Toilet Terrors and Fishy Frights!

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Hello There, 

And so after ten long months waiting and many, many times of myself fighting back the high of endorphins and dopamine after a bedroom workout I was thrilled to hear that Mr. Cheese loves me! And yes I was not false in my hopes or wrong in my hearing of the phrase for Mr. Cheese said it again over the weekend after a wonderful sunny Saturday as we lay on the trampoline in his huge garden at his families home in the country. As we lay underneath the fading sky, watching bats skit across our focus my dearest Mr. Cheese informed me for the second time that it was not a mistake and that for the first time since Miss Cardboard Box he loved someone else. Me. Little old me. The same old me that has been doubting our relationship from the very beginning. The very same person that blurted out the same phrase on the platform of Victoria Underground all those many moons ago last year. Yes. I think it is safe to say that life is somewhat better now that we have found bliss. 

Speaking of blissful moments stolen together it was some of the shared moments with Mr. Cheese's family that made me ponder my future with them and him. Now obviously you are not all to rush out and buy your hat's just yet, although I feel that things could be a lot more simpler now I'm looking at the relationship in a new light. I suppose if there is one thing that Mr. Workaholic taught me it was that life is unpredictable and that you can spend years building the foundations to your future only to have someone torch them before your very eyes with the only thing you can do is to sit back and watch all your hopes and dreams burn to the ground. I like Mr. Cheese although sitting in the adults lounge at the front of the fully detached cottage, snuggled into my darling watching the nail-biting cup final between Arsenal and Hull sipping on wine I glanced over to the rest of his perfect family imagining how I could fit right in here. Pappa Cheese in just his underpants (Not joking!), Momma Cheese tending to her boys making sure they were well taken care of, Mr. Cheese and his brothers fooling around and acting like the kids they are. It made me yearn for something as idealistic as that in years to come. Looking back on my weekend, what with its glorious weather and idyllic snatched moments its hard to think that this was all amongst yet another raging argument with the Tweedles. 

On the other hand though I thought about the family I have. Or had. Whatever way you look at it family is important. Probably one of the most important things in life. No. The Most important thing in life. Without family you are nothing. Without family there is no you. Although reflecting on my own is hard given the separation of my parents and breakdown of said family unit I think only makes me want one of my own that is better and stronger than ever. As the sun shone in through the roof light in the large kitchen of Mr. Cheese's family home I helped chop and prepare the salad. Conversation with Momma Cheese alone turned to my own maternal connection (or the lack of one) and the question was finally asked. When answering the question of why I never speak of my own mother arises I always have to be careful and slightly coy about how I tell the person asking the question. I knew that with four boisterous lads on the loose in and out of the kitchen I didn't have much time and so the extended edition was spared. I could tell that whilst Momma Cheese was itching to know the answer why, she was also very sweetly anxious as to not upset me. I explained simply as I had a million times before that whilst coming into constant conflict with her for my entire life, after my parents divorce my mother simply couldn't stand the fact that I wanted to see my father and so as a result threw me out. It was harder this time seeing the shock on Momma Cheese's face as I could tell it is something that even in her worst night terrors she could never dream of doing the same to her four boys. And almost as if right on cue the youngest of the Cheese brothers appeared with a question about dinner and my passed was soon just floating words soon to evaporate and be replaced by love and laughter. 

All was not plain sailing this weekend though as I almost got caught up stream without a paddle - Don't worry these jokes will soon make sense! Seeing two silvery fish wrapped up in a plastic bag on the kitchen counter, I boasted about how my own father had taught me how to gut and prepare fish for cooking and since the Cheese's were having a BBQ I decided to gloat a little more than usual in anticipation that the sea creatures contained in the freezer bag were already fully ready for the Barbie. On closer inspection to the deceased critters I realised that whilst they were very much dead, (I washed them and whilst no one was watching played with them pretending I was Ariel the little mermaid and that these were my companions! Yes I know I'm sad!) They were fully in-tacked biologically. Not wanting to look like a tit and trying desperately to show how amazing I am in the kitchen I chopped off the heads of my underwater friends, cut off their tails and fins, and finally ripped out their insides! Giving them a after-life massage with some lemon, salt and pepper I wrapped them in a towel of tin foil and stuck them in the fire pit for all of about five minutes. Its OK though they had three skewers of prawn-y pal's to keep them company whilst they steamed away. I was very impressed with myself and they tasted wonderful. 

And goodness me the faux pas didn't begin their either as Friday night we all congregated at a posh local restaurant with the whole Cheese family out to celebrate Pappa Cheese's birthday. Apparently he is near to sixty but I myself cannot see how this is possible since both Momma and Pappa Cheese look so young. Very confusing. Nevertheless the moment come when I had to break the seal. choosing y moment carefully I politely excused myself from the table and made my way across the tinie-weenie restaurant floor to a door in which I thought would lead to a entrance and lavatories. I was taken aback however after entering through said door and noticing that it was an extension of the establishment and tonight was hosting a meeting. Obviously very important and not wanting to disturb such pressing matters I asked shyly where the toilets were. They looked at me with utter disgrace and contempt. The faces stared at me. I stared back. It was a tense battle of wills and I was literally shitting myself. After what seemed like an eternity of angry looks one spokesperson pointed to a door across the room and motioned me to go and inform me that I should not call them toilets I should call them lavatories. Not wanting to upset or disturb the committee any further I hurried along passed the glares. Only as I turned my back to leave I heard a little voice within the group of obvious villagers piped up and whisp-squeeked (Across between squeaking and whispering) "She called them toilets!" To which nearly made me wet myself right there and then. As I sat on said throne I took a moment to realise what had actually in real-life, really happen. Not only had I used the incorrect phrase to describe such an act of nature but I had also just walked in and through what can only be seen as a regular meeting held by the Federation of Fouling. Other witty names I came up with at the table included 'The Toilet Committee' and the 'Poo Police' - All of which gave at least a chuckle when I explained what was on the other side of the rightly coloured, brown door. Although on later reflection I realise now that they were all involved with SHITT - the Society Held In Toilet Terminology. 

Laughs and giggles aside now though as I have a hectic week ahead of me! Tomorrow I am meeting up with Miss Chocolate to hear all about her life and liaisons. then on Friday is the first wedding of a friend - The marriage of Miss Bride and her fiancé whom I have both known for years and are a wonderful couple. Sunday I have the joy of spending it with my favourite ladies, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Stuu for a lovely, hopefully sunny day out in Brighton for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Birthday! A busy weekend jam-packed with family, friends and fun. Finally though after what seems like forever I have a normal social life again. And this time it even includes some regular exercise. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Muchas Gracias ...

Hi Everyone,
 
My goodness what a week. Exhausting and stressful but glad that I am able to reveal all to you now. You will be pleased to hear that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are not burnt to a crisp but heavily tanned, although much to their dismay 'The Peel' as it is now refered to has started. So after leaving you last week in stiflingly hot Majorca I am now safely back in the UK, but not without our fair share of problems let me tell you that ...
 
I found Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb by the pool still sunning themselves trying to cram as much tan-time as possible and after a brief disagreement we started to get ready for the transfer coaches arrival. Boarding the coach and finding our seats we appreciated the on-board air conditioning. Bumbling around the local towns and hotels picking up tourists I began listening to a Belfast family and willingly allowed their accents to bless my ears. That is until a well-bronzed, middle-aged couple got on board and started rustling their travel documents. Upset at their rudeness I gazed out the window at the setting sun over Spanish wasteland. I started to day dream of meeting the perfect Irishman in a bar; Tall, dark and handsome with a thick Irish accent. Mmmm! Suddenly though I was snapped back to the cooling coach. Then, Miss Tweedle-Dumb had started to explain how our flight back home was cancelled. Laughing I told her to sod off and stop pulling my leg. Her face was serious but still I refused to believe her. "How dare she snap me out of a pleasant pipe dream of me and my future Husband meeting in a smokey, old-style city pub on 'The Green Isle'. Rude!" I jovially said to myself. As we arrived at the airport though, worrying that my fantasy was interrupted was the last thing I had to worry about. Our flight had been cancelled!
 
Whilst the Tweedles panicked, as did the rest of the coach party, I grabbed a luggage trolley and loaded our bags. Pacing into the Airport itself we joined a line that was already a few hundred long and several people wide. After hearing the stresses of Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee I decided to go and ask someone what was going on. I joined some people talking to a young attendant and she informed us that due to some issues with the French authorities no flights were allowed into the airspace at all and that almost eighty percent of flights that day and before had been cancelled. These problems could last for up to four days she went on. Armed with this information I waddled back to The Girls and told them what I knew. Several moment later after discussing options a few of us in the lengthening queue were asked to make a separate line for people going to certain destinations. Like sheep we herded round the desks waiting to hear our fate. Becoming bored I started to befriend a pudgy man behind us in the line. I was somewhat dazzled and slightly bemused by the fact that the larger man had a full set of gold teeth. "Very odd" I thought. But after listening to his conversation to a fellow line-ee I discovered he was a washed up pop star who had appeared on a talent programme some years back. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had to watch some of his performed and cringed watching them later on.

Finally arriving at the desk we were told by the lady that the next available flight wasn't for another three days, but it wasn't guaranteed that would be able to leave either. We had no choice. We had to take it. So Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I agreed and our flight was booked for nearly midnight on Thursday evening. But there was a problem. It was only Tuesday. Where were we going to stay for the next seventy-two hours, or more if our new flight was delayed or cancelled! Thankfully the airline recognised this and whilst they admitted that it wasn't the travel providers fault they had to help somehow. So they paid for Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I to stay in a three-star, all-inclusive hotel for a couple of nights and also arrange for pre-paid taxi's to collect and drop us off. Happy for the solution all three of us bundled into a cab and headed to our beds - Not before another dispute due to the fact we were all starving and wasting away due to not eating since breakfast.

And that was that. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had worked out that we had bagged a ten-night holiday in sunny Spain for just under £200.00! Bargain if I do say so myself. The morning after our terrible Tuesday I was able to engorge myself with my all-inclusive breakfast so I didn't die of malnutrition, however the water I feel did alter a few things. Lets just say that The Tweedles and I took a few trips to "Brown-Town" during those extra days - at least the Loo was nice though. The extra few days we spent relaxing by the pool, topping up the tan and drinking pre-mixed Pina Colada's whilst trying to avoid the over-enthusiastic holiday rep's. So here I am, back home at last. But its not all boring - Oh no! Because I can promise you next week will be a storm ... Watch this space!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx