Flipping Me Off!

Hiya, 

Outfits ready and bodies primped and preened, Mr. Warehouse and I were ready for our close-up. Today was the day of Mr. Warehouse's Valentines present ... A couples photo-shoot. Arriving slightly early, we drove up the long and winding private road to the big country home and adjacent log cabin studio. Its was obvious that Mommy and Daddy bought the place and that she still lived at home and had probably rarely left home, only for wonderful long distance holidays and maybe Uni all paid for by the fat that she possibly paid little or no rent. Nevertheless with the fields and countryside surrounding the home, a tree house, swing and an area for campfires I was more than looking forward to the shots and what the possibilities could be for the final viewing. 

Now I must say that I never really gelled with our photographer on this occasion as much as I had with the Guy who did the photo shoot for the Dog which we won back in November following a chance entry whilst in our local Pets At Home. He was funny and made us feel so welcome and happy to share our lives and open up to him and his lens. He got on brilliantly with our pooch and really seemed to understand us, which was something I hoped had and would come from our valentines shoot. 

In a way I kind of wished that I had booked it before we went on holiday or for a day that wasn't so overcast or cold, for maybe they would look better (This is me speculating of course, they may already be beautiful) and at least I would look thinner from all the classes and swimming I ave been doing now Pooch doesn't have to go to the Vets every other day. 

Alas as half way through and after many an outfit change, Mr. Warehouse and I were told it was "time to show some more affection" which, as if the situation wasn't cringe enough, just made the whole thing just that little bit worse. Posing together felt awkward and at times painful, both metaphorically and physically with odd positions and strange moves. Now I am not saying by any stretch of the imagination that Mr. Warehouse and I have the perfect relationship, however I know for a fact that we are affectionate towards one another. I cuddle him and he cuddles me and we comfort each other when we have had a bad day. Like Pancake (Shrove) Tuesday!

Coming home from work I was exhausted, it had been a long day and one where I was glad it was over. Feeling slightly on the edge as it goes I refused to let life get the better of me and took to making the healthy banana pancake batter I had been researching all day and spending my lunch-break watching videos of how to make them. Batter made and pan hot with oil, I started the melt-down process that would ensue. First two went OK. then the third just flopped like a dead battery at an Ann Summers party. As I went to flip it the pancake, batter still wet and not fully cooked yet, split. Hoping to try and rectify it I counter-acted the manoeuvre by approaching it from the other side, not helping the situation in the slightest. After several more attempts I threw the frying pan down, tipped away the by now char-grilled and mushy mess and proceeded to the front room for reflection. 

It was at this point that Mr. Warehouse makes the point that I have not followed the recipe exactly to the letter and the reason for my inability to make healthy pancakes is because I did not weigh everything and follow the instructions given. So, refusing to be beaten by a mixture that calls itself not only Yorkshire pudding mix but also for making Pancakes, I returned to the kitchen. This time I was encouraged by Mr. Warehouse, following every gram and millilitre by the book. And yet again the same thing happened. Tormented by the smoking frying pan I went into full blown Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode. For those of you that don't know what Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode is, its where you have so much of a break-down in yourself as a human being you slowly cry yourself onto the floor of the kitchen, snot and tears coagulating mess in your airways making you sound like a toddler who has just been told Peppa Pig time is over. 

In true teenager fashion I huffed back to the front room and with everything finally coming to a head, I began to cry. And yes it was all because of some Instrgram, Protein-shake-fucked, clean-eating healthy bollocking banana pancakes. Felling silly I felt the familiar cuddle of Mr. Warehouse's arms encapsulate me. Soft words of non-wisdom came next like "Its OK not everyone can make pancakes" and other one liners such as "It was the frying pan, its not a good one". Whilst sobbing subsided I could see through blurred, teary vision that my beautiful, wonderful Mr. Ware was desperately trying to look for any restaurants within a ten-mile radius that would sell pancakes. I needed IHOP but all England has is, well, nothing. With all other options exhausted Mr. Warehouse and I headed to Tesco in order to find some battery goodness. None was to be found though as everyone else obviously had the same idea and just bought there is instead of trying to be Pintrest-Pricks. So I settled for Waffles instead. 

But that is what affection and love is. Supporting someone through a shitty time, even if it is over a few bananas mashed in with rolled oats and an egg. Its about searching the whole fucking county for pancake-houses and dessert places that will deliver since Bedford has yet to hop on the whole Deliveroo band-wagon. Caring is saying 'I'm sure It'll look OK in the photos' when in reality you know we will both end up just skipping through them all like the last time, hating the way we looked.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

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

A Lazy Weekend Of Not Doing Much At All!

Hello Dears!

Last week was a very productive, very forward planning weekend and despite having spent little or no money (well ... maybe a few pennies) I felt as though Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I had a good shopping trip all round. And as I write this she is probably soaking up the warm-er weather of Rome with her boyfriend. So Jealous! 

But you would think that after finding out I had new boobs, or at least the rediscovery of boobs that were there but not cared for, I would have an equally planned out weekend including Christmas preparation and wrapping and present buying all tied up in one. and truth be told I did have that planned although after being told that I was no longer working my second job on Saturday morning I sought no need to get up early and head out the door and so therefore spent the entire day in bed. I only braved the chill of outside the duvet a handful of times, either for food or the bathroom. 

Soon enough though my alone time was over as Mr. Warehouse crashed through the door from work, soaking wet from the torrential down pour outside and chillier than a penguins freezer. And so after making mozzarella filled meatballs with spaghetti, my lovely Mr. Warehouse came and joined me in my bed. Snuggling up under my duvet watching rubbish TV made me realise that I do really care for him and as I began to get a headache I saw just how much he cared for me also as he swaddled me in a cosy blanket and made me melted chocolate buttons (which is my fave!) Such a sweetie! We finally finished watching the Fast and Furious box-set we had been lent several weeks ago and after much deliberation I had come to the conclusion that The Fast and The Furious: Tokyo Drift makes absolutely no sense and as a female, watching along with a male, I am still incredibly confused as to what exactly it's point in the saga is. I just don't get it. Some South-American Hill-billy guy goes to Tokyo, makes friends with Bow-Wow and drives a significant number of cars less than Vin Diesel, whom I might add, like the rest of the Fast and Furious cast including Paul Walker (RIP), Michelle Rodriguez and Samantha Vincent are seemingly missing in action on this film? Albeit it was an OK film, but I will be honest, the only reason I watched it was for the sequence of events that lead up to Fast and Furious 7. 

In fact, thinking about it now I would like to think that my baby brother would be proud of me for asking, if not begging for those films to be played. Sometimes I wish that it was him I was sharing a moment with, drinking a beer or two and enjoying a film we used to secretly watch as kids even if we weren't old enough. I wonder all the time what he is up to and where he is. I know roughly where him and the mother lives although I wouldn't dare try to hunt them down. Whilst I see my mother as a poisonous plant that needs to be stamped out, I know my brother should be left like a wild animal to become tame and discover himself before coming to find me, rather than me hunting for him and pushing a relationship onto him that he is not comfortable with. I hear through the grape-vine that he has passed his driving licence and whilst slightly miffed that he passed before I did, I am proud of my Little Bro' and all he has and will achieve. 

I enjoyed my relaxing weekend but this week ahead of me will be chocka to say the least. Tonight is standard Monday night blues as I mourn the weekend, remember how poor I am and rush something cardboard-y and horrible tasting for dinner. Tuesday and Thursday I am working at my second job this week if they don't decide to cancel it (the bastards). Wednesday you ask? Ahh yes. Wednesday I will be returning back to my Home-Town to visit some family coming over from Southern Ireland in which we shall share a Chinese and drink probably a few glasses in order to numb the drone of the bickering over something that doesn't wholly matter. But by the time my hangover has ended it will be weekend and after booking Friday off from work and reserving a hotel in London I will be thoroughly looking forward to my weekend away with Mr. Warehouse, especially Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland with The Tweedles and Friends!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx