a dance floor with an alien-like glitter ball and DJ booth included. Down some stair and across the room is a bar area which would have probably been the Drawing Room originally and includes yet more wooden fixtures and fittings as well as a large bar and comfy looking couches and sofa's. Through the brass and dark-wooden Reception including original revolving entrance door and spiralling staircase and across the elegant hallway corridor is a regal looking restaurant encompasses glittering chandeliers, sky-high ceilings and beautiful wooden furnishings. Down to the pool and spa areas I have not yet ventured but if I can find a swimming costume I shall inform you all of my findings. 

I listened as the young receptionist girl and hotel porter (whom himself looked haunting) told me of the tall tales the hotel had to tell. The hotel had been used in both the World Wars as a Hospital for injured soldiers and some could even be seen still wandering the halls looking for release from Purgatory. The creepy porter explained in detail how the Hotel's kitchen was used as a operating theatre during this period. The young girl had explained later on that on some lonely nights on the reception desk she had heard footsteps and opening and closing of doors which had been backed-up by several residents over the years. She had said she has seen shadows on the second floors and that "its" presence felt like a women in a full gown since she could hear the swish of the dress and soft footsteps of a lady. 
"Have you been up to the third floor? Do you know why there is now a wall and windows where their should be staircase spindles?" The Porter asked. I shook my head but clearly enthusiastic to hear what was up there, I waited for the answer. Both the Porter and the Receptionist then explained how the owners wife had met her death. She had been up to the third floor and was looking out the windows across what was the grasslands, now the main street of Newquay. She took a trip on some carpet probably and fell the three storeys to the Reception below, killing her. Intrigued I returned to the room and have felt an eerie but benevolent feeling of relaxation since hearing those tales, something in all fairness I had felt since entering the hotel on Friday evening yet somehow seem more so now after hearing these stories in the walls.

As yesterday today, has been much the same weather. Mr. Warehouse and I had planned to visit the infamously haunted jail in the neighbouring town, Bodmin, however with only a few coaches a day going there, we had not booked in advance so our return journey was not guaranteed. With the weather still crappy, I stormed off in a hump, that was until Mr. Warehouse and I headed into the arcades to get out of the rain. Me and the other half had been collecting all the loose change and the odds and sods of coins from each others wallets over the last few months, putting everything 20p and under into a plastic jar to use on our next trip to the arcades. Not counting how much was there we emptied it out onto a glass-topped games machine and proceeded to count it out into pennies, two-pennies, five-pennies, ten-pennies and twenty-penny coins. Playing alongside together for more than an hour we decided to cash in the tickets we had accumulated and see what sort of naff prize we could get. Since he was so excitable, I let him cash in the tickets for something he wanted - A Spiderman cereal bowl. I suppose the fact that soon, once the weather had picked up, Mr. Warehouse had promised me he would accompany me on a Horse-riding hack along the shore, which for me was a romantic gesture I was bemused with, at least for now anyway. 

After the weather brightened up this afternoon, Mr. Warehouse and I took an exhilarating boat ride out into the Atlantic ocean, all in the hope of seeing some seals, dolphins, exotic fish and maybe even a Basking shark. We did not see any of those, but we nearly saw what Mr. Warehouse had for breakfast. Safely back on dry land, tonight is our last night so as I finish up my blog this week I will take Mr. Warehouse for a walk later on around the hotel as I did on yesterday's rainy afternoon. That is if he is still awake ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

My Big Fat Greek Holiday!

Good evening all, 

And so I am back from my travels yet again, this time to Kavos on the Greek Island of Corfu for those that did not read along last week - Naughty Naughty! And what a week it has been; There has been Holiday Hotties, Ocean Occurrences and Bathroom Bust-ups, but all has been in good taste. 

Last week I wrote about the journey to our holiday apartments and how they were much nicer than the dreaded anticipation of a 2-star, out-of-season-getaway usually is. An improvement further to the situation was the hot barman whom looked very much like Mr. Grey 2015 himself - Jamie Dornan, of whom I am a big fan. However not as much as Miss Tweedle-Dee and after snapping a few secret pics of the poor bloke I started to question whether she was still into the female variety or not!? Nevertheless the holiday was good fun and for the first three or four days we just got up at whatever time we felt, going to the pool and alternated between there and quick trips to the sea/beach which as I said previously, would not have looked out of place in Clacton. 

On Wednesday we were invited to BBQ at the Hotel we were staying at by the Scottish owner and her gorgeous son and no word of a lie this was more of a BBQ than I think I have ever had. Steaks the size of my head and sausages the size of my arm, literally. So much food and such small bellies. But we took a keen interested in the cocktail list did Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I. Ordering as many cocktails as we could handle we chatted casually amongst other guests as we ate, laughed and enjoyed the company. Many a strange and jovial story was shared over the table that night and subject of conversation ranged from 'Very Hairy Ladies' to Poo, all of us throwing in our own anecdote or two for good measure. 

The following morning, with fuzzy heads we decided to get the local bus into Corfu Town, about a mile down the other end of the island to Kavos. We would have otherwise headed into Kavos but the fact that there was extremely little there to see and even less to do out of season was a reason to avoid it. Corfu Town however was lovely and I was unexpectedly pleased with how pretty the harbour areas looked. Big ships and cruise-liners stretched out along the shores and in the distance you could still make out mainland Greece. Little tug boats and small fishing vessels also littered the coast as we walked around paroozing the local shops and stalls for something to spend our pennies on. On arrival home that night back to the hotel I really felt as though I had bought well for my money and after bartering the price of a faux designer handbag and couple of pairs of sunnies I knew I had a good deal. A multitude of other items have been brought back with me from holiday however I am hasten to add that the majority of that is food. The coach journey back was long though and since it was a local bus and our hotel was down a dodgy dirt track, we knew we would not be dropped off anywhere nearby to where we needed. And so I took it upon myself that once close to the entrance to our hotel's road I would simply ask the driver to stop so we could get off. However in pitch black of nine-at-night, with Miss Tweedle-Dee's anxious predisposition and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's feeling rather travel sick I knew we were all relying on me to stop this thing! And so that is what I did. turning a corner I saw the bins we had previously hailed the bus down at that morning and so alerted the driver we would like to depart in the only way I knew how. 
"STOP! Stop the bus!" I yelled out loud as if I had some sort of undiagnosed bus Tourettes. Immediately the bus stopped dead in its bumbling tracks and allowed us to get off but not before the conductor asked us if we were sure. 
"Are you sure you want to get off here?" the Greek Conductor said questioningly in broken English, a look upon his face as if to say "there is nothing around here". I nodded and proceeded to help Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I off the bus. 

Friday we had opted for an excursion and much to our excitement it was yet again on a boat. Previous years holidays have seen The Tweedles and I embark on many a boat trip in our time from the glass-bottomed boat of 2013'S Trip to Majorca or maybe the Pedalo that existed in our first girls holiday in Fuerteventura. As we placed our towels in our bags and slipped into something easy over our bathing suits I wondered what ship would i be this time. I was hoping for a Kardashian styled Yacht although I am sorry to report that this was not the case as many many other people wanted to go on said trip and so a larger boat was required. Oh and I s had hoped for sunbathing on the bow! Getting on and getting a set was a dilemma and a half but once we spotted a little section on the starboard side we immediately took it and never left for fear of seat stealing. First stop was some scenic caves and coves that rumoured to belong to Poseidon, the Greek god of the ocean. In honour of us exploring Poseidon's cave dwellings we lived it up with a little boat party, music blaring and everyone on their feet clapping and dancing, I felt more on a Kavos holiday out at sea than I ever did in the small town of Southern Corfu. Next stop however I was very much looking forward to - Some of the clearest waters in the world off the coast of a small island called Paxo. Clear water as see-through as a swimming pool was warm and deep but forever and gloriously turquoise in colour. It felt as though I was in the Caribbean with water so clear. But as I approached the Stern of the boat, bikini clad and in all my slightly tanned glory I asked the question - Can I just jump off?

Crazy as it sounds I wanted to do it. I was scared as I was greeted with a Greek smile and a helping hand to the edge of the boat. Standing on the edge of the boat, legs on the opposite side of safety I looked back to see if the girls were filming and taking pictures. If I couldn't have my Kardashian styled Yacht I might as well have a styled out photo showing me having the time of my life. Nervous of the jump I looked back towards the blue hues of the ocean and took a deep breath before I simply stepped off the edge. A scream, a heart-stopping drop and a salt water plunge into the blue later and I resurfaced. Everybody on the boat was now looking at me! "Mission Accomplished" I thought, although as a huge Titanic enthusiast I wondered that if I was scared at that relatively short jump and plunge into warm and clear waters, I could only imagine what it was like in April 1912 when hundreds of people had little choice but to make that same move from a far higher standing Titanic into the below-freezing temperatures of the black Atlantic. 

I was joined soon after in the warm waters by my Tweedles, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb although after loosing my cherished and much loved flower headband to the sea and swimming frantically to get away from the suction under the boat I had inadvertently given myself an asthma attack and with no inhaler or medication on-board I was scared. Swimming constantly and desperate to catch a breath of air and not salty sea water caught me off guard and only exacerbated the situation more. Slowing down I tried to keep calm as Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb took the safe bet of just using the boats steps to get into the clear sea. Petrified I tried not to make a fuss but was secretly struggling to gain breath and to swim against the current. So it didn't help when Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were about to get run over by another bigger tourist ship coming into dock. After attempting to swim out to the sandy beach which seemed a lot closer than it was Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were accepting to the fact that we just were not going to make it there and back in time before our ship left. However when a liner slightly bigger than ours drops anchor meters from us and with the suction of now several ships in the areas trying to drag us back under water I mustered up what little strength I had left to swim back against the currents to our ship. 

Back on board we dried off and headed to our final stop, a small, very French Rivera looking harbour where we had a chance to have a bite to eat, albeit surrounded by sickly-looking stray cats, and a quick look around the shops there before heading back home to the hotel. 

For the rest of the holiday we chilled out, relaxed and looked forward to going back home to Blighty. I am much glad I am at home now, although not so sure I will be drinking the water in foreign countries any-more as all I have seen of my flat since landing has been my bathroom. Welcome Home eh?! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx