Good Evening,
So continuing with the fancy-free frivolity of being a twenty-something with minimal commitments, this week I decided to book a day off. Now you are probably all thinking, "Hmm, I wonder what our dear friend did with her time off?" but wonder no more my amigos as I took it off not for a extended mini-break, nor a lengthy, well-needed spa day with Champers. No, I took the day off to visit the place where people are born and people die. Yes. Hospital!
After weeks of knowing my appointment to have my back Molar removed, I was certainly not looking forward to it, especially on a weekend where I had other, more important things to think about like how I am going to deal with God at Church on Sunday and what I should wear to the Christening that day. All items which pondered my mind as I sat waiting for my name to be called. I did wonder if I should maybe say my goodbyes to Mr. Warehouse now, read him my will and testament and explain what sort of coffin I would like for my nerves and fear factor were surely high enough to give me a heart attack if the Surgeon didn't.
Name called and without a moment to spare once in the Surgeon's office I was whizzed through a shit load of questions my anxiety has made me forget and hoofed straight into the operating theatre. Laying down on the PVC Leather couch I tried not to imagine people having violent porn on it. Sitting back as the nurses rallied round I asked if I would be able to listen to some music in order to drown out the sounds of drills, wrenching and yanking. Getting me prepped a lady took my blood pressure and I mentioned how I was proud that it along with all my other vitals were outstanding for a person of a BMI over 30. But as I rest my head backwards and felt the tourniquet tighten and the sharp scratch of the needle pierce my pale skin I got chatting to the lady holding my arm. She had noticed the golden bumblebee around my neck and had commented on how pretty it was, probably the first person in a long time to do so. I thanked her and explained how it was not real gold, letting her into the secret that it was in fact sterling silver with a gold-plate and that honestly I should probably go and get it re-plated. As I felt the anaesthetic take hold, pulsing through my veins I drowsily slurred that I wanted an Alex Monroe Bumble-Bee for my birthday but instead bought this as it was much cheaper that the £150.00 real-Gold Monroe. As I revelled in the fact that someone had the same interest in the beauty that is Alex Monroe, I could feel myself slipping under. Everything became blurry and slurred. Nothing made sense and I couldn't feel anything in terms of pain but had the sensation of multiple people pulling, ripping and stretching my face.
As they wheeled me coming out of Theatre I noticed Mr. Warehouse on his feet, waiting anxiously. I have no idea of time and whilst I was recovering from the drugs and anaesthetic I lay there not wanting to speak to my sweet boyfriend as I could feel that he did not want to look upon me in the state I was. Later I recall him saying that it was one of the worst moments of being with me as he loathed the fact that I was in pain and hooked up to all these machines, nothing that he nor I could do to make it better. What a sweetheart 'eh?!
Apparently it wasn't all morbid and solemn. Supposedly there were two surgical bins, one yellow, one black and white. According to Mr. Warehouse I was so out of it from my medication I thought that they were a Duck and a Penguin having a deep conversation about the political affairs somewhere. I also tried to dance whilst lying in my hospital bed and this didn't stop when the nurses tried to get me up. Soon though I was allowed home. Mr. Warehouse took me back to the Home he shares with his Mom and pet Dog. Mr. Warehouse treated me very well on Friday, read all my hospital paperwork, made sure I took my meds on time, kept me topped up on water, wiped my dribbles and even made me lunch and dinner. Such a good boy isn't he!?
With my tooth removed the rest of Friday was a haze between doggy cuddles, Mr. Warehouse cuddles and sleeping. The weekend as a whole was fairly relaxing ending yesterday with a beautiful Christening service in a tiny snow-dusted church on the outskirts of Marston Mortaine in the idyllic Bedfordshire countryside followed by a wonderfully tasty meal at The Embankment Hotel, situated right on the river front of the River Ouse in Bedford. Now I must say that on calling the venue a few weeks ago to ask for a menu to be sent via email for pre-selecting what I and the boyfriend were going to have I was quite put out by the rudeness from staff and other telephone answer-ers. However on entering and ordering a 'Hot Mulled Cider' which took longer than needed I was pleasantly surprised when they not only offered me a drink on the house for the 30-minute wait whilst the Cider warmed but also a couple of free refills and what amazingly scrumptious, apple-y, lemon-y, cider-y goodness. especially for when there is snow on the ground outside.
But hears hoping that this weekend the snow can stay away so Mr. Warehouse and I can do something fun involving something warm and cosy. Definitely not off to raid my under sink booze-cupboard for some left over cider ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Cider. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cider. Show all posts
Monday, 18 January 2016
Monday, 29 June 2015
Taco's Ham Sandwiches and Bread Rolls!
Hallo,
So as I sit here at my little angular window in my pent house apartment near town I wonder as to what I write about this week. As I glance over to an empty cider bottle from the weekend I recall the fun and games that were had.
Friday night was more than warm as I finished work and arrived outside Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother. Sun beating down and the day still bright I was hoping that the rest of the weekend would be blessed with the same weather. Tumbling into the higgledy-piggledy village home I said hello to the dog and struck up a conversation with Momma Warehouse. But as the evening rolled on I could see how anxious Mr. Warehouse was getting. You see Mr. Warehouse (Creepy Warehouse Guy) had invited me, Mr. Warehouse and the rest of the office out for a few drinks at the local village pub. There was a cider festival on all weekend and I wasn't about to say no to some flat and probably rather potent scrumpy.
And so, as I donned my completely inappropriate heels, Mr. Warehouse and I walked into the pub, gossiping as we went. Greeted by not only a very sozzled Mr. CWG who had been drinking from the moment he got out of work at 3pm, but also some of Mr. Warehouse's family that were visiting for the weekend. But as the band started to play and the sun began to set I realised that not only were my feet hurting but I also felt a little out of my depth. With not much to say or people to mingle with I attempted to join in conversations that I had no clue about.
Nevertheless the whole evening was not like that and to my own recollection we ceased drinking and went home just after a conversation about how a female vagina is also known as a "Taco". Why? I don't know. What I do know is that that is an awful phrase to use. When I think of Taco's I think of everything falling out, the crisp cracker's betraying you as the buckle under the weight of the cheese, sauce and meat. Taco's are messy and spicy. Everything that I think about Taco's is the complete opposite when I think about Fanny. If we are in comparison with food stuffs and female genitalia then surely it would range from a poorly made ham sandwich, whereby the ham is falling out all over the place thus making it slightly less desirable than say a neatly shaped piece of Gnocchi, or my personal favourite - a carefully sliced roll. Obviously everyone's vagina is lovely and perfect in their own special way but for me and the lads that were left it all made for a very hysterically conversation.
Saturday morning I awoke to the lawnmower going and a quick succession of sneezes, coughs and snotty tissues. Ahh yes, the grips of Hayfever! Don't you just love it! Popping my pills I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to some toast and jam. Two, somewhat productive hours later and Mr. Warehouse and I had finally booked the hotel for our end of Summer getaway to Lyon, which may not be as rosey as we once thought, especially upon hearing of what one disgruntled employee did to one of his bosses - See News - But then again with some of the places I have worked in the past, I can easily see how you can be pushed too far. Afternoon Tea with Grandma-ma was next though and stepping out into the sunshine I could tell that the day was going to be good. After a cracking natter about most things including getting old, sharting and the current economic crisis in Greece I think we were done for the day. With the promises of seeing each other soon I waved her off and headed back to get ready for a memorial service with a twist.
Mr. Warehouse's Granddad had passed away some years before I came along and every year since then the whole family comes together to celebrate in his death and the life he once lead. And to honour the matriarch of the clan we all drank, ate and played as much pool and darts until our little hearts were content. I have discovered that I am not terrible at pool especially since the last time I played was in High School and even then it was to impress the boys! Darts I did well at too and although no one was injured in the process I did discover that just because you hit the bullseye once (or twice in my case) does not mean you automatically win. So in between cuddles with babies, sipping on alcopops and forging a friendship between myself and a group of 10-year-old nieces belonging to Mr. Warehouse and his family I enjoyed the weekend and somewhat put into perspective for me what the future could hold if I allowed this future to happen.
And so my weekend pretty much has been spent with family. Some of them my own but the majority of them not. At least not yet anyway. But that's an inside thought. So Shhh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So as I sit here at my little angular window in my pent house apartment near town I wonder as to what I write about this week. As I glance over to an empty cider bottle from the weekend I recall the fun and games that were had.
Friday night was more than warm as I finished work and arrived outside Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother. Sun beating down and the day still bright I was hoping that the rest of the weekend would be blessed with the same weather. Tumbling into the higgledy-piggledy village home I said hello to the dog and struck up a conversation with Momma Warehouse. But as the evening rolled on I could see how anxious Mr. Warehouse was getting. You see Mr. Warehouse (Creepy Warehouse Guy) had invited me, Mr. Warehouse and the rest of the office out for a few drinks at the local village pub. There was a cider festival on all weekend and I wasn't about to say no to some flat and probably rather potent scrumpy.
And so, as I donned my completely inappropriate heels, Mr. Warehouse and I walked into the pub, gossiping as we went. Greeted by not only a very sozzled Mr. CWG who had been drinking from the moment he got out of work at 3pm, but also some of Mr. Warehouse's family that were visiting for the weekend. But as the band started to play and the sun began to set I realised that not only were my feet hurting but I also felt a little out of my depth. With not much to say or people to mingle with I attempted to join in conversations that I had no clue about.
Nevertheless the whole evening was not like that and to my own recollection we ceased drinking and went home just after a conversation about how a female vagina is also known as a "Taco". Why? I don't know. What I do know is that that is an awful phrase to use. When I think of Taco's I think of everything falling out, the crisp cracker's betraying you as the buckle under the weight of the cheese, sauce and meat. Taco's are messy and spicy. Everything that I think about Taco's is the complete opposite when I think about Fanny. If we are in comparison with food stuffs and female genitalia then surely it would range from a poorly made ham sandwich, whereby the ham is falling out all over the place thus making it slightly less desirable than say a neatly shaped piece of Gnocchi, or my personal favourite - a carefully sliced roll. Obviously everyone's vagina is lovely and perfect in their own special way but for me and the lads that were left it all made for a very hysterically conversation.
Saturday morning I awoke to the lawnmower going and a quick succession of sneezes, coughs and snotty tissues. Ahh yes, the grips of Hayfever! Don't you just love it! Popping my pills I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to some toast and jam. Two, somewhat productive hours later and Mr. Warehouse and I had finally booked the hotel for our end of Summer getaway to Lyon, which may not be as rosey as we once thought, especially upon hearing of what one disgruntled employee did to one of his bosses - See News - But then again with some of the places I have worked in the past, I can easily see how you can be pushed too far. Afternoon Tea with Grandma-ma was next though and stepping out into the sunshine I could tell that the day was going to be good. After a cracking natter about most things including getting old, sharting and the current economic crisis in Greece I think we were done for the day. With the promises of seeing each other soon I waved her off and headed back to get ready for a memorial service with a twist.
Mr. Warehouse's Granddad had passed away some years before I came along and every year since then the whole family comes together to celebrate in his death and the life he once lead. And to honour the matriarch of the clan we all drank, ate and played as much pool and darts until our little hearts were content. I have discovered that I am not terrible at pool especially since the last time I played was in High School and even then it was to impress the boys! Darts I did well at too and although no one was injured in the process I did discover that just because you hit the bullseye once (or twice in my case) does not mean you automatically win. So in between cuddles with babies, sipping on alcopops and forging a friendship between myself and a group of 10-year-old nieces belonging to Mr. Warehouse and his family I enjoyed the weekend and somewhat put into perspective for me what the future could hold if I allowed this future to happen.
And so my weekend pretty much has been spent with family. Some of them my own but the majority of them not. At least not yet anyway. But that's an inside thought. So Shhh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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