Work Hard, Shop Harder!

Heyy, 

"Why am I up so early on a Saturday?!" I thought as I rolled over and tried to turn off my alarms before they woke Mr. Warehouse. Listening to my new addition cry and whine downstairs (and yes the puppy trauma through bedtime routines and trying to keep our little Frankenstein happy in his own company is still an issue) I remembered that today was the day Miss Tweedle-Dee and I visit the worlds biggest Primark in the heart of Birmingham's Bullring shopping centre. 

Primark describes itself on its website as coming a long, long way since they opened back in 1969 under the name Penny's in Dublin (of which in southern Ireland it still operates under that name). Today, Primark operates in more than 330 stores in 11 countries across Europe and America. With the biggest share of the fashion market in the UK, Ireland, Spain and Portugal they are able to stand out from the crowd by offering amazing fashion at an amazing price. Being able to buy in volume from over 700 suppliers in 37 countries gives the store an advantage to bring us all quick and speedy trends in double-time and at rock bottom prices! Primark justifies its low prices with claims it spends nothing on advertising and has tight profit margins thus helping it to improve itself and thrive on an already suffering High Street in Britain. 

Whilst Primark's reputation has not been glittering in recent years with criticism over staff pay as well as the environmental and social impact of so-called "fast fashion" it has stood the test of time as it opens its 187th store in the UK - The biggest one in the world. Set over five floors, the 160,000sq ft space once occupied the entire site of the former Pavilions shopping centre in Birmingham's New Street. The new store features Disney’s first officially licensed cafe located outside of its resorts and cruise ships, a barber shop called Mills x Primark, a beauty studio chain Duck & Dry Xpress, as well as Primark’s standard range of value clothing and accessories. Truly a one-stop-shop for everything to pamper yo'self! 

Store design director Sanjay Dihman had no trouble explaining to retailgazette.co.uk as to why Birmingham was the chosen city for the world’s biggest Primark. With its completion rumouring to have cost around £70 million the store now employs more than 1000 people, 430 of whom were existing employees who have transferred from the former New Street branch. A further 500 brand new jobs were created, plus another 100 for partner-run in-store experiences including chefs, hair stylists and beauticians. 

On arrival, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I headed straight to the top and to the new Disney-themed cafe which is strategically situated on the same level as the cute kidswear range I assume to attract families and keep everyone entertained as they wait in line for their Mickey waffles and pancakes. The cafe features a Mickey-Mouse-shaped entrance and digital tables where children are able to play games while dining in, not to mention TV's with Disney cartoons running all the time!  Although one disappointment was the fact that the tables were jam-packed so tightly together it was very uncomfortable to be sat so close to one another, not to mention getting in and out. I say that our trip to the Disney inspired Cafe was brief, however, it still took well over twenty minutes to get a simple latte for my bestie. Although this was nothing in comparison to the poor lady sat next to us who had been waiting for her Mickey pancakes and waffles for her and her two children for well over 30 minutes before she asked for them a second and even a third time before finally demanding her money back and walking out!

Our experience, as Mr Warehouse put it, was very much like any other Primark shop with all the latest in womenswear, menswear, kidswear, lingerie, beauty and homeware all thrown together with some little added benefits such as free wi-fi and a seating area fitted with phone chargers for men when they get bored! It was massive and after a pit-stop in the Disney cafe to grab some breakfast we headed out to find some bargains. Although the sales and reductions were few and far between it is to be expected when you have just opened a new store with thousands trudging the kiosks and stands each and every day. 

One of the things Miss Tweedle-Dee and I did miss out on and something I certainly missed was the Custom Lab – the bespoke print lab for t-shirts and other items – something which seems to be popping up in an increasing number of its stores which has been growing in popularity. And so it appears I may have to return sometime soon ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

One Size Does Not Fit All!

Afternoon All, 

So the moment has come (nearly) when the shops start blaring out Christmas hits and everyone starts barging in Tesco for the last box of mince pies! But as everyone clammers for that Gold Sequin number in Topshop, here I am wishing I could fit in to Primark sizes let alone any of the other High Street or Online party dress offerings. 

Ever since I can remember I have always been a larger size. At my High School Prom I look back on the photos of me that will take him that evening and think about how skinny and then I was. I looked a bit odd with my large head on my small underdeveloped frame. True to my Emo / Scene kids self I wore a handmade "Cold November Rain" inspired prom dress compromising of a corseted bodice and a graduated hemline skirt of black silk and pink neon chiffon. I had a collar bone and arms with shoulders to be proud of. I was a size 12. Now, a decade on, I am four dress sizes bigger and with the High street now struggling to cater to my less than agile physique, three weeks ago I decided to finally do something about it. I joined a new Gym opening for less than a tenner a month and have decided to also invest in a personal trainer to help kick start the weight loss and journey to a thinner, happier and hopefully more attractive me!

My inspiration really has to come from somewhere I have spent most of my time and that is at work. One girl there has grabbed the bull by the horns and has thrown herself into the exercise and fitness regimes like a female baaws I have never seen before. Triple-Thursdays are now a thing where three back-to-back classes are in attendance every week along with work out Wednesdays and Gym-Time-Tuesday. OK the last two I made up but Triple-Thursday is a real thing. A the beginning of the year I admired her. By the Summer I was in awe of her achievements and now, I look back as we all do on the transformation she has made and applaud her for all the hard work and effort she has put in. But in all fairness it is not you or I that see the difference or reap the benefits, nor even the lucky man she has on her arm, but her. She worked so damn hard because at some point she reached where I am now in the fact that I don't want to be that Mommy that sits on the park bench watching the kids play. I want to chase after them and run around too, not sitting reading a book I don't like because I get out of breath just looking at the roundabout. I want to be able to run round the park after my step-pooch and one day my own little fluff ball playing hide-and-seek and chase. I want to run up the stairs and not almost pass out at the top. 

After my first week I was hella nervous and on entering the new Gym complex where I was to begin my Personal Training Sessions I was a little scared. Normally friendly and bubbly to the point of being in your face I couldn't have become more opposite, now preferring to be a wallflower, fading into insignificance. Although I am a plus-size gal so that ain't happening any time soon. Starting off on the treadmill I was OK, a little breathy but OK. But that was just the warm up. Next were kettle bell swinging and steps. Again, a little more out of puff but still managing to hold a conversation. following that my PT decided to crank it up a notch by introducing me to the ropes and medicine balls. Again, looking at them I thought that they might be a little more tough but something I can handle. Yeah it was OK but I was certainly starting to feel it. Sweating in all the places I never expected to I carried on, trying to battle my way through. Finally those reps were done and I rewarded myself with some water and a moments rest. But then. Then came the dreaded box of doom. 

Twenty-inches high, the cube came up to above my knee. "I have had skirts longer than that" I thought to myself. "But you also couldn't fit into them now, could you fatty!" the devil on my shoulder said in retaliation. Spurring me on I soldiered through the gruelling task of simply stepping up onto the box and stepping back down. Sounds easy enough but by ten repetitions in I needed to stop. My vision was blurry and becoming tunnelled. I could feel waves of heat washing over me and every movement of my head or body made me want to be sick. Not wanting to Vom on my PT I took a rest and sat down for fear I might stumble. I knew my limit and I was super-unfit. Regretting the cigarettes and booze and takeaways I walked out of the venue bidding farewell to the staff thinking that I could do what I always do and just never come back. 

The question is would that really benefit me? The brutal answer is no it wouldn't and in less than six-weeks time I would be wondering why I am still the same size as I was last year and the year before and the year before that, all in the hope that somewhere does nice dresses in fat sizes for my Christmas party at work. Now I am not trying to say that all people size twenty (UK) and above need to go and join a gym and get on a strict diet of lettuce and carrot sticks, but what I am saying is that I am sick and tired of looking in every shop at beautiful dresses or outfits and all in the knowledge that they are not made for my frame or size. I have had enough of seeing stylish and sexy clothes that I cannot wear because they do not fit either on the arms, bust or waist and on the odd occasion I will hit a hat-trick of all three being completely wrong in an outfit that looks stunning on the size eight model. 

I returned last week for my first full paying session with the personal trainer. She is now costing my £45.00 for six-sessions of thirty-minutes every week and at a value of less than £7.50 per session I think that works out fantastic value and gets me exactly where I want to be. I wasn't as nervous as a first time walking through the doors, and in actual fact being greeted by people that already knew my face was quite a blessing. Oddly enough I had been looking forward to it. And whilst it was hard with more of the ropes, medicine balls and kettle bells, plus a few squats and lunges for good measure I was pleased to not feel as out of breath as I was the week before. No nausea. No blurred vision. No having to stop. Powering through it like my own female baaws. I have not quite got the Triple-Thursday crave yet, but I certainly walk out of the place now feeling more confident, achieved and even with a smile of my face looking forward to my next session. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

New Life, New Swag!

Heyy Heyy, 

Following on from last week's cheese Saga, Mr. Warehouse and I have since binned the smelly, perfumed cheese and instead bought a stronger variety and something a lot more palatable. And to think that the next shop I will be doing for our monthly food will be after our holidays. Speaking of which, with exactly a month to go today, me and Mr. Warehouse I'm nearly fit to bursting with looking forward to our first beach holiday together. After nearly three-and-a-half-years together I can hardly believe that we have never had a beach holiob. 

In preparation for such event it would only be fair that we would hit the shops for some new clobber. Now despite having a wardrobe fit to burst I still have the absolute urgency to buy holiday clothes. I have tops and skirts, and along with my myriad of kimonos, dresses and bikinis, all of them virtually worn a handful of times, all in all I know in my heart of Hearts that I really do not need any more clothes. However a unicorn pool float and a towel with pockets is still on my shopping list. Normally I don't care too much about what I look like or how I will look in photo's as there is a common understanding in the female world that we will just simply edit our way to perfection. Mr Warehouse is a boy and to put it bluntly does not understand it. Whilst I am told almost everyday that I am beautiful without all of the make-up and hair by my wonderful boyfriend, I still want to make sure I look good on holiday, and even more so when we will be spending so much time together. 

You might hazard a guess that Mr Warehouse was much more of a simple person, buying something only if he needs it and not because it's on sale. And for the most part you would be right in thinking this, as throughout the week he wears a uniform (lucky bugger) and as a result never wears normal clothes unless it is a date night or it is the weekend. However, this weekend after just been paid, both of us decided to head off to Bovingdon Market, which was originally Miss Tweedle-Dee's idea just to have a mooch around the 'designer brands'.From household goods such as knife blocks, pillows and carpets right down to the knock-off-nigel Timberland boots, Ralph Lauren T-shirts and Michael Kors handbags. You name it and Bovvy had it. And all for a fairly reasonable price. Well most of it anyway. Arriving to pick Miss Tweedle-Dee up for once I was earlier than expected. I even had to stop so someone (AKA Mr. Warehouse) could feel his face with a McDonald's breakfast, complete with extra hash brown. Nevertheless I chose the healthier life and opted for Latte with a Banana and Yogurt from home which I never actually got to eat as I was driving. As I explained to Miss Tweedle-Dee as she got into my newly MOT'd Vivienne; I am not on a diet  - I am just simply healthy eating. 

With less than four weeks to go until I am on a beach in Tenerife I certainly feel more pressure on this holiday with Mr Warehouse then I do with the girls. I don't know maybe it is the environment that I now find myself in on a daily basis. Verses my old office where I spent my days with a ragingly posh lesbian, a hackney city girl and an old man verging on retirement. Now I am in an office full of beautiful girls and women (As well as you men - You know who you are) who make an effort every day with their appearance. Applying make-up and doing their hair nice and pretty, a part of me honestly wonders why they bother. I am not single and there is no hot men to flirt with at work so what is the point. Equally I feel it is nice that we collectively all seem to make an effort maybe not necessarily for our co-workers but more-so for ourselves as women. 

I also get the feeling that life in my new(ish) office is to be constantly looking your best at face value is not the end of it. There is the Instagram's, Facebook updates and selfies to contend with. I feel like such a typical 'twenty-something-girl' by being desperate to get an invite to a fitness class or invited out for dinner or for a quiet night in with a bottle or two. It is a more sophisticated way of socialising that I am not sure I am accustomed to yet, although I am sure than in time the constant conversation about Love Island or what is at the top of my Spotify playlist will make a difference. A little part of me wonders whether I can ever go back to feeling my absolute self at work, discussing every little niggle in life and talking through all my problems with girlie work colleagues, both inside and outside of the office - But on the other hand, maybe I am not meant to be my full self at work, just the professional version of me. Maybe its just time to move on ... 

Anyhoo, arriving at the market it bought all the fun of it back when Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I would all come down with one of our parents and I would look at all the handbags and shoes, hoping that one day I can afford to buy whatever I wanted and not just what the pocket money in my purse would get me. After scouting round from top to bottom of the market, perusing all the goods that everyone had to offer and working out which places we were going to buy what from we walked away with some supposedly John Lewis plush pillows, some pretty ballerina pumps with pom-poms on them, RayBan Sunnies, some T-shirts for Mr. Warehouse holiday wardrobe and some gorgeous smelling bath-bombs for me. A successful weekend I would say ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Size Does Matter!

Hello one and all, 

Standing in front of my wardrobe I looked back at myself. I was fat. I mean saying this now sounds like nothing new to me, I have always been a larger lady, even in my teens and during my school years I was always bigger than other girls, but as I graduated High School and things in my life started to take a downward turn my diet was one of the last things on my mind. Living with my Uncle and Auntie for a while was easy, as was living with my dad and even Mr. Workaholic and his Dad. Everything pretty much was cooked and dished out to me, all I had to do was eat it. I would walk most if not everywhere and totted up a good few miles everyday by simply getting to and from work, college and socialising. 

But when I moved up to Northampton in order to start my new life with Mr. Workaholic I ballooned to my biggest weight so far. At over nineteen stone and a size twenty/twenty-two I was far from happy, at least in my body. Living off of beige food groups and turkey dinosaurs was not ideal either and since Mr. Workaholic refused to eat any sort of vegetable and saw bananas as the only fruit he would stomach (What a surprise that they were also beige in colour) it was very difficult to cook for someone so fussy. Towards the end of my relationship with Mr. Workaholic's things started to get mean and nasty and I suppose if I was really honest it would have been not that long after we moved to Northampton. The name calling and lack of compliments drove me from being a confident and cocky tween to a shy and anxious girl, always worried about her weight and that one day her boyfriend would feel repulsed enough by her that he would leave. And one day he did. I mean granted he didn't leave on the basis that I was larger than when we first met but I could tell that he had not felt attracted to me in sometime, or at least that is how it felt. 

Separating from Mr. Workaholic was hellish and a time that I can rarely recall anything happening at all, but I do remember my weekly meetings at WeightWatchers and how shocked the lady was when I made yet another big loss on the scales. When I was asked what my secret was or how I had lost all the weight I joked with my fellow fat fighters that in a dark way when the love of your life just up's and leaves you with no real reason or explanation, leaving behind just a whole lot of heartache and mess to clear up it soon puts you off food. And just as I started consuming more than caffeine and water on a daily basis I was hit with another bomb shell. Mr. Workaholic was seeing someone else, and it had been less than a fortnight. Not only that but whilst I was recovering from shock in Southern Ireland with my Aunt and Uncle, Mr. Workaholic was swanning round Newcastle, jumping from bed to bed I heard. 

After my weight plummeted to nearly what I was before I met Mr. Workaholic, I started feeling better about myself. I had new love interests, a new outlook on life and I was twenty-one. The perfect mix of young and throwaway yet knowing what I was doing. The next few years I fluctuated but always stayed around the fifteen stone mark, always being able to comfortably fit into a size fourteen/sixteen. But as the years went by and I finally got my very own flat in Bedford I got into bad habits and poor diet choices, although still walking most places I would always keep the belly off a little. 

Since meeting Mr. Warehouse though and especially over the last year since we moved in together I have only felt and seen my size increase. I can now only dream of fitting into a size eighteen let alone a size fourteen or sixteen. I am now so unhappy with my weight that I honestly need to start doing something about it. My clothes don't fit properly and I have a wardrobe full of lovely jumpers, jeans and tops that I just look like a sack of potatoes in. My arms are too fat and my belly is protruding more than my tits at present. Although I joke about it with friends and family, it starts to become a real concern when the arms of your office chair start to get tighter and tighter. 

So after I get paid on Wednesday (Thank fuck, it seems like an age since I last got paid) I will be hitting the classes hard. Sod Gyms and their expensive memberships, I am going to start getting into classes and swimming. FitSteps, Zumba, Clubbercise and Aquarobics; I'm trying them all! Healthy eating too, I have started thinking even before I go shopping now what sort of food will be better for me and for my darling Mr. Warehouse. More Veg, more moving and less beige. Before I know it I will be looking better than I ever have before and feel much more happier that I don't have to shop only in the plus size range. Besides, I can't be looking like a blob on the beach with Mr. Warehouse in August can I ... ?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx