Love is friendship that has caught fire

Good Afternoon,  

Snow melted (again) and all but a distant memory from last week, although the lightness of the flurry made it seemingly stick around for longer, making me feel like I lived in Michigan or Canada every time I walked out of the front door to empty the bins. Alas there has been not much further progress with the spare room come office. Whilst I have indeed moved everything around and bought a nice office chair, the funky beanbag for the corner of the room has yet to be sourced, and said Mandela wall art has yet to be hung. To be honest I know how this will work - I will find multiple other things to occupy my weekend and evening time with than finish off said office / spare room and by the time I even think about getting round to it Boris would have said it is time to frequent the office again. Although when that is is another question entirely.

A week from now the country will be sat on tenterhooks as we wait to see which journalist was correct in their PM's predictions and which Newspaper is just full of dog shite like normal. This time next week we should hopefully know a little more about the reopening of the UK and a road-map to get out of this awful mess caused by Coronavirus. The BBC confirms that the death toll is fading fast with just over 250 being recorded yesterday (Sunday 14 February 2021), a drop of 50 or so in the last week. With more than 15 million people in the UK have now had their first dose of a coronavirus vaccine everyone is certainly pushing for the reopening to happen sooner rather than later. Prime Minister Boris Johnson has been aloof in his replies and ever so careful with what he is saying now in the count-down to when the government will set out a "roadmap" for easing restrictions in England on 22 February.

With months of frustration being cooped up in our houses, some with kids and others with snoring partners, you can understand why the public are chomping at the bit to get out and back to normality That being said though, this weekend I felt quite happy with the situation as it is. Celebrating Valentine's day yesterday was simply wonderful. Now I won't lie, it was hard looking back on Valentine's days of yesteryear knowing this one is not the same. Mr. Warehouse and I are not hopping on a train to London for the weekend as we would normally do. We were not, as we were last year, writing in our cards to each other the number of days until we were husband and wife, and I have yet to save that "Hubby" card for yet another year.

But despite the hardship and turmoil, we had fun. The morning was spent sipping coffee and reading our cards as we watched mindless TV and ate Percy Pig Pancakes (But I like to call him Peter Pork Head - sounds more street) from Marks and Spencer (which, like a brat, I was insisting Mr Warehouse buy me - Although annoyingly we forgot the Percy Pig Sauce). The afternoon we donned our wellies and fluffy big coats to walk the puppo's down at a local park and I was pleasantly surprised at the little one's recall ability, albeit with a tennis ball in hand.

That evening, after Mr Warehouse's other love (Arsenal) he made me a beautiful dinner which was incredible, again from the British establishment - Marks and Spencer. On the website First Dates (not from when I was on it I must say) Fred Sirieix serves up a fuss-free and next-level-tasty Dine-In-deal; Because to be fair where else are we going for a meal out other than maybe another room of our own home!? For us, it all started with a Gastropub inspired Runny centre scotch egg served on a bed of rocket. Next up was a rack of lamb smothered in a mustard herb crust served with the most fluffy and crispy triple cooked chips. To end on a super-sweet note, it’s got to be the cookie crumb topped billionaires dessert with chocolate and caramel sauce with caramel and Belgian chocolate ganache! Although by the time we got round to the dessert we were stuffed.

Of course, no Valentine's feast would be complete without a top tipple and chocs so the chocolate love bug choccies and dessert are our little Monday night treat. Speaking of which, I best go an stick dinner in ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

A glimmer of hope for us all?

Heidi Hi,  

Snow is yet again fluttering down again this week, making our lives in lockdown a little less mundane and more interesting than the last nearly eight-weeks (fuck that's depressing). Today I start working from home (again) although this time I have a plan. I have moved the spare room around, I plan to buy a nice office chair, maybe a beanbag for the corner of the room and any guests I have to join me (probably one of the dogs or Mr Warehouse after he gets in). I even invested in a huge Mandela wall art piece so I can make it more boho and relaxing whilst WFH this time around, not that I need to be any more relaxed as the new job is like night and day from my last with so much less stress and the overwhelming intensity has disappeared entirely. Whilst it is different in terms of the work culture and workloads, I am enjoying it and honestly so glad I made the decision to move.

Tomorrow I will start my first full day working from my "new office" and am already so excited to light a new candle - The little things I suppose. But you have to take them where you can get them as the world is still amongst a grip of the COVID-19 Pandemic. As much as I have tried to distance myself from it, socially and otherwise, it is hard not to ignore that the UK has now surpassed over 100,000 deaths from the disease. The BBC confirms that the death toll is fading fast with just over 300 being recorded today (Monday 08 February 2021), a drop of 200 in the space of a fortnight. With more than 12 million people in the UK have now had their first dose of a coronavirus vaccine surely the end is in sight now? That's almost one in four adults in the UK - Incredible!

Prime Minister Boris Johnson has said the government will set out a "roadmap" for easing restrictions in England on 22 February. You can understand why people are chomping at the bit to get outside and back to normality as during the current lockdown the public have been told to stay at home other than for limited purposes such as essential food shopping, medical appointments and work. With schools also closed, I know many a parent who is slowly going insane being driven up the wall by the constant neediness from their children and seemingly never-ending want for snacks. To be fair though, I am not a child and Mr Warehouse nor a parent and yet I display all those traits of nagging offspring.

Here's hoping we can soon join the likes of the Isle of Man. Sky News reported last week that the small island situated between England and Ireland were able to welcome back pupils to schools and businesses could reopen. People will be able to leave their homes but don't get excited for your holidays just yet though as the borders will remain closed to outsiders. And don't think they fuck about either as the article goes onto explain that In December 2020, a man was jailed for breaching COVID-19 regulations after riding a jet ski to the island from Scotland to visit his partner. Ahh, sweet love or utter stupidity?

The island had not seen any "unexplained" community cases of the coronavirus for just under three-weeks and so this meant that islanders could hang up their face-masks and tell social-distancing to do one as many families and friends hugged for the first time since last year. Sky News continues that the current lockdown restrictions have been entirely lifted in the Isle of Man thanks to the "supportive, patriotic" public who have been praised for the way they have followed measures to tackle COVID-19. When being interviewed, Chief Minister Howard Quayle told Sky News "we had no COVID on the Isle of Man from the 15 June 2020 to the 7 January 2021 but sadly, we had some cases on the Isle of Man in which we had to go in quick and fast, shut down our island to enable us to eradicate".

One day. One day this will all be over and all but a blemish on our otherwise normal lives. A fortnight from now we will know a little more I am sure - But for now, we live by our windows, watching the world go by and waiting for the day we can get out and join them.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

No amount of anxiety can change the future

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I book holiday from work I am excitedly anticipating all the fun and frolics I will have on my day off. Maybe I will be getting my hair done, maybe I will have a nice lunch out somewhere and will I get a lay in? However, it was on this occasion I did not feel so merry. The funeral was booked and the date was set for a fortnight from today. 

Originally I was sort of hoping that we could hold out until this whole COVID-19 Coronavirus is over with, making way for a proper and personal funeral service as normal. However on checking with the Co-Op Funeral Care website, at this stage, it’s not clear how long restrictions may be in place and therefore guidance is that funerals should take place rather than be delayed indefinitely, a view which my Auntie-DD and Uncle-Golf have taken. The website continues that it’s highly likely that funerals carried out in this time will not be how you as the family or the person who’s died would originally have wanted the funeral to be. 

In an article about what is different about funerals now, the Co-Op Funeral Care website, explains that under government advice the Catholic Diocese have stopped taking services and are closed until further notice which means that a church service can not take place as Nana would have wanted, although, in lieu of this, a short service at the graveside with a small number of mourners (between 20-30 at the moment) is possible. 
The website also delicately explains that whilst at this time, mourners will not be able to assist with handling, carrying or lowering the coffin, the coffin will be moved using a wheeled bier. In order to comply with social distancing, the Co-Op Funeral Care website explains that for them at least as a Funeral director, they are no longer going to offer the use of limousines and ask you to use your own transport to the funeral. Heartbreakingly I also learnt through the website, that although we would have preferred Nana dressed in her own clothes, Co-Op Funeral Care is unable to do this at this time and instead use a high-quality dressing robe, however, this may be different in our circumstances since my Grandmother was not a victim of COVID-19.  Regardless of the funeral director, for everybody’s safety, most are limiting the number of mourners attending funeral services and that anyone from the higher risk groups (Over 70s, pregnant, immunocompromised) should not attend. Unfortunately for me however, the guest list will include some of my least favourite people. 

I can barely remember the last time I thought about my mother let alone saw her. It has been months since I even heard her being mentioned and years since we met, let alone talked. Now I don't doubt that there are many mother and daughter relationships that have arguments and falling-outs, heck I wouldn't be surprised if some have even completely cut all ties as I have. I am certain to bet on it. However nothing in my head, be me a mother myself or not, cannot see any reasonable explanation for what my own had put me through, both before and after throwing me out onto the streets with nothing but torn bin-bags of belongings and ripped hopes for the future. Pregnancy, Drugs and Drink. No matter what it was I would always try my best as a parent, regardless of anyone or anything else - My children would and will come first. Each. And. Every. Time. 

It seems to me now to be so strange that my mother came from my loving grandmother who turned out five wonderful adults with huge academic and career achievements. My Auntie-DD had bought and owned outright her own house by the time she was my age, give or take a few years. My Uncle-Golf studied hard and graduated university in Scotland. And yet she was the letdown. I can recall the countless number of times I had made breakfast in bed or bought flowers and chocolates as a daughter, a child, only to receive very little if anything back. Detailed back at the beginning of my blog in 2015, I exhumed my past and wrote it all down, aptly entitled "A Mothers Love: Part I" & "A Mothers Love: Part II" showing just how much we never really had a bond. 

In the years that have passed, learning from family, friends and long-standing people who knew of my mother well; they're own tales and interactions are foretelling that her personality was fully enabled of causing havoc, even as far back as childhood. Sadly it seems that the festering dislike for me which lead to me being thrown out at seventeen had to come to a close somehow and in a way, I suppose I am the same as others in my friend groups - For I wouldn't be the person who I am today without her. That doesn't mean to say though that I forgive her for what she has done to me and my fragmented family - It is just now I am older I can appreciate that indifference is far more empowering than hatred or anger.  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Every Man Dies, Yet Not Every Man Really Lives

Evening, 

It came on Saturday evening. Mr Warehouse had spent the day putting up a TV bracket for the living room taking nearly four-hours and now we were sat cosily on our sofa with the dogs, curled up in blankets watching Saturday night telly. I had been quietly contemplating visiting my Scottish Grandmother in Hospital since Friday morning, however, the weekend was nearly halfway through and the last visit I wished I hadn't have gone. 

Walking into the building the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical although stepping into the room my Nanna was in, donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus), she seemed peacefully asleep. Sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. And yet despite all this, I struggled with the fact that she barely said anything. From a woman who struggled to zip it (she was a talkative soul), to now see her coldly silent, it was chilling. 

I said to myself that if she was more animated and talkative on Friday and Saturday then Mr Warehouse and I would visit on Sunday. I didn't want to see her like that again, but if she was talking more then maybe that would make that memory fade more into the background when she had gone. Uncle Golf had said that the nurses and doctors had changed her medication and this had seemed to put a little spring in her step earlier on in the week so it seemed positive. However, on reading that message, I knew I would never get the chance. 

"I am sorry to have to tell you that at 6.15pm this evening Nanna passed away peacefully," the message read. "She will now be with Granda and her family in heaven, looking down and smiling on us all" it continued. My heart broke. I did not cry, but of course, I was very sad. All of those ideas and thoughts I had in my head sitting in her rocking chairs together as we watched some old black and white movie as I cradled my swollen pregnant tummy someday, or maybe how she would cooe over her great-grandchild. The closest I got was her meeting my fur child, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called, even let him lick her face and cuddling him like a baby. 

All of it seemed to pale into insignificance as I chatted away several hours later with my Auntie who had called to check up on me. She explained that both her and Uncle Golf had sat either side of her bed, in that heavens foyer of a room, talking about shoes when all of a sudden Nanna took a long deep breath and sighed. 
"That's a bit of a long pause between breaths," they thought, chatting away. Calling in a nurse, and then a doctor, and then someone else, they confirmed that yes, Nanna had taken her last breath, listening to her beloved children twitter on about shoes. I am sure she would have found it comical. 

And that was that. Nothing more, nothing less, a simple slipping away to heavens gate. But I should be grateful I and others got a chance to see her one last time. I remember how I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. And now she is with him. What the future holds? Not a clue. I feel awkward asking about a funeral as she is barely cold, but with me being the only one running the department for the last couple of days with little help or support and the phones busy, work was one of the things I selflessly thought about. 

As we now enter week number four of lockdown in the UK as we battle the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus and with Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) only recently been released from intensive care in hospital, Downing Street announced late last week that we are still amongst a state of national emergency. Continuing the message to stay at home and save the NHS, Lockdown was being extended. The BBC reports that restrictions in the UK will continue for "at least" another three weeks as it tackles the coronavirus outbreak, concluding that a review of relaxing the measures now would risk harming public health and the economy. The UK recorded death toll is now standing at over 16,000 - The population of places like Cirencesterin Gloucestershire, Penzance in Cornwall or my very own home town.

BBC.co.uk continues that the strict limits on daily life - such as requiring people to stay at home, shutting many businesses and preventing gatherings of more than two people - were introduced on 23 March, as the government tried to limit the spread of coronavirus. What that means for funerals? But looking online there seems to only be guidance from the media and newspapers. Nothing from Government. Reading on Metro.co.uk that weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies are being stopped during the coronavirus lockdown, but funerals will still be going ahead. However, it is unclear that, death from COVID-19 or not, lockdown measures including a ban on social gatherings of more than two people makes it a complicated time to cough it (excuse the pun) and the government still has yet to clarify how many people will be permitted to attend a funeral during this time or if only close and immediate family members are aloud only. Advice from the National Association of Funeral Directors (NAFD), said that whilst they have reached out to the Government to clarify a number of questions, including the maximum number of people that can attend a funeral, the initial advice is to arrange funerals over the phone wherever possible, restrict attendees to immediate close family only as well as respecting social distancing guidelines.

And so as the strange times continue for another few weeks yet, for it will get worse before it gets better, especially where my mother is concerned. But alas, I have to laugh and think about what my Scottish Nanna would say - "At Least that's one RSVP you won't have to chase"

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Death is a Lesson - It Tells Us Not To Waste Time

Afternoon Everyone, 

Several weeks in the UK is still amongst a Lockdown never seen before, even during the ware era, from the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus. With Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) having been taken into intensive care and ICU over the last week, Downing Street is still stating a national emergency and to continue with the hundreds and continues into the thousands it is no wonder the NHS is on its knees struggling. I know this for a fact as I visited a hospital today, not as a fact-finding mission or in an effort to get a front line look at the crisis, but because someone very dear to me is very, very ill. 

A couple of weeks ago now I received a phone call from my Uncle Golf, my Mother's Brother, to let me know that my Scottish Grandmother had taken a turn for the worst and was in the hospital. Being in her eighties, I didn't really think too much of it as she was old and frail. She had been in bed ever since myself and my other Nanny Pumpkin had gone to Krakow back in Early October, and truth be told that things had not really improved since then. Good news, however, was that she had been cleared from the COVID-19 Coronavirus several times and that seemingly it was a case for pneumonia, swelling of the tissue in one or both lungs, usually caused by a bacterial infection. At the end of the breathing tubes in your lungs are clusters of tiny air sacs and if these tiny sacs become inflamed and fill up with fluid, this can lead to pneumonia. 

Every day that went by Uncle Golf would text us all a daily update on how she was getting on and the different phone calls or conversations he had with doctors and nurses looking after her. All seemed well and she was eating and drinking and getting back to normal, even talk of her being discharged. However, this morning as Mr Warehouse sat eating breakfast and contemplating doing something productive with our last day of a four-day bank holiday other than binge-watching Tiger King on Netflix, I got a phone call. It was Uncle Golf. 
"Things aren't looking good and honestly they are not going to get better from here" he began, becoming choked up as he spoke. We continued to talk as he explained that Nana just wasn't getting better and that doctors had said to prepare the family and try to make the rounds in everyone seeing her before curtain call. 

And so as 2pm rolled over on my car clock I met my Auntie, Cousin and Uncle in the hospital car park, walking in together for support. My Auntie looked tearful and tired-red eyes filled with sadness. My Uncle was quiet but strong. My cousin seemed to not really know the severity of it all, however, I am told despite being only sixteen, he knows what is happening and the likely outcome. I was half expecting my Mother to show up, but apparently her spotlight, I mean quality time, was yesterday.

Walking in the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being a bank holiday Monday, although that being said though we are amongst a national Lockdown. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical. Stepping into the sister's office I was donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus). Nana was sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. I began talking and introduced myself as if we had never met. 

Struggling to think of things to say I talked about my baby-pooch, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called. Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always describing them as a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. As she sat there silently and shut-eyed, I recalled the first time she met him, picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

It's funny. I wrote a few months ago in the Summer of last year following a visit about how I thought, as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. And now today, as I sat by her bedside on her way out that I would. Although she looked much, much different now with her soft white curls flat and as lifeless as she seemed. I giggled at the thought of how they would wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years and all the mischief she would get up to. 

Pauses came and went as she tried to say something (I think so anyway). Deciding that she could hear me and even if she couldn't it was better than sitting in silence as I watched my Grandmother slip closer and closer to the Grim Reaper, I continued talking. I talked about Mr Warehouse and how I am still working throughout these crazy times and how in a few months hopefully when this is all blown over Mr Warehouse and the dogs are going to Cornwall on a Pre-Wedding holiday. 
"Remember the time that you came with us as a family on holiday with Mum and Dad when I was little. Really little. And I lost my bunny rabbit. Remember the brown furry one with leather padded paws?" I told her excitedly, hoping it might garner a response. Nothing. 
"Do you remember how upset I was and how I cried the whole journey home to without him. And remember how some nice person posted it back to us?" I continued, again with little to no response. 

Changing the subject I thought might help and so I spoke about my upcoming wedding that ultimately she probably won't make and how wonderful it is going to be with all the decorations and the dress and the church. It got me thinking about the story she told me of her and my Granda. I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 


Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish, maybe now more than ever. I thought about that warm August day last year as she sat in her rocking chair and recalled how the day went as my little fur baby fell asleep curled-up on the jazzy carpet. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

Unfortunately, it was time for me to leave and as I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go now and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. Nevertheless, the prognosis does not look good and the outlook is bleak. How long? Nobody knows, could be hours, could be weeks or it could be months. All we do know is she is being cared for by the best people in the Biz and is comfier that I could ever hope for.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Arbeit Macht Frei (Work Will Set You Free)

Hallo, 

Waking up on our first proper morning in Krakow, Nanny Pumpkin and I hardly had time to loll around. Breakfast at the Hotel Kazimierz was somewhat, different, with the normal continental breakkie items such as cereals, cheeses, hams and fruit, however, I certainly did not expect mini Pepperami, a type of weird pancake omelette thing, undercooked cold scrambled egg and a strange chicken haslet thing your mom used to give you in your packed lunch as a kid. After satisfying myself with trying some new breakfast items, Polish style, we headed out on a private walking tour, just me, my Nanny Pumpkin and a lovely Polish lady who knew lots about the city and its inhabitants, Jewish and not so. 

Starting in the heart of Kraków’s Kazimierz - the former Jewish district we visited some beautiful synagogues and cemeteries before exploring the city further, and how life was before the outbreak of the Second World War. Furthing our understanding of the city, the country it belongs too and some of the awful things its residents had to endure throughout the occupation, we ended up in the ghetto square, only a few streets away from the Schindler factory which we also visited, learning about an incredibly brave man with a passion for helping people. The following day we had an early start and so after a spot of shopping (and falling flat over on my face whilst doing so in a busy square) and Nanna's adventures on another private Golf-Buggy tour, and some dinner, we headed to bed. 

Waking the following morning we were picked up early around the corner from our hotel due to roadworks and taken about 30-45 minutes from Krakow to the Salt Mine. Wandering along the remarkably beautiful undergrounds of the “Wieliczka” Salt Mine. Our journey started at the Danilowicz Shaft, where we met our tour guide, a lovely, handsome young thing called Dominik. He was not so lovely when he made us and the others in our tour walk down 350 steps which have to be descended to reach the depth of 135 meters underground and to initially start the tour. During our tour we were shown magnificent chambers chiselled out in rock salt, and yes I did lick the walls just to be sure! Amazing underground saline lakes, majestic timber constructions and unique statues sculpted in salt were amongst the almost 3 kilometres of meandering corridors and 800 steps, during which we learnt everything about the mine, its history and its secrets. As an active mine however we saw a few workmen who explained about the forces of nature still ruling within the depths of the mine and about the ethos of hard work performed by the generations of miners, still there today. Travelling further and further into the mine chasm my Grandmother and I cursed ourselves for all the walking but yet continued to discover unusual places and with our own eyes witnessed the power of human hands that once excavated rock salt, as well as magnificent mining tools and machines. I suppose that it is no real surprise that till now, the Tourist Route, the main visiting route of the mine has been visited by 44,772,693 tourists from around the whole world in search of adventures (and solid calf muscles). 

We returned to the Hotel Kazimierz around mid-morning and wasting no time Gram's headed out again on another one of her tours. I decided that the amount of walking done already, and with the amount, we would be due to do the following afternoon at Auschwitz and Birkenau - The Nazi Death Camps. And, after a spot of shopping in the morning, Nanny and I headed off to the one thing we had both admittedly been looking forward to and anxiously anticipating all week. I didn't know if anything could have prepared me for the influx of emotions that ran through my heart as I listened carefully to our guide as we explored the camps of Auschwitz first (in glorious sunshine) and Birkenau where the weather turned less than pleasant. As the only death camp on the UNESCO World Heritage List, pure evil resided for 5 long years during Hitler's reign of terror across Europe. As we passed under the gates, emblazoned with "Work will set you free" in German I witnessed a Chinese / Asian couple as part of a larger group begin to take photos, one of which was a selfie. Shocked I was about to say something but someone else beat me to it. 
"No selfies, No smiling, No laughing - This is where people were murdered. Show some respect." Barked the guide. Pleased at this I knew from the outset that she was fucking serious and that no shit would be taken by her. As we were walked around each exhibition in the museum there was added more and more compelling information and heartbreaking statistics. Another one and another one and another one, each stinging in your heart and making you realise what atrocities humans are capable of in their thirst for power and control. 

To assist and help people understand what really happened in the most recognizable place of the Holocaust in the early 1940s, The Museum created a tour that will allow visitors like my Nan and I to see the barracks, crematoria, and gas chambers which Nazis used for the mass extermination of women, men, children, and elderly who weren’t able to do hard labour after what was an excruciating and exhausting journey in cattle wagons and trains. One of the hardest things I think I encountered and certainly won’t miss in a hurry was the exhibitions with personal belongings, objects of everyday use, and pictures of individual prisoners. The thing that really hit hard was the pots, pans, jugs, and kitchenware, all brightly colored, ready to start your new life with your mother, father, brother, sister, grandma, grandad, auntie and uncle. Along with your neighbors and friends, they were lied to. There were no new homes, no new jobs, no new life. All that they met was a Gestapo and the best they could hope for was survival in the deadliest game of Tinder where he stood as the transportation stopped, giving either a thumbs left or a thumbs right, one indicating the workhouse's and hard labor, the other a "shower" to clean up before meeting their husbands, brothers, sisters, mothers again. This would never come. They were murdered. 

Since the war ended and the museum was opened for the public, millions of people have come here to pay tribute and shed tears over the innocents who perished in Auschwitz, most of which were Jewish however many more were also from Poland and a lot more than I originally thought. Traveling the short distance to Birkenau the weather turned poor with the fading daylight and it really added a sense of realness to the atmosphere already darkened. It began to rain as we walked the distance along the tracks to the gates. It was only during the next length of the walk, following the ominous train line that you really got a feel for how mammoth this place was and ponder at what would have been had England and the other allies not stepped in. How far would Hitler and the Third Reich go? Would they have had world domination and if so, would we be here? What would the world look like if they had succeeded in their foul plan of the Aryan race?

Standing listening to the guide intently I heard whispers of being cold or wet (and considering I was in a heavy wool jumper which was getting more and more sodden as I stood out in the elements). I couldn't help but talk loudly to my Grandmother on the walk over to the women's barracks in the torrential rain that these people did not have the luxury of coats or jackets or umbrellas. Heck, these poor people did not even have the use of shoes or socks on their feet as they trudged the harsh, broken brick road. I was angry at people's thoughtless comments - Children, women and men alike, young and old stood out in that same weather, worse in fact with minus-thirty-degree snow and scorching summers to battle with no shade. Standing in the shelter of the women's barracks I couldn't help but look around and was even able to snap a few photos to capture the atmosphere, the pictures, and photos littered with white or silver orbs - Typically thought to be positive spirit activity, although some sources also state that they could also indicate that a spirit or energy is stuck or trapped on a plane that they don't belong on. 

On leaving both the concentration camps and also Krakow and Poland, I believe and stand by the fact that all of us, without exception, should brace up and pay a visit to such a sobering place for the sake of future generations to make sure no one forgets what hatred and totalitarian regime result in. Myself being from a military family I felt it my duty and as though it is a right of passage for me to learn more about how the war started, especially since I learned so much about how it ended and continued in western Europe. As a Human, even if you are not religious or of nationalities involved, I would encourage you to go, be brave, and pay your respects for those that fell for us so we could live forward.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Playing with the big boys

Evening!

So I am sure that you are all very excited to hear the next instalment of my wedding planning journey accompanied with all the trials and tribulations you would expect in planning the biggest day of your life. However following some sad news a few weeks ago regarding one of Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's relatives passing away unexpectedly, my best friend and bridesmaid will be flying home within the next few hours. 

Personally, I was not really close to Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's family member but would have liked to go to the funeral in order to provide some comfort and support her family as they have for me over the last few years. Unfortunately, a combination of meetings that cannot be postponed and lack of annual leave means that I am unable to, however, that does not necessarily mean that I do not feel bad about Mrs Tweedle-Dumb having to return under these circumstances, especially on her own.

Her imminent yet unanticipated visit back to the UK is not only a chance to say goodbye to a much-loved member of her family but also to indulge in some QT with friends to maybe take her mind off other matters, if only for a short while! With this in mind, I have booked ourselves tickets to the biggest wedding show in the UK - The National Wedding Show. With everything a bride and her entourage could every dream of or need to plan the perfect wedding under the beautiful glass-domed roof of Olympia London. Amazing wedding dresses, stunning catwalk shows, expert advice and the chance to meet your potential wedding suppliers face to face I couldn't pass this chance up, especially with free tickets. I will certainly be sure not to forget to take time for a glass of bubbly in The Champagne Bar! 

Amongst some of the vendors and exhibitors at the event, my fellow Brides and I can shop hundreds of the UK’s finest wedding suppliers & bridal brands covering everything from dresses to cakes. With inspiration, help and advice from over 250 wedding specialists, thousands of dresses from all the leading designers and a showstopping catwalk to experience the latest bridal trends with groomswear, accessories, make-up, hair and more it will certainly be a long day, but worth it. 

Who knows maybe I will find the dream dress? The one. The absolute epitome of perfection that screams my name without even me wearing it! After the last visit to try on wedding dresses, I am keen to get a few more visits booked in especially when I have both of my maid-of-honour and chief bridesmaid at my disposal. Whilst finding the perfect wedding dress is essential to my big day, The National Wedding Show may be the best place to start. 

An unrivalled selection of bridal shops and designer labels brought together under one roof means me and the girls can explore hundreds of different designers, styles, colours, lengths, embellishments, accessories and more, all in one place. With something to cater for every taste, every budget and every style, fingers crossed I’ll find the one!  I can try on as many dresses as I like with no appointments necessary and I am sure that many exhibitors will be running exclusive at-show discounts and offers. The stunning catwalk show will also be a great place to hit up and take the weight off and judging from the website will be featuring dresses from David’s Bridal, Lady Bird, Halo and Wren and many more. 

Here's hoping that deep-V Morilee satin gown is in the sale for under my five-hundred quid budget. Although to be fair when I saw it at a wedding fair last weekend and a few weekends ago also the price tag was well over £3,000.00. Even if I am not able to find my dream dress in the next few weeks whilst Mrs Tweedle-Dumb is over then I will have plenty of time to have another look around and check out some sales before I need to get serious about buying my dress, although I suppose I need to wonder where the dreaming and playing in white dresses stops and the buying starts. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Haunted Happenings at Her Majesty's Pleasure

Evening Everyone, 

So if you cast your mind back a few weeks ago to my birthday in Mid-September and my otherworldly gift from my bestie - Miss Tweedle-Dee. With the run-up to Halloween coming quickly I am so excited for Autumn and Spookies to come, so with all of this in mind Miss Tweedle-Dee paid for us to both encounter the paranormal inside one of Britain's Most Haunted prisons - HMP Gloucester. 

At the time, the website describes HMP Gloucester as having "a long and chilling history with many of the executed criminals remain buried in the grounds of the prison with some of the most infamous serial killers have been incarcerated within the walls of Gloucester Prison." Only last weekend during a catch-up at Treat Street - A local sweet treat bar we had a email that would change things slightly. Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were due to start our overnight ghost hunt at HMP Gloucester was already booked and fully paid for including the hotel which was a non-refundable, non-transferable and non-cancel-able date. the problem that we now in counted was the fact that the new owners of HMP Gloucester had decided that bought out the prison and had decided that Haunted Happenings who were the group that were posting the ghost hunting experienced were no longer accepting any sort of Paranormal company or tour of the prison. 

Fortunately though we were able to transfer our trip from one haunted prison it to another and with a few good miles difference between HMP Gloucester and HMP Shepton Mallet we were disappointed to say the least but we were certainly glad that not all was lost and we were able to move our trip and still get our spook on! Having closed as recently as 2013 this formidable prison operated as the oldest prison in England. However, before its closure it was a Category C Lifer Prison incarcerating the most hardened and dangerous of criminals including the notorious Reggie and Ronnie Kray otherwise known as the Kray Twins - The notorious 1950s East End gangsters. The empty corridors and lifeless cells were crying out to be investigated by those who have a fascination for what life must have been like in such a desolate and unforgiving existence, and who were Miss Tweedle-Dee and I to not snatch at such an opportunity. I was even able to sweet talked to the lady at Ibis hotels Gloucester into refunding Miss Tweedle-Dee for the room and instead we easily found a hotel room that could accommodate us within budget. 


Originally built as a House of Correction in 1625 this prison has a terrifying history. Much of what had taken place there was extremely brutal. In the 17th and 18th Centuries the men, women and children who were imprisoned there existed in the most horrific conditions where they were left starving in packed, small pox infested cells. It is said that former inmates lie in unmarked graves throughout the grounds and despite the seven Judicial executions, the full amount is largely unknown. As with most places of large occupation capacity, during the second world war HMP Shepton Mallet was adapted as a military prison and used by the British and the Americans but by the end of 1944 sixteen Americans had been hanged and 2 shot by firing squads for crimes that included rape and murder.

And so with everything all in order, Miss Tweede-Dee and I set off on Saturday morning, my Besitie driving in her new car, down to Shepton Mallet and checked into the hotel and instead made the rather grave mistake or opting to visit a local designer retail outlet rather than sleep. Our experience started at 9pm that night and not wanting to be late and in a timely if anxiously early manner, Miss Tweede-Dee and I decided to leave in plenty of time. An experience that we were sure not forget in a hurry. As we were invited in through the large wooden prison gates with suffering torment and death deeply etched into the very fabric of this imposing prison it felt surreal walking around the modern metal railings and old school brick buildings. HMP Shepton Mallet Prison was home for the night as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were excited, if a little on-edge about seances, vigils and contact-experiments in the most active areas of the imposing location and at 3am all would be well as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will return to the hotel, hopefully not possessed! Arriving into Base Camp for the night, I recalled the website saying how "HMP Shepton Mallet, also known as Cornhill, now lies abandoned, bereft of those who were incarcerated there." 

Our ghost hunt at HMP Shepton Mallet was nothing if intense and as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I started working in small groups we were taken through on a tour of the prison which included the infirmary, morgue and execution room. The next part of our evening, after a quick snackette and a coffee to warm our souls all accompanying a cigarette, we joined in some amazing experiments in our attempts to make contact with whoever or whatever still walked through the prison corridors. These experiments included several Ouija and Ouija-type Boards, Table Tipping, Glass Moving and some intense watch and wait vigils, even getting to use some of the to date paranormal and ghost hunting equipment. Using the most active areas of the prison throughout the night our group entered the morgue and mortuary area of the prison underneath the exercise yard and conducted a seance type vigils in which we got a few responses from beyond the grave. 

Continuing into the early hours, I was excited and really enjoyed using the Ouija Boards to speak with the people from the other side, despite Miss Tweedle-Dee not buying it at all, convinced that someone with their finger on the glass must be moving it. I was wholly convinced though, you could tell with the speed, ease and precision that it takes for the living to move a glass over a smooth board it is not so easy for a spirit and with this can be overwhelming sensation that something was moving the glass other than those we could see around us. We were informed that some of the ghosts that are thought to reside at HMP Shepton Mallet are varied, with links back to the early 17th Century. One of the other groups were able to made contact with a gentleman called Harry who murdered his wife and another group who spoke to a Black American GI called Stephen who was wrongly accused of rape and hung. 

My interactions with the spirits were fairly mundane and existed in the form of a gentleman called Chris or Christopher who likes to play games and mess with us using the Ouija board, however when Miss Tweedle-Dee and I moved over to the glass work in a different wing, I was startled after speaking to what I thought was a gentleman who had been put away for homicide started to take an interest to me in particular out of the four or five people lightly touching the glass. After some gentle coaxing from our guide I asked several questions which tried to Whittle Down my understanding of the person or being I was talking with. From the very simple yes-or-no questions, I nervously started asking the entity about itself and it's attraction to me. I discovered that it was a gentleman who passed away in the 1980s and was aged between 20 and 25 when he passed. I cannot recall whether it was on my mother's side or my father's side that he passed away but I do know that there was nothing at physical that he was attracted to although it was something about my being that was intangible that he took a liking to and in a way related to me, despite us never meeting in person. He had never met me even as a small baby and I would never meet him in person, however for whatever reason we were now in a very awkward scenario of yes and no answers to questions that I wasn't sure I knew what to ask. 

Some of the most scariest moments were in the hidden cells underneath the courtyard where I clearly saw with my very own eyes a sad and lonely white woman figure bend down to pick something up that was sure was one of the women opposite me in the seance circle that had bent down to pick something off the floor, although on further clarification with the group inside the concrete walls I discovered that I was not the only one to have seen the apparition with the origin of which was not from any of us. With the feeling of something in the thick black blackness moving round I suddenly came over nauseous and as though I was going to be sick any moment. Then, out of nowhere the guide asked me if I was OK to which I responded with the honest truth that I felt terribly sick and overwhelmed with the nausea that was now building as I could feel the bile at the back of my throat balling. Our guide informed me and the rest of the group that this was a totally normal feeling when in the company of the paranormal and especially so when he said that there was twinkly pin-pricks of light sprinkling over me, indicating a spirit presence. 

Getting back to the hotel however after what was a very long and exhausting at night of ghost hunting and energy giving, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were glad of the soft and comfy bed to fall into. Revelling in the cosy, warm sheets I heard a confession through the darkness from Miss Tweedle-Dee explaining that whilst she was once a believer she is more sceptical now than she had ever been leading us to one conclusion - Another spooky nights spent somewhere terrifying and maybe this time Mr. Warehouse will join us for a thrill - Asylum anyone?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

The Cloud

Evening Everyone, 

And so as another weekend rolls around, so do the many reasons as to why are flat still looks the same as it did four weeks ago. The thing is when I landlord is in the process of upgrading and potentially remodelling some of the areas of our flat, I am hesitant to start any work of our own until he has fully finished what he would like to do so I can work out exactly what I need and when I need it so we can crack on with our own little DIY projects. 

I feel at the moment as though the flat and housing situation is a bit of a double edge sword. On the one hand I want to make our little home as special and nice as possible whilst we try and desperately save for a house of our own one day, all whilst still feeling the same as I did this time last year when I wrote the blog post about being a misfortuned statistic in "Generation X" whereby many of our parents and grandparents reaped the benefits of having plentiful and affordable housing, a lower cost of living and stable employment with good earning potential. With this in mind, I can fully understand why some adult children are still living at home when they are my age. However that being said I was never given that option. Living by myself since I was seventeen I have always strived for a perfect home that I would be able to host parties in, everything from my tiny little one bedroom single room I rented from an Indian woman back in college, right through to my large and spacious one bedroom ground floor flat with a patio. 

Albeit it is not perfect but it is currently where I call home. Now whilst I feel grateful for what I have, I also partly begrudge spending money on something that will realistically not necessarily improve my situation. I mean, why would I optionally spend money on a property that both is not mine and will not benefit me when I come to move. It's not as though we can take down the wallpaper or strip the paint when we leave and take it with us. I think I know that realistically if Mr. Warehouse and I do up the flat, it may not have to cost the Earth and in all sense of the matter will make me feel a lot better. 

Truth be told is that I have not been feeling myself of late. Gone are the cheery "Hellos" and sunshine smiles only to be replaced with dull colours and a loss of smell and taste. Instead my usually warm and bubbly personality has been replaced with a cloudy view and very little laughter. Honestly it scares me how much I have changed in the last week or so. A part of me wants to talk to everyone about what I'm feeling, shouting it from the rooftops or whispering until the early hours. And yet at the same time I feel as though I would be burdening someone with such a pessimistic outlook on life and want to hide it all away and pretend that everything is OK.

Why am I feeling this way? Truthfully - I don't know. Right now it seems as though there is a lot of things that I don't know. There are potentially a few things in my life at the moment that could be causing me to feel like this. Whilst I am struggling to accept that it was a big deal, my grandfather passing away has probably had more of an effect on me than I first thought. With the passing and the funeral being a good few weeks apart it was almost like living in a weird grey scale limbo-land whereby nothing really changed and all we seem to talk about was funerals, death and family feuds. 

This, coupled with the fact that less than a week later I was attending the wedding of my best friend who, within the next eight-weeks or so, will be leaving for America, and as dramatic as it sounds may never return to back home to the UK again. The worst thing being is that I would not feel guilty at all about leaving those behind and would have been on the first plane out of here, long gone before anyone even had a tear in their eye. And that makes it worse for I know that I should be happy and glad that she has such a wonderful opportunity to create such a fantastic life for her and her new husband out in the world of the hopeful. 

You see depression is a big word not just in size but also in how I feel. Depression makes even the smaller things in life appear so much more prominently in your mind and bigger than in reality they probably are. On it's own I could have probably dealt with my granddad's passing and the funeral. On it's own I could have probably dealt with the beautiful nuptials of my best friend and her emigrating to her new life. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so awful about myself, my weight and how I look. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so desperately trapped and hopeless buy our flat and the lack of resources to make ourselves a better solution. But the problem is that none of these come by themselves. Unlike the last times I have felt cloudy and sad I have always been able to put it down to just one thing. My Dad went to war, my parents divorced, I got kicked out, My boyfriend left me. But what happens when it is not just one box that is ticked but all of the above. 

Am I clinically depressed? I don't know and I suppose until I see a doctor or professional there is no way of medically telling. Do I feel depressed? Yes. All the fun out of normal things I used to find enjoyable or make me happy now it seem like a lot of effort and with very little joy coming from them seem pointless. I certainly know what depression feels like but the question is - Am I there yet? No, but the constant and unnerving feeling of not being wanted or loved by the people who should and just being a general annoyance to people is something I simply can't shake off right now. The thing is that I know it is all a lie that the Demons in my head are telling me, making me question and second guess myself knocking my confidence even further, pushing me further into a downward spiral. 

I know that this is just a phase and that the clouds will soon pass making way for my true self to reappear once more. I just need to immerse myself and really try to bring myself out of this darkness, surrounding myself with good friends laughter and happiness. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx