Bonjourno!
Ohh how I wish I was going anywhere where the language is anything but English. I. Need. A. Holiday!!! But following the debacle from last week and the costly bill that Clifford, my Fiat 500L, gave me I am certainly not going anywhere sunny or exotic, I think even Newquay would be a stretch. Nevertheless, I have thrown myself into full-blown Christmas Smish-mas mode and that includes visiting the big man.
Back in September, I was scrolling through my daily emails when I came across one from a local garden centre, quite well known in the area. Not really reading it properly I thought it was regarding my wedding flowers and some ideas or thoughts regarding styling since I had asked them for a quotation. However, this was not the case and on opening it up I discovered the wonders of what the garden centre could offer at this time of year.
Reading through the email, it explained how Frosts Garden Centre were opening their grotto exclusively for dog lovers! "You and your four-legged friend can enjoy the ultimate Santa experience" I continued reading, enthralled by it all. With a choice of six sessions available the visit was to be jam-packed with photo opportunities and includes mixing your own doggie treats and of course meeting Santa! As if that wasn't enough, each owner also receives a mince pie as well as a special treat for our canine friends too!
Wasting no time like an excited parent I booked the visit and text Mr Warehouse to let him know the good news. Anticipation built and as the day got closer I talked openly with my work colleagues what I would be doing on my morning away from the office. They were surprised and whilst most giggled and laughed, a lot of them would (and have) asked where they can get tickets.
Arriving on the day, all of us in dressed in Christmas jumpers, we finally found the Grotto after much hunting around the flowers and granny scarves on sale. It honestly looked like a shed, but with our elf waiting outside for us, we skipped up to the front gates and were taken inside the magical winter wonderland created.
Frankenstein was less than impressed by the penguin animatronics, standing to attention and refusing to let the penguins get me, guarding his Dog Mom from the strangely suited birds. I think I even heard a growl and a yap from his nervous stance. The older one, however, was quietly amused by it all, wagging all the way and probably wondering why we have to come to such a place. But our Pooch loved Christmas and always gets a bit nervy and upset when the decorations come down in January.
Snapping away some blurred pictures of our nine-month-old pup we skipped through the frozen landscape and into the Elves workshop. Here we got to pick and choose a doggy bag quite literally, selecting some treats and biscuits for our little fur babies. Safely squirrelled away we were guided by our Elf through to Santa's sitting room, a full log burning fire awaiting us to warm our toes and even a mince pie for Dog Mom over here (Diet going right out the window)! Standing by the huge Christmas Tree, perfectly lit in lights and beautiful decorations we had some family pictures, smiling for the camera.
Just as we were about to finish the big man himself arrived. Welcoming himself to us and our pups, he was short for a Santa, however, the awe we were in was palpable. Never had I ever thought I would be this excited to see Father Christmas, and yet here I was, my baby pup and big pup, both ready to have their picture taken for our family Christmas Cards. Posing was difficult enough though and trying to get us all to smile at the camera and not wink or blink or sneeze or turn away was a chore in itself, and that was us human's. Holding Frankenstein in my arms I was certain that was a memory to cherish forever and ever, and, after receiving a gift from Mr Claus himself, Mr Warehouse and I continued our walk through the Reindeer forest and into the gift shop to look at our photos. Choosing one, we purchased a copy and looked forward to sending out the memories with family.
Would we do it again? Probably not, unless we knew it was maybe oldies last Christmas, but even then I think I would want to try somewhere else. At £9.99 for one owner and dog (plus £1.99 per additional owner and £6.99 per additional dog), it wasn't cheap, combining with the £7.50 per photo not to mention multiple other gift options available and it could turn into an expensive morning out. However, I cannot fault the staff and how special they made it for our first Christmas as a paw-some foursome, although I would say that Frosts Garden Centre could make it a little easier to find Santa's Grotto as it was rather difficult to locate (as could be expected) and therefore we were running slightly late to our appointment and therefore whilst not rushed along, felt as though we needed to speed up our experience. All in all, though I certainly cannot wait until next year and our next photo opportunity.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Car. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Car. Show all posts
Monday, 9 December 2019
Monday, 2 December 2019
Driving uphill with the brakes on
Hi,
And so there I was, talking last week about how after months of not settling and terrible nights and even worse morning routines, I had an all-round better pup. That was until I came home to yet again more books, magazines and paper shredded into tiny pieces. Puppy ownership has really been a handful and I thought that I would be coming to the end of what was a difficult patch, but now it seems as though Frankenstein is going through an even more destructive phase than before. The last time he was this destructive it was the carpet that was the victim, in the end, something which we have only just got round to changing over to hard floor last week, costing us a pretty penny we could have really kept back for a rainy day ... or maybe just a normal Saturday.
I had my MOT on Clifford, my Fiat 500L in red back in September and after passing with an advisory to come back in a few months before the snow and get the brakes checked and have a full winter health check I booked in my appointment back then and thought nothing more of it. Looking at my calendar on Saturday morning with a long list of things to do including Christmas shopping for last-minute bits, a trip to the skip to dump the old carpet and seeing family, not to mention at some point putting up the Christmas Dec's, the last thing I needed was an out of the way almost appointment to the car garage.
Nevertheless, Mr Warehouse convinced me to go, just get it checked and for the ten or fifteen minutes in order to have peace of mind over the winter and into Spring. Allowing Mr Warehouse to drive (he has been doing some lessons and is actually really close to passing hopefully in the new year) we pulled into the garage, the 1.3 litre, 5-door multijet seemed fine and I hoped it would be a quick in-and-out jobbie. Alas, the garage was running low on staff due to sickness so it would be about a couple of hours, so Mr Warehouse and I headed off to the small shopping precinct across the road and grabbed some last-minute pressies, haemorrhaging money left, right and centre.
A few hours later we started heading back, and just as we headed around the corner I got a call from the garage. It wasn't good news. Made to feel like a complete fucking idiot of a woman I was asked when I had the brake pads changed. I explained that I have only had the car for a matter of a few months now (nine months in total) and have not had any work done on him as yet. the mechanic sounded perplexed.
"So are you aware that there are brand new brake pads fitted onto what was then very worn and barely legal brake discs?" The Mechanic said. Explaining further some of the other items that needed doing including two front tyres needing as bald and split, I asked for the price, expecting it to be a couple of hundred quid. So when I heard over £780.00 I nearly fell over.
Trying to take it all in, I hurriedly ended the call saying I would come back immediately. Relaying everything to Mr Warehouse I was worried about the cost. That was something that would wipe me and my savings right out. Back at the garage, there was no getting away from it. My Clifford was barely legal in places and definitely way below the legal limit in places. All four brake discs needed to be replaced, the front two being the worst and along with this the brake pads needed to be replaced also. But it got worse as the mechanic (and what I can only assume as the manager) explained that with the starting mileage being at just over 31,000 miles and now only just over 39,000 I had done less than 7,000 miles and should not have expected the level of wear and tear on the vehicle in such a short period of time and with the limited mileage taken.
Information in hand only meant one thing. The company I bought it from, Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford (who had shipped in the car from their Leicester branch) had not done the relevant checks needed and necessary. In fact, if anything they would have seen that the brake discs needed replacing and either were on the limit or under the legal limit expected and should have been done at the same time as the brake pads. The fact they had only replaced the brake pads revealed that they were not only cutting corners but wasting money, time and mechanics efforts as already worn brake discs would wear away the brand new brake pads far more quickly and mean a costly bill for the customer in the end.
I had no choice, I had to pay to get my car back. I was advised not to drive away due to the number of defects and problems. With a couple of discounts, the mechanic was able to reduce the bill by about a hundred pounds, although a piss in the ocean with the comparison. And so I paid, opting into a payment plan over the next four months to pay it off. Fuming I sat down for the next three-hours and festered in my aggravation and annoyance, trying my hardest not to try. However, after plucking up the courage and channelling my inner rage at the debacle I called Evans Halshaw in Bedford, they confirmed that the only work done on the vehicle including a rear cracked fog light and the front passenger seat belt casing that was broken were fixed, which they had. However, they washed their hands of anything mechanical
Angered at the situation but understanding at Bedfords "cosmetic look over" my 2013 plate car, I called through to the Leicester branch to ask them the same question - Why did you install brand new brake pads on already very worn brake discs and ergo causing me a loss of over £200.00. I called through and pressed the options to get through to a salesperson. I asked simply for a record of works completed on the car prior to me shipping it down from Leicester to Bedford.
"So sorry I will have to get that to you on Monday as our systems were switched over recently and I will need to export this manually and email over first thing," the salesman said. Reluctantly I obliged and took his name for reference.
Frustrated that I had to lose out on so much money and the added worry and implications of if I hadn't been persuaded by Mr Warehouse to go what could have happened had I needed to rely on those brakes. The car was less than six years old and these were things that should have been done at the time of it being sold. I was angry at not only the money but the time, I had lost my car for over half a day and been unable to do anything else with my time bar waiting for it to be ready. You can be sure that I will be fighting this all the way.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
And so there I was, talking last week about how after months of not settling and terrible nights and even worse morning routines, I had an all-round better pup. That was until I came home to yet again more books, magazines and paper shredded into tiny pieces. Puppy ownership has really been a handful and I thought that I would be coming to the end of what was a difficult patch, but now it seems as though Frankenstein is going through an even more destructive phase than before. The last time he was this destructive it was the carpet that was the victim, in the end, something which we have only just got round to changing over to hard floor last week, costing us a pretty penny we could have really kept back for a rainy day ... or maybe just a normal Saturday.
I had my MOT on Clifford, my Fiat 500L in red back in September and after passing with an advisory to come back in a few months before the snow and get the brakes checked and have a full winter health check I booked in my appointment back then and thought nothing more of it. Looking at my calendar on Saturday morning with a long list of things to do including Christmas shopping for last-minute bits, a trip to the skip to dump the old carpet and seeing family, not to mention at some point putting up the Christmas Dec's, the last thing I needed was an out of the way almost appointment to the car garage.
Nevertheless, Mr Warehouse convinced me to go, just get it checked and for the ten or fifteen minutes in order to have peace of mind over the winter and into Spring. Allowing Mr Warehouse to drive (he has been doing some lessons and is actually really close to passing hopefully in the new year) we pulled into the garage, the 1.3 litre, 5-door multijet seemed fine and I hoped it would be a quick in-and-out jobbie. Alas, the garage was running low on staff due to sickness so it would be about a couple of hours, so Mr Warehouse and I headed off to the small shopping precinct across the road and grabbed some last-minute pressies, haemorrhaging money left, right and centre.
A few hours later we started heading back, and just as we headed around the corner I got a call from the garage. It wasn't good news. Made to feel like a complete fucking idiot of a woman I was asked when I had the brake pads changed. I explained that I have only had the car for a matter of a few months now (nine months in total) and have not had any work done on him as yet. the mechanic sounded perplexed.
"So are you aware that there are brand new brake pads fitted onto what was then very worn and barely legal brake discs?" The Mechanic said. Explaining further some of the other items that needed doing including two front tyres needing as bald and split, I asked for the price, expecting it to be a couple of hundred quid. So when I heard over £780.00 I nearly fell over.
Trying to take it all in, I hurriedly ended the call saying I would come back immediately. Relaying everything to Mr Warehouse I was worried about the cost. That was something that would wipe me and my savings right out. Back at the garage, there was no getting away from it. My Clifford was barely legal in places and definitely way below the legal limit in places. All four brake discs needed to be replaced, the front two being the worst and along with this the brake pads needed to be replaced also. But it got worse as the mechanic (and what I can only assume as the manager) explained that with the starting mileage being at just over 31,000 miles and now only just over 39,000 I had done less than 7,000 miles and should not have expected the level of wear and tear on the vehicle in such a short period of time and with the limited mileage taken.
Information in hand only meant one thing. The company I bought it from, Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford (who had shipped in the car from their Leicester branch) had not done the relevant checks needed and necessary. In fact, if anything they would have seen that the brake discs needed replacing and either were on the limit or under the legal limit expected and should have been done at the same time as the brake pads. The fact they had only replaced the brake pads revealed that they were not only cutting corners but wasting money, time and mechanics efforts as already worn brake discs would wear away the brand new brake pads far more quickly and mean a costly bill for the customer in the end.
I had no choice, I had to pay to get my car back. I was advised not to drive away due to the number of defects and problems. With a couple of discounts, the mechanic was able to reduce the bill by about a hundred pounds, although a piss in the ocean with the comparison. And so I paid, opting into a payment plan over the next four months to pay it off. Fuming I sat down for the next three-hours and festered in my aggravation and annoyance, trying my hardest not to try. However, after plucking up the courage and channelling my inner rage at the debacle I called Evans Halshaw in Bedford, they confirmed that the only work done on the vehicle including a rear cracked fog light and the front passenger seat belt casing that was broken were fixed, which they had. However, they washed their hands of anything mechanical
Angered at the situation but understanding at Bedfords "cosmetic look over" my 2013 plate car, I called through to the Leicester branch to ask them the same question - Why did you install brand new brake pads on already very worn brake discs and ergo causing me a loss of over £200.00. I called through and pressed the options to get through to a salesperson. I asked simply for a record of works completed on the car prior to me shipping it down from Leicester to Bedford.
"So sorry I will have to get that to you on Monday as our systems were switched over recently and I will need to export this manually and email over first thing," the salesman said. Reluctantly I obliged and took his name for reference.
Frustrated that I had to lose out on so much money and the added worry and implications of if I hadn't been persuaded by Mr Warehouse to go what could have happened had I needed to rely on those brakes. The car was less than six years old and these were things that should have been done at the time of it being sold. I was angry at not only the money but the time, I had lost my car for over half a day and been unable to do anything else with my time bar waiting for it to be ready. You can be sure that I will be fighting this all the way.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 4 November 2019
The Cars, The Clothes and The Cameras
Heyy,
It has been a while now hasn't it? You know since we indulged in all things wedding-y. And so I thought I should update you, at least since the weekend Mr Warehouse and I had was fairly plain in comparison to others that have come before it, what with Krakow and scare mazes and Halloween parties and spa days.
So throughout the summer, I decided to let wedding planning sit on the back burner, what with holidays to Malaga and a family wedding, I thought best to enjoy summer as next year I will probably be stressed to my eyeballs. That being said however I had made some crucial bookings and purchases, and, with the help of a magical fairy Godmother AKA my Irish Auntie I was able to book in hair and make-up, as well as our dream wedding car - a full-on Cruella De Vil, crossed with a Brum Lookalike! The beautiful Regent Landaulette Tourer will be ours for the day, ferrying us from my home as I leave for the church on my last ever journey as a Miss and onto our wedding Venue through the lush Bedfordshire countryside with my new Husband. The website explains how the gorgeous white car with black roof and ivory leather interior can seat more than just the Bride and Groom with space for Seven bottoms. And the most special part - The rear section of the roof can be taken down to have a semi convertible like royalty have, something I cant wait to see in the photos. Perfect for hopefully the warmer summer weather and yet prepared for a chilly winter wedding, this car has it all.
Although I was taking a back seat to wedding planning and prep, I still kept my eyes peeled for a bargain and have even been able to find the skeleton to the dress of my wildest thoughts and daydreams. As I sat scrolling through eBay, I noticed that one of my watched items had ended. Checking it, thinking it was most probably a dog costume or something cute for my newest addition to the family, I was surprised to see it was a dress. Intrigued I clicked through and saw a stunning gown for sale, but it had ended already, and with no bids as well. Disappointed to have lost out I messaged the seller, "VampGirl3000" or something odd like that. The lady explained that it was her Daughters and after buying it from a posh and expensive boutique bridal wear shop in a village locally, she had changed her mind and decided to get married abroad and therefore changed her dress. I knew the shop well and they catered for the plus-size lady and after trying on some dresses there with Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb when she was over in the Spring, I knew it was a steal at the already listed £250. Cheekily I asked if she would £150. She said no. But she did say that if I was interested she would take £200. I pushed my luck and said if she would take £175 I could collect that very week. Shockingly she accepted, and, sure as my word I rolled up at just coming up to 6pm, Miss Tweedle-Dee by my side. I was nervous as we waited by the door.
"What happens if I don't like it? What happens if I all of a sudden want a different style of dress? What happens if ..." I flapped.
"Shut the fuck up. I have been to several bridal shops with you now and every time you have tried this style of dress on and it suits you and you look beautiful in them. The others either don't suit you or are not wedding-y enough, so quit your whining. Besides, if you change your mind, it's £175, you know you could sell it for double" Miss Tweedle-Dee soothed. Soon the door was opened and we were shown upstairs and allowed some time to try it on. It fit well, and with some minor altering (to take it in and up once I lose all this fat) plus some added and minus extras it will be perfect. Almost running downstairs, my Maid of Honour barely able to catch me up, holding the dress, I squealed to the lady that I loved it and wanted to take it home. And so that day I came home with my beautiful gown, hung it up and showed my puppies.
The next thing I think on my list that I booked and organized was the DJ and Disco. Certainly the most difficult job of the day I think. Mr Warehouse and I love music and our tastes cover everything from post-world-war bops to current day and cheesey pops with everything in between. Thinking we might be able to help the man out, Mr. Warehouse and I made an evening of listening to the music channels and YouTube Wedding Playlists and selecting our top tunes. But the Top of the Pops it was not as several hours later we had not even tipped the iceberg that was anything by Sean Da Paul or Queen and we were already at four and a half hours worth of music and disco jams. This guy certainly had his work cut out and when he kindly met up with us in a local pub for a drink and a chat he certainly put us both at ease. Awkward at first, like a weird first date we talked about how Mr. Warehouse and I first met, some anecdotes on wedding planning and our lives together and a little bit about his background and type of work he does. I was settled to learn he does this most weekends and knows when to turn up the cheese and when to take it down a notch or two.
The videographer has been booked and nearly all paid for, something Mr. Warehouse fully detested, although I feel is slightly warming to the idea now. As explained all those many moons ago in my blog "Seeking out our Scorsese", when I first thought about my wedding planning journey, even as far back as college and the heady Mr. Workaholic days I realised that I would want some sort of video footage. I suppose ever since doing Media Production and Media Studies as a student I knew the importance and deep-rooted connection that you can have to a video in accompaniment with sound and vision as opposed to just a still image. The way I see it is that you cannot put a price on your memoirs and
I wanted something to start not with the preparation of the Bridal party at home but at the church just simply watching as everyone arrives, greeting familiar faces and watching people mingle before becoming forever entwined. This, in my head at least, would transition through to the moments at home as the wedding car arrives and sneak peeks of everyone's reaction to that wonderful gown before the final journeys of the bridal party to the church. Continuing to roll, the camera would capture the moment I see my groom for the first time and that all-important first glimpse, just before we become husband and wife. I am sure though that a good videographer will capture everything from the heartfelt vows through to the giggles in the speeches, flowing nicely the cutting of the cake, our very first dance as a married couple and ending with some candid shots of the Dance floor as people start to let the alcohol take control.
When I look back on my wedding video in years to come, be it after an argument, with the kids, with the grandkids even or just us, I want to be transported back to that magical day and remember all the little things that happened that I may have missed and that my eyes didn't catch. I want to listen to people give me advice and laugh at everyone's antics. I want to look back and see the faces and movements and words, listening to their voice as I remember that they are maybe no longer with us. In all of that, chances are, no matter how sharp mine or my new Hubbies memory is, we won’t remember every single detail of it off by heart and it is for this additional reasoning, as well as the emotional side why nowadays couples like me (and Mr. Warehouse) are opting to have wedding videography.
Suffice to say that with less than a year to go (in fact with ten months, four weeks and one day) to go, I am more excited than ever and cannot wait to become Mrs. Warehouse!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
It has been a while now hasn't it? You know since we indulged in all things wedding-y. And so I thought I should update you, at least since the weekend Mr Warehouse and I had was fairly plain in comparison to others that have come before it, what with Krakow and scare mazes and Halloween parties and spa days.
So throughout the summer, I decided to let wedding planning sit on the back burner, what with holidays to Malaga and a family wedding, I thought best to enjoy summer as next year I will probably be stressed to my eyeballs. That being said however I had made some crucial bookings and purchases, and, with the help of a magical fairy Godmother AKA my Irish Auntie I was able to book in hair and make-up, as well as our dream wedding car - a full-on Cruella De Vil, crossed with a Brum Lookalike! The beautiful Regent Landaulette Tourer will be ours for the day, ferrying us from my home as I leave for the church on my last ever journey as a Miss and onto our wedding Venue through the lush Bedfordshire countryside with my new Husband. The website explains how the gorgeous white car with black roof and ivory leather interior can seat more than just the Bride and Groom with space for Seven bottoms. And the most special part - The rear section of the roof can be taken down to have a semi convertible like royalty have, something I cant wait to see in the photos. Perfect for hopefully the warmer summer weather and yet prepared for a chilly winter wedding, this car has it all.
Although I was taking a back seat to wedding planning and prep, I still kept my eyes peeled for a bargain and have even been able to find the skeleton to the dress of my wildest thoughts and daydreams. As I sat scrolling through eBay, I noticed that one of my watched items had ended. Checking it, thinking it was most probably a dog costume or something cute for my newest addition to the family, I was surprised to see it was a dress. Intrigued I clicked through and saw a stunning gown for sale, but it had ended already, and with no bids as well. Disappointed to have lost out I messaged the seller, "VampGirl3000" or something odd like that. The lady explained that it was her Daughters and after buying it from a posh and expensive boutique bridal wear shop in a village locally, she had changed her mind and decided to get married abroad and therefore changed her dress. I knew the shop well and they catered for the plus-size lady and after trying on some dresses there with Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb when she was over in the Spring, I knew it was a steal at the already listed £250. Cheekily I asked if she would £150. She said no. But she did say that if I was interested she would take £200. I pushed my luck and said if she would take £175 I could collect that very week. Shockingly she accepted, and, sure as my word I rolled up at just coming up to 6pm, Miss Tweedle-Dee by my side. I was nervous as we waited by the door.
"What happens if I don't like it? What happens if I all of a sudden want a different style of dress? What happens if ..." I flapped.
"Shut the fuck up. I have been to several bridal shops with you now and every time you have tried this style of dress on and it suits you and you look beautiful in them. The others either don't suit you or are not wedding-y enough, so quit your whining. Besides, if you change your mind, it's £175, you know you could sell it for double" Miss Tweedle-Dee soothed. Soon the door was opened and we were shown upstairs and allowed some time to try it on. It fit well, and with some minor altering (to take it in and up once I lose all this fat) plus some added and minus extras it will be perfect. Almost running downstairs, my Maid of Honour barely able to catch me up, holding the dress, I squealed to the lady that I loved it and wanted to take it home. And so that day I came home with my beautiful gown, hung it up and showed my puppies.
The next thing I think on my list that I booked and organized was the DJ and Disco. Certainly the most difficult job of the day I think. Mr Warehouse and I love music and our tastes cover everything from post-world-war bops to current day and cheesey pops with everything in between. Thinking we might be able to help the man out, Mr. Warehouse and I made an evening of listening to the music channels and YouTube Wedding Playlists and selecting our top tunes. But the Top of the Pops it was not as several hours later we had not even tipped the iceberg that was anything by Sean Da Paul or Queen and we were already at four and a half hours worth of music and disco jams. This guy certainly had his work cut out and when he kindly met up with us in a local pub for a drink and a chat he certainly put us both at ease. Awkward at first, like a weird first date we talked about how Mr. Warehouse and I first met, some anecdotes on wedding planning and our lives together and a little bit about his background and type of work he does. I was settled to learn he does this most weekends and knows when to turn up the cheese and when to take it down a notch or two.
The videographer has been booked and nearly all paid for, something Mr. Warehouse fully detested, although I feel is slightly warming to the idea now. As explained all those many moons ago in my blog "Seeking out our Scorsese", when I first thought about my wedding planning journey, even as far back as college and the heady Mr. Workaholic days I realised that I would want some sort of video footage. I suppose ever since doing Media Production and Media Studies as a student I knew the importance and deep-rooted connection that you can have to a video in accompaniment with sound and vision as opposed to just a still image. The way I see it is that you cannot put a price on your memoirs and
I wanted something to start not with the preparation of the Bridal party at home but at the church just simply watching as everyone arrives, greeting familiar faces and watching people mingle before becoming forever entwined. This, in my head at least, would transition through to the moments at home as the wedding car arrives and sneak peeks of everyone's reaction to that wonderful gown before the final journeys of the bridal party to the church. Continuing to roll, the camera would capture the moment I see my groom for the first time and that all-important first glimpse, just before we become husband and wife. I am sure though that a good videographer will capture everything from the heartfelt vows through to the giggles in the speeches, flowing nicely the cutting of the cake, our very first dance as a married couple and ending with some candid shots of the Dance floor as people start to let the alcohol take control.
When I look back on my wedding video in years to come, be it after an argument, with the kids, with the grandkids even or just us, I want to be transported back to that magical day and remember all the little things that happened that I may have missed and that my eyes didn't catch. I want to listen to people give me advice and laugh at everyone's antics. I want to look back and see the faces and movements and words, listening to their voice as I remember that they are maybe no longer with us. In all of that, chances are, no matter how sharp mine or my new Hubbies memory is, we won’t remember every single detail of it off by heart and it is for this additional reasoning, as well as the emotional side why nowadays couples like me (and Mr. Warehouse) are opting to have wedding videography.
Suffice to say that with less than a year to go (in fact with ten months, four weeks and one day) to go, I am more excited than ever and cannot wait to become Mrs. Warehouse!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 8 April 2019
Clifford the big red car!
Hi All,
Leaving the office, the clouds were grey and certainly far from partying in the sky above Bedford this afternoon as I jumped out of a work colleagues new car as she dropped me to the car dealership. I thought about the first time I came here and how I missed my little orange Ford Fiesta, Vivienne. Alas that chapter had ended with the haulage truck turning up last week to take her away, sparing me the anguish of seeing her leave whilst I had gone off to get my hair done!
As I skipped into the dealership I was excited to see my new arrival outside, glinting in the overcast silver sky. The cute little Fiat 500L in red was to be christened "Clifford". He is big. He is red. He is mine. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needed to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and following a visit to meet him on Wednesday of last week I finally got a chance to have a whizz around town. A full panoramic glass roof, touch screen on board computer system, cruise control and even a trusty CD player I was certainly glad of some of the mod-cons. With just over thirty-thousand miles on his 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
But I know what your thinking. With several grand sat in the bank, would it not have been better and more cost effective to put that money towards my new car, whatever it may be? However whilst I have essentially walked away not only unscathed but very-much essentially up on my investment, the money would be of much more use to me not tied up and with easy access should I need it in the future, that and the wedding would be nicely taken care of. Why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is always a huge factor in why I have chosen and will probably continue to choose to buy second-hand over new.
That being said, my settlement doesn't make me stupid with money as the dealership found out in more ways that one. Following the visit to meet Clifford on Wednesday and our test drive, I was informed that there had been some minor damages on the vehicle and that they would be fixed before collection in a couple of days time, one being the rear brake light was cracked and the other being the front passenger seat belt casing was missing. Assured that the car would be fully checked and valeted as well before Clifford was ready to come home I was taken into the offices of Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford, offered a hot chocolate and the paperwork to sign and read through.
However, reading down the page I could see that there was something blatantly obvious that had not been picked up and was potentially a huge issue. The Interest rate. Now cast your mind back to when I initially bought
Vivienne I did not necessarily know about the best way to get finance on a car. I assumed, and rightly so I would be charged a slight premium for opting to go through the salesman who puts on their percentage, and then through the dealership who puts on their percentage to go to the finance company who, you guessed it, put on their percentage. But I never knew of the horrendous rate I was on until the accident. Nearly. Twenty. Percent.
I was shocked, to say the least, and when I discovered what I had been paying for the two and a half years nearly I felt stupid. Normally I am so money conscience and always wanting to know if there is a way I can get it or a similar product cheaper or getting the best deal on something, only to be faced with an extortionate interest rate. Now I know that things were different back then and interest rates were higher, however when reading through the paperwork this time I was certain to make sure that the interest rate was no more than the ten-percent advertised by the saleswomen. But now, as I read through the pages and pages it stared be dead in the face. There it was in black and white. 12.9% APR interest rate. I asked why this was different to a few days ago when I initially enquired about the car and was met with a rude response.
The rotund, grey-haired gentleman told me that it was what it was and it had always been that rate whether I was to borrow five pound or five thousand pounds.
"Well it is only a three-percent difference, I can't see what the issue is?" He scoffed as I continued reading through, trying to work out my next move while deciphering the technical language and car jargon.
"This is not was agreed or explained to me," I said boldly as I pushed the paperwork back across the desk. I stood up and thanked the sales lady for showing me the car and stated I would be in touch as the car was not the issue, the interest rate (and the old farts attitude) was. Spinning on my heels I turned and left, hoping they would call me back and offer a more reasonable rate.
They did not, however arriving back home I had no sooner sunk into the black couch then I had a phone call. It was the finance manager.
"I am sorry you have had this experience," he explained "I do hope that you will let me rectify this. You see I could essentially give you the car for 0% APR but that would mean I would be in negative commission and wouldn't make any money from the sale, so I am happy to beat the initial offer and settle at 9.9% if you are happy with this?" He continued. I thought long and hard about what he had to say. Time was running out on the hire car and I needed to make some decisions and fast. On agreeing that I was happy to settle at the now reduced rate (not that 0.01% is hardly a huge discount) I explained that considering I could go to a bank or online and get a loan for less than a third of what I was expected to pay, and I was already sensitive about the interest rate since last time I bought a car I was taken for a ride (I would excuse the pun but I love it too much)!
Happy I went along my merry way and was excited to pick up my car in a few days time once the work had been completed on the rear brake light and the front passenger seat belt casing. Although less than twenty-four hours after the APR debacle I had another phone call from the dealership.
"So the front passenger seat belt casing will not be replaced due to the age of the car (its a 2013 plate car - less than six years old) but also because the part is a couple of hundred quid as the part comes only as a set and goes right the way under the seat." The sales lady explained. Fuming I ended the phone call and wondered what to do next. I had even less time now until my hire car went back and needed something soon.
After getting some advice from work colleagues who knew the car industry well, I called the general manager of the dealership and asked why this could not be fixed as part and parcel of the works, considering all the issues I have had, and with special thought to the fact that whilst I am buying a used car, this was now a broken car with an issue that was not detailed on the pictures, nor on the information held on the website. Going off to investigate I was prepared to ask for something cheekily to be thrown in if they could not fix it free of charge, however I needn't have put on my boxing gloves, for when the manager called back moments later I was told that this would be done as soon as the part was in and without any cost to myself.
With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and after being shown around and how to use him, I bid farewell to the sale lady (although I am certain she was more pleased to see me go) and with that, Clifford's almighty diesel engine steered me homeward bound. I am certainly looking forward to more adventures together, and hopefully even sharing it as Mr Warehouse and I expand our family in the future. Road trips, holidays and sneaky trips to the shops, I will be sure that Clifford and I will be riding high!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Leaving the office, the clouds were grey and certainly far from partying in the sky above Bedford this afternoon as I jumped out of a work colleagues new car as she dropped me to the car dealership. I thought about the first time I came here and how I missed my little orange Ford Fiesta, Vivienne. Alas that chapter had ended with the haulage truck turning up last week to take her away, sparing me the anguish of seeing her leave whilst I had gone off to get my hair done!
As I skipped into the dealership I was excited to see my new arrival outside, glinting in the overcast silver sky. The cute little Fiat 500L in red was to be christened "Clifford". He is big. He is red. He is mine. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needed to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and following a visit to meet him on Wednesday of last week I finally got a chance to have a whizz around town. A full panoramic glass roof, touch screen on board computer system, cruise control and even a trusty CD player I was certainly glad of some of the mod-cons. With just over thirty-thousand miles on his 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
But I know what your thinking. With several grand sat in the bank, would it not have been better and more cost effective to put that money towards my new car, whatever it may be? However whilst I have essentially walked away not only unscathed but very-much essentially up on my investment, the money would be of much more use to me not tied up and with easy access should I need it in the future, that and the wedding would be nicely taken care of. Why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is always a huge factor in why I have chosen and will probably continue to choose to buy second-hand over new.
That being said, my settlement doesn't make me stupid with money as the dealership found out in more ways that one. Following the visit to meet Clifford on Wednesday and our test drive, I was informed that there had been some minor damages on the vehicle and that they would be fixed before collection in a couple of days time, one being the rear brake light was cracked and the other being the front passenger seat belt casing was missing. Assured that the car would be fully checked and valeted as well before Clifford was ready to come home I was taken into the offices of Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford, offered a hot chocolate and the paperwork to sign and read through.
However, reading down the page I could see that there was something blatantly obvious that had not been picked up and was potentially a huge issue. The Interest rate. Now cast your mind back to when I initially bought
Vivienne I did not necessarily know about the best way to get finance on a car. I assumed, and rightly so I would be charged a slight premium for opting to go through the salesman who puts on their percentage, and then through the dealership who puts on their percentage to go to the finance company who, you guessed it, put on their percentage. But I never knew of the horrendous rate I was on until the accident. Nearly. Twenty. Percent.
I was shocked, to say the least, and when I discovered what I had been paying for the two and a half years nearly I felt stupid. Normally I am so money conscience and always wanting to know if there is a way I can get it or a similar product cheaper or getting the best deal on something, only to be faced with an extortionate interest rate. Now I know that things were different back then and interest rates were higher, however when reading through the paperwork this time I was certain to make sure that the interest rate was no more than the ten-percent advertised by the saleswomen. But now, as I read through the pages and pages it stared be dead in the face. There it was in black and white. 12.9% APR interest rate. I asked why this was different to a few days ago when I initially enquired about the car and was met with a rude response.
The rotund, grey-haired gentleman told me that it was what it was and it had always been that rate whether I was to borrow five pound or five thousand pounds.
"Well it is only a three-percent difference, I can't see what the issue is?" He scoffed as I continued reading through, trying to work out my next move while deciphering the technical language and car jargon.
"This is not was agreed or explained to me," I said boldly as I pushed the paperwork back across the desk. I stood up and thanked the sales lady for showing me the car and stated I would be in touch as the car was not the issue, the interest rate (and the old farts attitude) was. Spinning on my heels I turned and left, hoping they would call me back and offer a more reasonable rate.
They did not, however arriving back home I had no sooner sunk into the black couch then I had a phone call. It was the finance manager.
"I am sorry you have had this experience," he explained "I do hope that you will let me rectify this. You see I could essentially give you the car for 0% APR but that would mean I would be in negative commission and wouldn't make any money from the sale, so I am happy to beat the initial offer and settle at 9.9% if you are happy with this?" He continued. I thought long and hard about what he had to say. Time was running out on the hire car and I needed to make some decisions and fast. On agreeing that I was happy to settle at the now reduced rate (not that 0.01% is hardly a huge discount) I explained that considering I could go to a bank or online and get a loan for less than a third of what I was expected to pay, and I was already sensitive about the interest rate since last time I bought a car I was taken for a ride (I would excuse the pun but I love it too much)!
Happy I went along my merry way and was excited to pick up my car in a few days time once the work had been completed on the rear brake light and the front passenger seat belt casing. Although less than twenty-four hours after the APR debacle I had another phone call from the dealership.
"So the front passenger seat belt casing will not be replaced due to the age of the car (its a 2013 plate car - less than six years old) but also because the part is a couple of hundred quid as the part comes only as a set and goes right the way under the seat." The sales lady explained. Fuming I ended the phone call and wondered what to do next. I had even less time now until my hire car went back and needed something soon.
After getting some advice from work colleagues who knew the car industry well, I called the general manager of the dealership and asked why this could not be fixed as part and parcel of the works, considering all the issues I have had, and with special thought to the fact that whilst I am buying a used car, this was now a broken car with an issue that was not detailed on the pictures, nor on the information held on the website. Going off to investigate I was prepared to ask for something cheekily to be thrown in if they could not fix it free of charge, however I needn't have put on my boxing gloves, for when the manager called back moments later I was told that this would be done as soon as the part was in and without any cost to myself.
With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and after being shown around and how to use him, I bid farewell to the sale lady (although I am certain she was more pleased to see me go) and with that, Clifford's almighty diesel engine steered me homeward bound. I am certainly looking forward to more adventures together, and hopefully even sharing it as Mr Warehouse and I expand our family in the future. Road trips, holidays and sneaky trips to the shops, I will be sure that Clifford and I will be riding high!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 1 April 2019
The Fast and Furious of Adulting
Evening All,
Following last week's final adventures in my little Vivienne, she is awaiting her final journey to Car heaven as is still on my driveway. The 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta, with her five-door hatchback body and a 1.4L engine she certainly was everything I had ever hoped for in my first car. Viv's multi-functional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors I was please that I had experienced my first real taste of the open road in her. But alas all good things must come to an end and this week and I will hopefully be welcoming in a new car to my driveway, other than the swanky black Vauxhall Corsa I have had the pleasure of driving for the last few days.
After a heavy night of drinking, dancing and laughing with Miss Hackney and Miss Sugar-Coat, I was not sure I could even look at a car, let alone drive one. But nevertheless, taking time out on Saturday to have a race day with my fiance, Mr Warehouse, at the Bruntingthorpe track in the Harborough district of Leicestershire was certainly one way to get over a fragile head. The best way though, Im not so sure!? A Christmas present from last year from Mr. Warehouse, he had certainly been listening to me when I was banging on about driving a fast car round a race-track. And so I drove the hired Vauxhall Corsa through the country lanes and even avoided a few horses on the road not to mention the sheep crossing too.
I had a fantastic day driving a Mazda MX5 race car. Complete with full roll cage, race suspension and mechanical backup, this was the perfect car for Bruntingthorpe Airbase circuit and has left me wanting more. And so I booked the Bae and me to experience a Ariel Atom Passenger ride where Mr. Warehouse and I hit the tarmac for a supercharged Ariel Atom. The Atom houses a Jacskson Racing Supercharged Honda i-VTEC engine. Stripped to it's bare essentials, a chassis, wheels, engine, gearbox and suspension gives the Atom a better power to weight ratio than the mighty Bugati Veyron. Experiencing one of the quickest cars with a 0.60 in less than 3 seconds was exciting and a great day out and was sure to get our adrenaline pumping.
And after waiting patiently for the last few days I finally had the call I was expecting from the insurance company. Answering all the relevant security questions I prepared myself for the inevitable conversation of being paid barely enough to pay of my finance deal, let alone buy another car.
"Sorry can I just get you to clarify that again for me?" I asked, desperately trying to process exactly what the call handler has just told me.
"Yes certainly madam. So the car's total value is £8,500.00 give or take. Now obviously we have the insurance excess and a few admin charge that we need to take off before we pay the finance company. Although once the insurance company has paid off the finance deal and taken the relevant fees we will be transferring the remainder £4,200.00 over to yourself. Is this OK?" the call handler explained. I was shocked to say the least! Considering I had already bought and financed the car at quite a high rate of interest I was not expecting a single penny back to me at all. As long as the finance deal was settled in full be it partly an insurance pay-out and partly my asset protection insurance to cover the rest, I considered walking away from the situation washing my hands and starting afresh.
"Hello? Miss? Are you there?" the friendly young gentleman said on the other line. Confirming some further details the the call ended and I expected to receive a email or phone call shortly after explaining that there had been a mistake in the finance settlement.
However, less than a few hours later I received an email confirming exactly what I was told over the phone and that I should be expecting payment within the next forty-eight hours. Still in shock, I thought of didn't really believe it until I saw my bank account the next day which read a full four digits on my screen. Excited I started looking for my new car right away, all in the knowledge that I could receive a phone call any second telling me that I would need to hand my hire car back. This would probably have not been such a big deal had I been living in Bedford town center as before, however as I am now a country bumpkin living out in the sticks of Cranfield I have no choice but to need a car. Although I was certainly not going to be making the same mistake as I did last week when I eagerly called the insurance company so I could get the ball rolling following a message from the estimator's garage.
Mostly over the last few days I have been spent looking online at car dealerships websites for any car that tickles my fancy. Obviously I am not looking for much in my next car however I would like some specifications I have since become accustomed to. Firstly on my shopping list is the price as I would like to keep it under the same value that I am already paying on a monthly basis. Secondly, I need the car to be at least a 1.4 engine as anything smaller would be taking a back step from my previous vehicle. Ideally I would like the car to be newer with less mileage on the clock. If I can continue with a petrol engine then that would be fantastic but it must be a manual, only for the fear that if I was to get an automatic with my lazy brain I would forget how to drive stick. Mod-Cons that I would be looking for may include a heated windscreen to save time in the wintery months, a heated steering wheel for exactly the same reason and even a touch screen navigation system.
However that being said, I think I may have already met my new car. Scrolling online I found a cute little Fiat 500L in red. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needs to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and even have a whizz around town but with just over thirty-thousand miles on it 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
Now I know what your thinking, walking away from this unscathed and essentially up n an investment, why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is and always has been a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new not just the first time buying a car but also the second time too. With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and it's almighty diesel engine I am certainly looking forward to receiving my new car and hopefully having this one for good!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Following last week's final adventures in my little Vivienne, she is awaiting her final journey to Car heaven as is still on my driveway. The 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta, with her five-door hatchback body and a 1.4L engine she certainly was everything I had ever hoped for in my first car. Viv's multi-functional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors I was please that I had experienced my first real taste of the open road in her. But alas all good things must come to an end and this week and I will hopefully be welcoming in a new car to my driveway, other than the swanky black Vauxhall Corsa I have had the pleasure of driving for the last few days.
After a heavy night of drinking, dancing and laughing with Miss Hackney and Miss Sugar-Coat, I was not sure I could even look at a car, let alone drive one. But nevertheless, taking time out on Saturday to have a race day with my fiance, Mr Warehouse, at the Bruntingthorpe track in the Harborough district of Leicestershire was certainly one way to get over a fragile head. The best way though, Im not so sure!? A Christmas present from last year from Mr. Warehouse, he had certainly been listening to me when I was banging on about driving a fast car round a race-track. And so I drove the hired Vauxhall Corsa through the country lanes and even avoided a few horses on the road not to mention the sheep crossing too.
I had a fantastic day driving a Mazda MX5 race car. Complete with full roll cage, race suspension and mechanical backup, this was the perfect car for Bruntingthorpe Airbase circuit and has left me wanting more. And so I booked the Bae and me to experience a Ariel Atom Passenger ride where Mr. Warehouse and I hit the tarmac for a supercharged Ariel Atom. The Atom houses a Jacskson Racing Supercharged Honda i-VTEC engine. Stripped to it's bare essentials, a chassis, wheels, engine, gearbox and suspension gives the Atom a better power to weight ratio than the mighty Bugati Veyron. Experiencing one of the quickest cars with a 0.60 in less than 3 seconds was exciting and a great day out and was sure to get our adrenaline pumping.
And after waiting patiently for the last few days I finally had the call I was expecting from the insurance company. Answering all the relevant security questions I prepared myself for the inevitable conversation of being paid barely enough to pay of my finance deal, let alone buy another car.
"Sorry can I just get you to clarify that again for me?" I asked, desperately trying to process exactly what the call handler has just told me.
"Yes certainly madam. So the car's total value is £8,500.00 give or take. Now obviously we have the insurance excess and a few admin charge that we need to take off before we pay the finance company. Although once the insurance company has paid off the finance deal and taken the relevant fees we will be transferring the remainder £4,200.00 over to yourself. Is this OK?" the call handler explained. I was shocked to say the least! Considering I had already bought and financed the car at quite a high rate of interest I was not expecting a single penny back to me at all. As long as the finance deal was settled in full be it partly an insurance pay-out and partly my asset protection insurance to cover the rest, I considered walking away from the situation washing my hands and starting afresh.
"Hello? Miss? Are you there?" the friendly young gentleman said on the other line. Confirming some further details the the call ended and I expected to receive a email or phone call shortly after explaining that there had been a mistake in the finance settlement.
However, less than a few hours later I received an email confirming exactly what I was told over the phone and that I should be expecting payment within the next forty-eight hours. Still in shock, I thought of didn't really believe it until I saw my bank account the next day which read a full four digits on my screen. Excited I started looking for my new car right away, all in the knowledge that I could receive a phone call any second telling me that I would need to hand my hire car back. This would probably have not been such a big deal had I been living in Bedford town center as before, however as I am now a country bumpkin living out in the sticks of Cranfield I have no choice but to need a car. Although I was certainly not going to be making the same mistake as I did last week when I eagerly called the insurance company so I could get the ball rolling following a message from the estimator's garage.
Mostly over the last few days I have been spent looking online at car dealerships websites for any car that tickles my fancy. Obviously I am not looking for much in my next car however I would like some specifications I have since become accustomed to. Firstly on my shopping list is the price as I would like to keep it under the same value that I am already paying on a monthly basis. Secondly, I need the car to be at least a 1.4 engine as anything smaller would be taking a back step from my previous vehicle. Ideally I would like the car to be newer with less mileage on the clock. If I can continue with a petrol engine then that would be fantastic but it must be a manual, only for the fear that if I was to get an automatic with my lazy brain I would forget how to drive stick. Mod-Cons that I would be looking for may include a heated windscreen to save time in the wintery months, a heated steering wheel for exactly the same reason and even a touch screen navigation system.
However that being said, I think I may have already met my new car. Scrolling online I found a cute little Fiat 500L in red. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needs to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and even have a whizz around town but with just over thirty-thousand miles on it 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
Now I know what your thinking, walking away from this unscathed and essentially up n an investment, why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is and always has been a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new not just the first time buying a car but also the second time too. With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and it's almighty diesel engine I am certainly looking forward to receiving my new car and hopefully having this one for good!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 8 October 2018
Nightmares and Reality!
Hello,
So after another eventful weekend, what with winning first prize in a dog show, getting engaged and all, I was certainly ready to spend some quality time with family and friends. As I spent most of Saturday popping in to see different family members gloating and showing off my shiny glittery new engagement ring. Honestly as miserable as the weather was outside in the cold and rain I was delighted in sharing my news with both of my Grandma's and the look on their faces was absolutely priceless and something I will never forget.
Bidding farewell to the family I headed over to Miss Tweedle-Dee's place, only an hour and a half late or so! With a haunted Halloween Farm to wander around after dark we were sure to be getting our skates on as dusk slowly slipped into night. Pulling into the farm entrance I rolled over the security gate and felt something bump my tyres. Thinking nothing more of it than the cattle-gate keeping the animals in and the humans out, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Mr Warehouse and I prepared to get our Spooky on as we waited patiently in line in the freezing cold ready to scare our socks off.
The event we were going to was still in its infancy I suppose really because it had only been running for a few years, however the farm itself was a well-established hotspot for families and children especially during half terms for the local area and I myself had attended to the farm when I was much younger. The website advertises itself as "5 huge Horror Mazes with live creatures at every twist & turn". The Howl is open for 12-nights only and we were some of the first guests through the doors on Saturday evening. With all the amenities that you would expect from a farm, the evening also consisted of a Bar next to the canteen with Live Music plus some tasty looking Street Food including mine and Mr Warehouse's favorite - Hog Roast!
Inside "The Attic" with the creaking floorboards was a disturbing mix between your grandma's neglected loved and a hotel that had been left to crumble and I was certainly spooked. When Miss Tweedle-Dee, Mr Warehouse and I entered "Red" in the woods, with enough creatures to make your skin crawl we got ready to twist, turn and run for our lives and we certainly didn't hang about to chat with the creepy actors.
Probably the creepiest and certainly the most popular of all five mazes was "The Big Top". You see, these jesters are not clowns that deals in laughter, they prefers screams and I’ll remember the terrifying events of when Mr Warehouse's fun and games went horribly wrong when the sadistic fuck decided to tell one of the little clowns holding a red balloon that I was indeed Globophobic - A once crippling fear of balloons that I now managed by refusing to touch, feel, or go near a balloon for fear it will pop! With creepy clowns at every pitch black twist and turn, it’s not one for the faint hearted but for some odd reason my fiance thought that it would be a fantastic idea to cure me off my Globophobia by telling the little sadist clown of my innate fear to which she proceeded to get too close for comfort and burst the balloon right in my face! To be fair I think I handled it quite well and in a calm and collected way, putting fear and terror aside in order to just get through the last few moments of the horror maze.
The boys in "Squealer’s yard" maze worked hard to bring out some of the most deep rooted fears placing me right inside the very scenes from the Chainsaw Massacre movies, complete with a terrifying chase accompanied by the soundtrack of a live chainsaw. Seeing my bestest friend in the whole wide world, Miss Tweedle-Dee, getting targeted, cornered and potentially buzzed into pieces was all a little realistic for my liking but definitely added to be adrenaline and terrifying fear that I felt. This was also mimicked by the "Shed" - A place where the unwanted new arrivals go!
Certainly a place that we enjoyed thoroughly and definitely somewhere that we will be returning this time next year in the run up to my favourite time of year! Although on pulling out of the car park in the gravelly darkness, I could have that Vivienne just didn't feel right. Swaying heavily to the right hand side of the road I struggled to keep control of the car in my efforts to get home. I knew that my traction had been out for quite some time probably since I had played "the beep beep wave game" back when Mr Warehouse and I attended to our spa day with Loch-Stress Monster, but this was bad! As we approached the security gate I saw something metal sticking out of the gravel and felt something grunch my tyres once again. Pulling over on the side of the dark and lonely country road, I hoped that what I thought it was was not reality.
Although as I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car to look at my tires I knew instantly that they were both flat. With not many options left apart from calling recovery for simply driving back to Miss Tweedle-Dee's house less than four miles away I took the latter option reaching speeds of twenty-miles-an-hour all the way home with my hazards blinking in the darkness. Arriving back at what I have come now to see as my second family home, I called the recovery people and within the hour they were out and collecting myself and Mr Warehouse to recover us back home, safe and sound.
Sunday was supposed to be a day of lovingly holding hands walking around a wedding fayre and sipping Prosecco cocktails, however with two flat tires absolutely dead to the bone and a very few mobile tyre specialists or mechanics open on a Sunday, my hopes for a relaxing afternoon wondering around a nice wedding fayre was slowly slipping away. However, after giving it one last shot I called a local garage I knew I would be able to drive to if they couldn't come out to me. Low and behold they were open and with that I threw on some clothes, did my hair and make-up, dashing out the door with my new Fiance in toe. £120 later and three new tires later, Mr Warehouse and I were on our way to our first wedding fayre as a fully-fledged, legitimate Bride and Groom to be and we did in the end spend our afternoon wandering around, eating cake samples we will never buy into, sipping bubbly we will steal the idea from and indulging in some wedding fantasies of our own!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after another eventful weekend, what with winning first prize in a dog show, getting engaged and all, I was certainly ready to spend some quality time with family and friends. As I spent most of Saturday popping in to see different family members gloating and showing off my shiny glittery new engagement ring. Honestly as miserable as the weather was outside in the cold and rain I was delighted in sharing my news with both of my Grandma's and the look on their faces was absolutely priceless and something I will never forget.
Bidding farewell to the family I headed over to Miss Tweedle-Dee's place, only an hour and a half late or so! With a haunted Halloween Farm to wander around after dark we were sure to be getting our skates on as dusk slowly slipped into night. Pulling into the farm entrance I rolled over the security gate and felt something bump my tyres. Thinking nothing more of it than the cattle-gate keeping the animals in and the humans out, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Mr Warehouse and I prepared to get our Spooky on as we waited patiently in line in the freezing cold ready to scare our socks off.
The event we were going to was still in its infancy I suppose really because it had only been running for a few years, however the farm itself was a well-established hotspot for families and children especially during half terms for the local area and I myself had attended to the farm when I was much younger. The website advertises itself as "5 huge Horror Mazes with live creatures at every twist & turn". The Howl is open for 12-nights only and we were some of the first guests through the doors on Saturday evening. With all the amenities that you would expect from a farm, the evening also consisted of a Bar next to the canteen with Live Music plus some tasty looking Street Food including mine and Mr Warehouse's favorite - Hog Roast!
Inside "The Attic" with the creaking floorboards was a disturbing mix between your grandma's neglected loved and a hotel that had been left to crumble and I was certainly spooked. When Miss Tweedle-Dee, Mr Warehouse and I entered "Red" in the woods, with enough creatures to make your skin crawl we got ready to twist, turn and run for our lives and we certainly didn't hang about to chat with the creepy actors.
Probably the creepiest and certainly the most popular of all five mazes was "The Big Top". You see, these jesters are not clowns that deals in laughter, they prefers screams and I’ll remember the terrifying events of when Mr Warehouse's fun and games went horribly wrong when the sadistic fuck decided to tell one of the little clowns holding a red balloon that I was indeed Globophobic - A once crippling fear of balloons that I now managed by refusing to touch, feel, or go near a balloon for fear it will pop! With creepy clowns at every pitch black twist and turn, it’s not one for the faint hearted but for some odd reason my fiance thought that it would be a fantastic idea to cure me off my Globophobia by telling the little sadist clown of my innate fear to which she proceeded to get too close for comfort and burst the balloon right in my face! To be fair I think I handled it quite well and in a calm and collected way, putting fear and terror aside in order to just get through the last few moments of the horror maze.
The boys in "Squealer’s yard" maze worked hard to bring out some of the most deep rooted fears placing me right inside the very scenes from the Chainsaw Massacre movies, complete with a terrifying chase accompanied by the soundtrack of a live chainsaw. Seeing my bestest friend in the whole wide world, Miss Tweedle-Dee, getting targeted, cornered and potentially buzzed into pieces was all a little realistic for my liking but definitely added to be adrenaline and terrifying fear that I felt. This was also mimicked by the "Shed" - A place where the unwanted new arrivals go!
Certainly a place that we enjoyed thoroughly and definitely somewhere that we will be returning this time next year in the run up to my favourite time of year! Although on pulling out of the car park in the gravelly darkness, I could have that Vivienne just didn't feel right. Swaying heavily to the right hand side of the road I struggled to keep control of the car in my efforts to get home. I knew that my traction had been out for quite some time probably since I had played "the beep beep wave game" back when Mr Warehouse and I attended to our spa day with Loch-Stress Monster, but this was bad! As we approached the security gate I saw something metal sticking out of the gravel and felt something grunch my tyres once again. Pulling over on the side of the dark and lonely country road, I hoped that what I thought it was was not reality.
Although as I turned off the engine and stepped out of the car to look at my tires I knew instantly that they were both flat. With not many options left apart from calling recovery for simply driving back to Miss Tweedle-Dee's house less than four miles away I took the latter option reaching speeds of twenty-miles-an-hour all the way home with my hazards blinking in the darkness. Arriving back at what I have come now to see as my second family home, I called the recovery people and within the hour they were out and collecting myself and Mr Warehouse to recover us back home, safe and sound.
Sunday was supposed to be a day of lovingly holding hands walking around a wedding fayre and sipping Prosecco cocktails, however with two flat tires absolutely dead to the bone and a very few mobile tyre specialists or mechanics open on a Sunday, my hopes for a relaxing afternoon wondering around a nice wedding fayre was slowly slipping away. However, after giving it one last shot I called a local garage I knew I would be able to drive to if they couldn't come out to me. Low and behold they were open and with that I threw on some clothes, did my hair and make-up, dashing out the door with my new Fiance in toe. £120 later and three new tires later, Mr Warehouse and I were on our way to our first wedding fayre as a fully-fledged, legitimate Bride and Groom to be and we did in the end spend our afternoon wandering around, eating cake samples we will never buy into, sipping bubbly we will steal the idea from and indulging in some wedding fantasies of our own!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 19 March 2018
Back To The Emerald Isle
Afternoon,
Working flat out again in order to get done and dusted in time to catch the evening flight to Dublin International I raced out of the office and bombed it down the road to Nanny Pumpkin's house. Parking the car up and popping in to see her and other family members for a few moments before the cab arrived I was pleased that she was looking well, especially given the circumstances. Boarding the plane, Mr. Warehouse and I were lucky to blag not just seats together (obviously being Ryanair it was doubtful we would be sitting together unless we paid more than the flight itself) but we also managed to get slap bang in the middle of the plane meaning extra leg room for Mr. Warehouse's pins!
Arriving in a drizzly Dublin I worried as Mr. Warehouse and I bumbled through passport control and immigration, collecting our bags and heading to the hire car desk, anxiously awaiting to see if we would be given the car. This was the first time that we will be hiring a car and as such I was nervous about it all. Because I had been driving less than two-years I had difficulty trying to find a hire car to start off with, but eventually I found a reliable and trustworthy car hire company in Thrifty. I had several concerns and worries on the run up to collecting the car and one of those was the fact that there was a €1,700.00 deposit needed to be placed on a credit card. A credit card in which I did not have a limit for. And so Mr Warehouse had volunteered himself to put the deposit on his own credit card. This would have solved things nicely until we discovered that Mr Warehouse did not know what his pin was and after several attempts at a local corner shop had blocked the card.
Worries and concerns aside we collected our hire car keys and headed to have a look at what we had bagged ourselves. Dashing out to the car park avoiding the raindrops as we went I was constantly unlocking and locking the car to see which lights would go off. Eventually the Bae spotted some headlights flashing in the distance and as we got closer and closer we realised that it was a huge 4x4 type vehicle. I thought to myself that 'surely this can't be our car' and I was right for the next few moments a gentleman walked passed us both with a briefcase. Yes this was not our car. Walking on a little further we seen clicked and found a few flashing headlights that ended up to be hours. As I sat in the driver's seat and adjusted my position to something a little more comfier, Mr. Warehouse loaded the boot up with the suitcase and paced round the outside in order to make a note of any additional knocks, bumps or scrapes. With everything seemingly in order we headed off out of Dublin city centre and on the road to the sticks (AKA County Kilkenny), arriving with my auntie and uncle just after midnight making good time on their assumptions of having to wait up until the early hours only to receive a phone call from me saying that I was lost somewhere in Galway.
The next few days for sprint in a blissful unawareness of work or anything remotely strenuous, instead spending our time talking about family, life in general for Mr. Warehouse and I back home in the UK and drinking. Lots of drinking! The thing is that Ireland for me has always been a retreat and somewhere to rest your bones whilst the rest of the world ticks on by. Something about The Green Isle always makes me feel better after visiting. I suppose given my grandfather's departure last week, almost to the hour that I am writing this, a visit to see family and recuperate was certainly something that I think both Mr Warehouse and I definitely needed.
But alas we all have to come back to reality at some point and mine just happened to be this morning. With everything said and done most things are now organised and set in place ready for the funeral. I have yet to still get a hold of my brother, although I do hope that he has some sense in order to try and make amends with the family but if not that then at the very least to pay his respects and see our grandfather who loved us irrespective of our differences or how our parents treated one another. In a funny sort of way I have made my peace with my Granddad and all I want is for him to have the opportunity do the same. I suppose only time will tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Working flat out again in order to get done and dusted in time to catch the evening flight to Dublin International I raced out of the office and bombed it down the road to Nanny Pumpkin's house. Parking the car up and popping in to see her and other family members for a few moments before the cab arrived I was pleased that she was looking well, especially given the circumstances. Boarding the plane, Mr. Warehouse and I were lucky to blag not just seats together (obviously being Ryanair it was doubtful we would be sitting together unless we paid more than the flight itself) but we also managed to get slap bang in the middle of the plane meaning extra leg room for Mr. Warehouse's pins!
Arriving in a drizzly Dublin I worried as Mr. Warehouse and I bumbled through passport control and immigration, collecting our bags and heading to the hire car desk, anxiously awaiting to see if we would be given the car. This was the first time that we will be hiring a car and as such I was nervous about it all. Because I had been driving less than two-years I had difficulty trying to find a hire car to start off with, but eventually I found a reliable and trustworthy car hire company in Thrifty. I had several concerns and worries on the run up to collecting the car and one of those was the fact that there was a €1,700.00 deposit needed to be placed on a credit card. A credit card in which I did not have a limit for. And so Mr Warehouse had volunteered himself to put the deposit on his own credit card. This would have solved things nicely until we discovered that Mr Warehouse did not know what his pin was and after several attempts at a local corner shop had blocked the card.
Worries and concerns aside we collected our hire car keys and headed to have a look at what we had bagged ourselves. Dashing out to the car park avoiding the raindrops as we went I was constantly unlocking and locking the car to see which lights would go off. Eventually the Bae spotted some headlights flashing in the distance and as we got closer and closer we realised that it was a huge 4x4 type vehicle. I thought to myself that 'surely this can't be our car' and I was right for the next few moments a gentleman walked passed us both with a briefcase. Yes this was not our car. Walking on a little further we seen clicked and found a few flashing headlights that ended up to be hours. As I sat in the driver's seat and adjusted my position to something a little more comfier, Mr. Warehouse loaded the boot up with the suitcase and paced round the outside in order to make a note of any additional knocks, bumps or scrapes. With everything seemingly in order we headed off out of Dublin city centre and on the road to the sticks (AKA County Kilkenny), arriving with my auntie and uncle just after midnight making good time on their assumptions of having to wait up until the early hours only to receive a phone call from me saying that I was lost somewhere in Galway.
The next few days for sprint in a blissful unawareness of work or anything remotely strenuous, instead spending our time talking about family, life in general for Mr. Warehouse and I back home in the UK and drinking. Lots of drinking! The thing is that Ireland for me has always been a retreat and somewhere to rest your bones whilst the rest of the world ticks on by. Something about The Green Isle always makes me feel better after visiting. I suppose given my grandfather's departure last week, almost to the hour that I am writing this, a visit to see family and recuperate was certainly something that I think both Mr Warehouse and I definitely needed.
But alas we all have to come back to reality at some point and mine just happened to be this morning. With everything said and done most things are now organised and set in place ready for the funeral. I have yet to still get a hold of my brother, although I do hope that he has some sense in order to try and make amends with the family but if not that then at the very least to pay his respects and see our grandfather who loved us irrespective of our differences or how our parents treated one another. In a funny sort of way I have made my peace with my Granddad and all I want is for him to have the opportunity do the same. I suppose only time will tell.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 16 January 2017
The Big JCB in the Sky ...
Hi There,
So after weeks of dread and anxiety on not making Mr Warehouse look like a complete fool in front of his entire family by wearing something wholly inappropriate for a funeral, the day was finally upon us to lay to rest Mr. Warehouse's Second Cousin. An untimely death and gone all far too soon for my liking, I donned a black jumper, tights and skirt complete with heels and a grey waterfall jacket to complete the look I waited patiently for Mr. Warehouse to get ready, looking ever so smart in his black suit and tie. If it had not have been a funeral I could have been happy. It was not even one of my own and already getting in the car and ready to go I was welling up with sadness. God only knows what sadness I had to endure yet ...
After leaving in plenty enough time to get a drive-thru breakfast, manage the Black Cat Roundabout and have a pit-stop for a toilet break we arrived at the address I had been Google-Mapping and researching for weeks. After confirming and doublely-doubley confirming with Momma Warehouse in the few weeks leading up to the sombre occasion over Christmas and New Year I had made sure we were going to the right place and with plenty of time to allow for mingling an getting a seat, especially since he was a well-known and well-loved character who would easily pack out any church in the area. Pulling into the car park however I did not recognise or see any number plates or cars I knew of. Putting my doubts aside, I got out and shoved on my heels before having a cheeky cigarette whilst Mr. Warehouse went to look for the rest of the mourners whom seemed in short supply.
Returning in a flap I knew what Mr. Warehouse was about to say,
"Where is it?" I asked, anxious of the response.
"Its the wrong fucking Church!" Mr. Warehouse fumed. And so, flipping my heels off we headed to the second postal code Momma Warehouse had given us. In search for St Paul's or Peter's Church we headed fifteen minutes down the road, still arriving, but just in the nick of time. The only problem was that there was no parking, and the Church appeared to be locked up for the day. 'This can not be the right Church' I thought to myself, knowing from my days as a Sunday-School-Sucker that a vicar would never leave it this late at less than forty-five minutes before the service began. Pacing round the small chapel we headed back to the car, again frantically calling around to see where we actually needed to be.
Becoming frustrated I put my foot down as Mr. Warehouse and I headed back to the first Church we went to all in good faith that Momma Warehouse had it right this time. Fifteen minutes later we arrive back in the first car park we encountered in Wisbech. No familiar cars. No mourners. No Hurst. it is now midday and with less than quarter-of-an-hour until the service starts we finally have a phone call from Mr. Warehouse brother. Finally someone who knows what they are talking about! Message pinging through on a text I punch it into my phone, SatNav now draining my battery so much so I wonder if I can find my way home that day. Jumping back into Vivienne again I race through the streets of Wisbech and finally pull up at a small village church, parking up and wiggling through grave plots in order to reach the church steps on time. With seconds to spare we heard the procession music slow and the service begin.
Myself and Mr. Warehouse were standing outside and after all the fuck ups and screwing around of this morning I wasn't going to have him stand out here when he was a deserved family member of at least a standing space inside the holy building, let alone a seat. Gently taking his hand I guided him through the mourners and bystanders to the back of the Church. There I found Momma Warehouse, obviously too late for a seat herself. What I felt as an undignified service followed with mistakes being made on names of relevant people, the Lords Prayer being recited incorrectly and even messing up the Hymns, I felt the vicar was unprofessional and it thoroughly grated on me that in someones final moments they did not even have the respect or grace to practice some of the readings and scriptures in advance. Obviously there may have been a reason why she was so poor at leading the proceedings however in my eyes you should be professional in all aspects, and even more-so at a funeral, but of course, that's just my opinion and otherwise it was a beautiful send-off.
As the ceremony came to an end, I left with Mr. Warehouse, holding his hand and trying where possible to be helpful. Tissues, cuddles and gentle hand holding, but nothing would appease the tears rolling over my beloved boyfriends cheeks. Sharp slices hit my heart as I genuinely looked around for someone to help. But no-one did. We were all mourning and I honestly have never felt so out of place or at a loss on what to do or how to help. Truth be told though there was nothing I could do. I was not a miracle worker and I had no powers to take away Mr. Warehouse's nor his families pain and grief. All I could hope and wish for is that it would be all over soon enough and that they could all learn to live with what has happened.
What I experienced that day has left me with thoughts of my own mortality and what I will do if anyone close to me should pass. What would I do? The thing is I don't know. I suppose no-body does, but one thing I can tell you is that I have told everyone I love them and when I do it is with utter truth and meaningfulness, as though it may be the last time I speak to them, for we know not how long we have left, but definitely on how we should use the time we are given.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after weeks of dread and anxiety on not making Mr Warehouse look like a complete fool in front of his entire family by wearing something wholly inappropriate for a funeral, the day was finally upon us to lay to rest Mr. Warehouse's Second Cousin. An untimely death and gone all far too soon for my liking, I donned a black jumper, tights and skirt complete with heels and a grey waterfall jacket to complete the look I waited patiently for Mr. Warehouse to get ready, looking ever so smart in his black suit and tie. If it had not have been a funeral I could have been happy. It was not even one of my own and already getting in the car and ready to go I was welling up with sadness. God only knows what sadness I had to endure yet ...
After leaving in plenty enough time to get a drive-thru breakfast, manage the Black Cat Roundabout and have a pit-stop for a toilet break we arrived at the address I had been Google-Mapping and researching for weeks. After confirming and doublely-doubley confirming with Momma Warehouse in the few weeks leading up to the sombre occasion over Christmas and New Year I had made sure we were going to the right place and with plenty of time to allow for mingling an getting a seat, especially since he was a well-known and well-loved character who would easily pack out any church in the area. Pulling into the car park however I did not recognise or see any number plates or cars I knew of. Putting my doubts aside, I got out and shoved on my heels before having a cheeky cigarette whilst Mr. Warehouse went to look for the rest of the mourners whom seemed in short supply.
Returning in a flap I knew what Mr. Warehouse was about to say,
"Where is it?" I asked, anxious of the response.
"Its the wrong fucking Church!" Mr. Warehouse fumed. And so, flipping my heels off we headed to the second postal code Momma Warehouse had given us. In search for St Paul's or Peter's Church we headed fifteen minutes down the road, still arriving, but just in the nick of time. The only problem was that there was no parking, and the Church appeared to be locked up for the day. 'This can not be the right Church' I thought to myself, knowing from my days as a Sunday-School-Sucker that a vicar would never leave it this late at less than forty-five minutes before the service began. Pacing round the small chapel we headed back to the car, again frantically calling around to see where we actually needed to be.
Becoming frustrated I put my foot down as Mr. Warehouse and I headed back to the first Church we went to all in good faith that Momma Warehouse had it right this time. Fifteen minutes later we arrive back in the first car park we encountered in Wisbech. No familiar cars. No mourners. No Hurst. it is now midday and with less than quarter-of-an-hour until the service starts we finally have a phone call from Mr. Warehouse brother. Finally someone who knows what they are talking about! Message pinging through on a text I punch it into my phone, SatNav now draining my battery so much so I wonder if I can find my way home that day. Jumping back into Vivienne again I race through the streets of Wisbech and finally pull up at a small village church, parking up and wiggling through grave plots in order to reach the church steps on time. With seconds to spare we heard the procession music slow and the service begin.
Myself and Mr. Warehouse were standing outside and after all the fuck ups and screwing around of this morning I wasn't going to have him stand out here when he was a deserved family member of at least a standing space inside the holy building, let alone a seat. Gently taking his hand I guided him through the mourners and bystanders to the back of the Church. There I found Momma Warehouse, obviously too late for a seat herself. What I felt as an undignified service followed with mistakes being made on names of relevant people, the Lords Prayer being recited incorrectly and even messing up the Hymns, I felt the vicar was unprofessional and it thoroughly grated on me that in someones final moments they did not even have the respect or grace to practice some of the readings and scriptures in advance. Obviously there may have been a reason why she was so poor at leading the proceedings however in my eyes you should be professional in all aspects, and even more-so at a funeral, but of course, that's just my opinion and otherwise it was a beautiful send-off.
As the ceremony came to an end, I left with Mr. Warehouse, holding his hand and trying where possible to be helpful. Tissues, cuddles and gentle hand holding, but nothing would appease the tears rolling over my beloved boyfriends cheeks. Sharp slices hit my heart as I genuinely looked around for someone to help. But no-one did. We were all mourning and I honestly have never felt so out of place or at a loss on what to do or how to help. Truth be told though there was nothing I could do. I was not a miracle worker and I had no powers to take away Mr. Warehouse's nor his families pain and grief. All I could hope and wish for is that it would be all over soon enough and that they could all learn to live with what has happened.
What I experienced that day has left me with thoughts of my own mortality and what I will do if anyone close to me should pass. What would I do? The thing is I don't know. I suppose no-body does, but one thing I can tell you is that I have told everyone I love them and when I do it is with utter truth and meaningfulness, as though it may be the last time I speak to them, for we know not how long we have left, but definitely on how we should use the time we are given.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 21 November 2016
Adventures Ooop Nooorth!
How Do!
Five and a half hours on the road I was certainly ready to arrive. Winding through the curly lanes, I imagined what was beyond the black darkness of the Winter's evening. Beautiful Yorkshire countryside, fields for as far as the eyes can see and outstretched roads littered with cosy cottages. Speaking of which, here was ours now!
Pulling into the Farmhouse and row of stable converted cottages we had finally arrived. Parking little Vivienne outside in the gravelled courtyard we walked up to the large double wooden door, complete with slate tiled roof and original brickwork exposed exterior. Opening the front door we were bowled over as was the housekeeper that came to greet us by our beloved pooch who, it would have appeared was expressing just how much she was loving not speeding along the A1(M) by rolling around on the plush carpets and various shag-pile rugs comforting the floors. A snug layout, roomy enough for two and some furry friends comfortable the bedroom came first after the small porch where coat hangers and cubby holes exist for Winter accessories and cooler outer wears. Warmed thoroughly with the twinkling fairy-lights adorning the bed it was a romantic home from home with a window over looking the main road which with traffic a constant feature was certainly not so romantic I can assure you. The bed was soft and had lashings of soft furnishings not to mention the very fluffy authentic Sheepskin rug by the bedside.
Lounge came next and as the two front windows looked out across the courtyard, the decor again carrying through the homely, kitsch country feel for the place incorporating the TV units, sofa and chairs as well as the many cushions, carefully chosen ornaments and candles. But the fireplace was the centrepiece of the room and it was a sight to behold. With a mantelpiece to die for and logs ready for our lighting we were more than ready to get that baby burning, maybe indulging in a little cuddle 'ont' shag-pile rug with our pooch as the flames blazed behind us. Through a short corridor into what I imagine was an extension to the original stables were a high spec bathroom with all the mod-con's and a kitchen equipped with most things you would need for a break away including picnic hampers, milk and cereals for the morning, all with views of the green wilderness of the gardens as your making a morning brew. So sweet!
Settling the mad dog in after she hounded every room exploring the exciting new environments as much as Mr. Warehouse and I were. Exhausted though we thanked our host and at nearly nine-at-night I could feel myself falling asleep. Making sure the pup was fed, watered and peed/pooped, my Boyfriend and I retired to the bedroom after a half-hour battle with our eyelids and the TV. And I honestly don't think I have fallen asleep so quickly, head hitting the pillow and off into dream land I went, experiencing again another strange dream, although thankfully not the nightmare I had the evening before in which Mr. Warehouse was awoken by my screams and in turn saved me from my slumbering torture. I cant even really remember what it was about although I know that I made a few wrong turns walking through some dark back alley's with my dear Mr. Warehouse and before I knew it I was being pulled about by gang members, Mr. Warehouse helpless in stopping them and there perverse plans for me.
Waking in the morning as the cold sun broke through the cream curtains I revelled in the fact that I was somewhere new and had so much to explore. Throughout our trip we headed into York city centre most days tackling the bustling Christmas Market, York Chocolate Story and The Dungeons as well as off for long country walks with t'dog although with the weather being wetter than wet and colder than cold we were forced to turn back pretty early on. Later on in the final few days of our trip we headed our separate ways and after begging to go to the local Designer Outlet Mall, I finally had my opportunity as a football game was on and there was a pub showing the game right near the centre. So I did what every red-blooded women would do, dropped off the 'Mrs.' and headed to the discounted stores as fast as my lil' Vivienne would take me. No Mulberry discount-store unfortunately, although there was one (fully priced) store in the city centre, however there was a Ted (Baker) store and they were hosting some lovely discounted genuine products in which I may or may not (defiantly have) purchased a make-up bag.
My favourite part of our trip though had to be spending some quality time with Mr. Warehouse and my step-pup, roasting our piggies by the roaring fire and eating naughty-naughtiness from our trips to the Christmas Market and York Chocolate Story. But suffice to say I am home now, with my little family and defiantly no log burning open-fire. Very upset about this. But it wont be that long until Christmas and next week we will have the excitement hopefully of seeing Our Little Furry Starlet's photos. Lets hope they're good. I suppose they should be though for three-hundred-quid ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Five and a half hours on the road I was certainly ready to arrive. Winding through the curly lanes, I imagined what was beyond the black darkness of the Winter's evening. Beautiful Yorkshire countryside, fields for as far as the eyes can see and outstretched roads littered with cosy cottages. Speaking of which, here was ours now!
Pulling into the Farmhouse and row of stable converted cottages we had finally arrived. Parking little Vivienne outside in the gravelled courtyard we walked up to the large double wooden door, complete with slate tiled roof and original brickwork exposed exterior. Opening the front door we were bowled over as was the housekeeper that came to greet us by our beloved pooch who, it would have appeared was expressing just how much she was loving not speeding along the A1(M) by rolling around on the plush carpets and various shag-pile rugs comforting the floors. A snug layout, roomy enough for two and some furry friends comfortable the bedroom came first after the small porch where coat hangers and cubby holes exist for Winter accessories and cooler outer wears. Warmed thoroughly with the twinkling fairy-lights adorning the bed it was a romantic home from home with a window over looking the main road which with traffic a constant feature was certainly not so romantic I can assure you. The bed was soft and had lashings of soft furnishings not to mention the very fluffy authentic Sheepskin rug by the bedside.
Lounge came next and as the two front windows looked out across the courtyard, the decor again carrying through the homely, kitsch country feel for the place incorporating the TV units, sofa and chairs as well as the many cushions, carefully chosen ornaments and candles. But the fireplace was the centrepiece of the room and it was a sight to behold. With a mantelpiece to die for and logs ready for our lighting we were more than ready to get that baby burning, maybe indulging in a little cuddle 'ont' shag-pile rug with our pooch as the flames blazed behind us. Through a short corridor into what I imagine was an extension to the original stables were a high spec bathroom with all the mod-con's and a kitchen equipped with most things you would need for a break away including picnic hampers, milk and cereals for the morning, all with views of the green wilderness of the gardens as your making a morning brew. So sweet!
Settling the mad dog in after she hounded every room exploring the exciting new environments as much as Mr. Warehouse and I were. Exhausted though we thanked our host and at nearly nine-at-night I could feel myself falling asleep. Making sure the pup was fed, watered and peed/pooped, my Boyfriend and I retired to the bedroom after a half-hour battle with our eyelids and the TV. And I honestly don't think I have fallen asleep so quickly, head hitting the pillow and off into dream land I went, experiencing again another strange dream, although thankfully not the nightmare I had the evening before in which Mr. Warehouse was awoken by my screams and in turn saved me from my slumbering torture. I cant even really remember what it was about although I know that I made a few wrong turns walking through some dark back alley's with my dear Mr. Warehouse and before I knew it I was being pulled about by gang members, Mr. Warehouse helpless in stopping them and there perverse plans for me.
Waking in the morning as the cold sun broke through the cream curtains I revelled in the fact that I was somewhere new and had so much to explore. Throughout our trip we headed into York city centre most days tackling the bustling Christmas Market, York Chocolate Story and The Dungeons as well as off for long country walks with t'dog although with the weather being wetter than wet and colder than cold we were forced to turn back pretty early on. Later on in the final few days of our trip we headed our separate ways and after begging to go to the local Designer Outlet Mall, I finally had my opportunity as a football game was on and there was a pub showing the game right near the centre. So I did what every red-blooded women would do, dropped off the 'Mrs.' and headed to the discounted stores as fast as my lil' Vivienne would take me. No Mulberry discount-store unfortunately, although there was one (fully priced) store in the city centre, however there was a Ted (Baker) store and they were hosting some lovely discounted genuine products in which I may or may not (defiantly have) purchased a make-up bag.
My favourite part of our trip though had to be spending some quality time with Mr. Warehouse and my step-pup, roasting our piggies by the roaring fire and eating naughty-naughtiness from our trips to the Christmas Market and York Chocolate Story. But suffice to say I am home now, with my little family and defiantly no log burning open-fire. Very upset about this. But it wont be that long until Christmas and next week we will have the excitement hopefully of seeing Our Little Furry Starlet's photos. Lets hope they're good. I suppose they should be though for three-hundred-quid ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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