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 Dentist. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dentist. Show all posts
Monday, 18 January 2016
Monday, 10 August 2015
A Smile Is The Best Fashion Accessory!
Afternoon,
So after last weeks torturous and slightly S&M evening with Mr. Masseuse (No Pain, No Gain! - If you haven't read it you need to .. Its Hilarious!!!) I was glad of a somewhat mundane week at work with an uneventful weekend to follow.
I was not however looking forward to the dentists appointment though. Several weeks ago I had gone for my first check up in over seven-years since I left school, aged sixteen. Terrified as a child after having some surgery and not being given enough drugs to knock me the fuck out I woke half way through the procedure and with eyes flashing wildly to gain the attention of the dental staff I was otherwise paralysed, forced to watch and feel as they drilled and burrowed into my tiny mouth.
Another reason why I was so frightened of the Dentist as a teen was mainly because the appointments always seemed to crop up on a Wednesday or a Thursday - The days I used to finish school early and meet the boys after school for some more "advance classes" and "extra tuition" if you follow my drift. So scared I was of getting caught in the act I would rush home after one of these "sessions" and brush my teeth in a bid to rid my mouth of any evidence. I don't know why. I was like fifteen and thought that the Dentist would peer into my mouth and turn to my mother and say
"I am sorry but it looks like your daughter has been sucking dick. What do you propose we do with this then, Hmm?" Genuinely scared, even as I sat in the scary leany-backy chair that they would look at my pearly whites and see residue of something that shouldn't have been there. It humoured me slightly to think that when I was lying in a similar chair on Saturday Morning.
Preparing myself I had already called the surgery in advance and asked about the procedure and what would happen, what would be done and what I should bring. Of course I knew all the answers myself and in all honesty could have easily saved not only my time and lunch break but also my dignity, especially when I asked if someone could come in and hold my hand. And yes, just to remind you I will be twenty-four in nearly a months time!
Saturday morning I awoke and rolled over to a bemused Mr. Warehouse.
"What exactly is so funny?" I asked croakily through tousled bed hair and blurred vision.
"Today is the day!" Mr. Warehouse chirped and after asking what he was on about a shuddering noise rang through me, knocking out any hope of a cheeky lye-in. It was Mr. Warehouse - Making drilling noises and humming the Jaws theme tune. And as he nonchalantly laughed off his lad-ish "banter" I secretly made a mental note not to place anything in long and hard in my mouth other than a toothbrush before 9am.
Getting up and dressed I bought time by Googling pointless things of interest like Puppies and John Wayne Gacy paintings (If you haven't seen them or even know who he is then I give you permission to seek out your inner sicko and Google this man and his heinous crimes) - Yes I have a fluctuating mindset sometimes. Nevertheless it was soon time to leave but as I made my way out of my flat, followed shortly by Mr. Warehouse I was yet again greeted by the deathly hum's growling form Mr. Warehouse's voice box, of which I was very close to ripping out. He was not very nice to me that day!
Arriving at the surgery, again like the last time I visited it was baking hot and I was thankful for the empty waiting room and friendly receptionist. Unlike last time I came for a check up, whereby I was over forty-minutes early because Mr. Warehouse had rushed me out the door, I only had a few moments to wait before I was called for. And so, up the wooden staircase I ascended, dramatically thinking as I always do that I may never return and I somehow may meet my death in a Sweeney Todd Style Murder a la Dental Practise. But as soon as I walked into the room and was greeted with the same, slightly foreign and overly-made-up dentist I was at ease - slightly!?
As the chair reclined once more I opened my mouth wide and stuck in my headphones with a preplanned playlist consisting of mostly club but certainly all loud songs ranging from guilty pleasure hit "Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue" to the 2003 smash "Milkshake - Kelis" and even a new favourite of mine "Gimme Head - Shystie" which is vocally, erm, interesting, but more importantly would definitely take my mind of Miss Tooth-Decay drilling away in my moush. But as I felt the prickly jab of the needle going into my gums, flooding my mouth with local anaesthetic, I tried to relax. Liking the fact I had already put together a compilation of my favourite tunes for my impending doom at the Dental Surgery. I even got a chance to relax enough to tap my toes to a few beats. I had somewhat even started to enjoy the drilling sensation and started to play silly games like running away from the mini-sucky-thing they use!
But before I had even got a chance to get to some of the better song on my playlist of pleasantness the chair was re-clining back up to an upright position. Taking my headphones off my ear holes I asked if that was it. My kind Dentist friend nodded and went on to say how well I did. "I wonder if I am going to get one of those overly-sized stickers for being such a good girl today?" I thought to myself as I listened to her saying something about flossing more. Woozy from the injections and sudden, unexpected right-angle position I found myself in I exclaimed that I felt like a cat, feeling my swollen face and cheeks, checking that I didn't in fact look like a balloon. Thanking my Dentist and nurse I exited the room and descended the stairs, without the body bag and still very much alive. As I turned into the main staircase there he was, Mr. Warehouse, waiting patiently for me with a concerned yet proud look on his face. I knew he had not been there for the full time I had been in but I appreciated the little white lie he told me, despite not being able to uphold it later on when questioned. I made an appointment for February next year and promised to see them soon. I don't know if I will go in six months for sure, but rest assured I am slightly less scared of the Dentist, although I am not fully cured. I will now be on my way to alleviate any more worry and have a giggle by Googling tooth fetishes and dental depravities. Good Night Mon Frere's!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after last weeks torturous and slightly S&M evening with Mr. Masseuse (No Pain, No Gain! - If you haven't read it you need to .. Its Hilarious!!!) I was glad of a somewhat mundane week at work with an uneventful weekend to follow.
I was not however looking forward to the dentists appointment though. Several weeks ago I had gone for my first check up in over seven-years since I left school, aged sixteen. Terrified as a child after having some surgery and not being given enough drugs to knock me the fuck out I woke half way through the procedure and with eyes flashing wildly to gain the attention of the dental staff I was otherwise paralysed, forced to watch and feel as they drilled and burrowed into my tiny mouth.
Another reason why I was so frightened of the Dentist as a teen was mainly because the appointments always seemed to crop up on a Wednesday or a Thursday - The days I used to finish school early and meet the boys after school for some more "advance classes" and "extra tuition" if you follow my drift. So scared I was of getting caught in the act I would rush home after one of these "sessions" and brush my teeth in a bid to rid my mouth of any evidence. I don't know why. I was like fifteen and thought that the Dentist would peer into my mouth and turn to my mother and say
"I am sorry but it looks like your daughter has been sucking dick. What do you propose we do with this then, Hmm?" Genuinely scared, even as I sat in the scary leany-backy chair that they would look at my pearly whites and see residue of something that shouldn't have been there. It humoured me slightly to think that when I was lying in a similar chair on Saturday Morning.
Preparing myself I had already called the surgery in advance and asked about the procedure and what would happen, what would be done and what I should bring. Of course I knew all the answers myself and in all honesty could have easily saved not only my time and lunch break but also my dignity, especially when I asked if someone could come in and hold my hand. And yes, just to remind you I will be twenty-four in nearly a months time!
Saturday morning I awoke and rolled over to a bemused Mr. Warehouse.
"What exactly is so funny?" I asked croakily through tousled bed hair and blurred vision.
"Today is the day!" Mr. Warehouse chirped and after asking what he was on about a shuddering noise rang through me, knocking out any hope of a cheeky lye-in. It was Mr. Warehouse - Making drilling noises and humming the Jaws theme tune. And as he nonchalantly laughed off his lad-ish "banter" I secretly made a mental note not to place anything in long and hard in my mouth other than a toothbrush before 9am.
Getting up and dressed I bought time by Googling pointless things of interest like Puppies and John Wayne Gacy paintings (If you haven't seen them or even know who he is then I give you permission to seek out your inner sicko and Google this man and his heinous crimes) - Yes I have a fluctuating mindset sometimes. Nevertheless it was soon time to leave but as I made my way out of my flat, followed shortly by Mr. Warehouse I was yet again greeted by the deathly hum's growling form Mr. Warehouse's voice box, of which I was very close to ripping out. He was not very nice to me that day!
Arriving at the surgery, again like the last time I visited it was baking hot and I was thankful for the empty waiting room and friendly receptionist. Unlike last time I came for a check up, whereby I was over forty-minutes early because Mr. Warehouse had rushed me out the door, I only had a few moments to wait before I was called for. And so, up the wooden staircase I ascended, dramatically thinking as I always do that I may never return and I somehow may meet my death in a Sweeney Todd Style Murder a la Dental Practise. But as soon as I walked into the room and was greeted with the same, slightly foreign and overly-made-up dentist I was at ease - slightly!?
As the chair reclined once more I opened my mouth wide and stuck in my headphones with a preplanned playlist consisting of mostly club but certainly all loud songs ranging from guilty pleasure hit "Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue" to the 2003 smash "Milkshake - Kelis" and even a new favourite of mine "Gimme Head - Shystie" which is vocally, erm, interesting, but more importantly would definitely take my mind of Miss Tooth-Decay drilling away in my moush. But as I felt the prickly jab of the needle going into my gums, flooding my mouth with local anaesthetic, I tried to relax. Liking the fact I had already put together a compilation of my favourite tunes for my impending doom at the Dental Surgery. I even got a chance to relax enough to tap my toes to a few beats. I had somewhat even started to enjoy the drilling sensation and started to play silly games like running away from the mini-sucky-thing they use!
But before I had even got a chance to get to some of the better song on my playlist of pleasantness the chair was re-clining back up to an upright position. Taking my headphones off my ear holes I asked if that was it. My kind Dentist friend nodded and went on to say how well I did. "I wonder if I am going to get one of those overly-sized stickers for being such a good girl today?" I thought to myself as I listened to her saying something about flossing more. Woozy from the injections and sudden, unexpected right-angle position I found myself in I exclaimed that I felt like a cat, feeling my swollen face and cheeks, checking that I didn't in fact look like a balloon. Thanking my Dentist and nurse I exited the room and descended the stairs, without the body bag and still very much alive. As I turned into the main staircase there he was, Mr. Warehouse, waiting patiently for me with a concerned yet proud look on his face. I knew he had not been there for the full time I had been in but I appreciated the little white lie he told me, despite not being able to uphold it later on when questioned. I made an appointment for February next year and promised to see them soon. I don't know if I will go in six months for sure, but rest assured I am slightly less scared of the Dentist, although I am not fully cured. I will now be on my way to alleviate any more worry and have a giggle by Googling tooth fetishes and dental depravities. Good Night Mon Frere's!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 13 July 2015
Home Town Glory!
Morning Everybody,
So after last weeks debacle in regards to when would be the right time to move in with someone, Mr. Warehouse or anyone else of romantic intent that is, I decided to have the talk with Mr. Warehouse himself, slightly prompted by a deep meaningful conversation with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a rather odd dream involving a perverted man and some snide comments from my father over dinner. All is well that ends well and I am glad to say that both Mr. Warehouse and myself are on the same page when it comes to our living arrangements and are more than happy with how things are right now! If it ain't broke they say, don't fix it.
Then again speaking of fixing stuff - Remember that long and drawn out saga with British Gas? Well nearly twelve weeks on and I have discovered that I am on the brink of a breakthrough. After much speculation on my £2,000.00 bill and pressure from unscrupulous and supposedly 'helpful' case handlers I have now been fitted (or my flat should I say, Haha) with a new electronic smart meter which I have now left running for a fortnight and tomorrow I shall take my first reading. Hopefully this one will be accepted and I will be able to see the light at the end of my energy-draining tunnel, and who knows, maybe even some compensation!
A right resulting week with what should have been a cracking weekend spent with back home in the blazing sunshine! But after finishing work on Friday and attending a doctors appointment only to find out that I actually have Seasonal Asthma (and yes apparently that is a 'thing') I was not in the best of moods. Tired and hungry I wanted my bed and cuddles the the Boyf. But the medical pa-lavas weren't over yet as Saturday afternoon I stepped outside, Mr. Warehouse in-toe, ready to face ... The Dentist! But as we neared the surgery I could feel my heart racing and pounding to get out of my chest. Squeezing Mr. Warehouse's hands tight I stared up at the tall brick building in front of me. It looked like a house. "It probably was" I thought, optimistic at the thought of a little Georgian family living there with the Nanny and little lap dog. "Yeah, a house of doom!" the other side of my mind said as my imagination played out thunderstorms and lightning cracking above the surgery, raining and with a deathly cold look about it! Suddenly I was snapped out of my daydream and was asked by Mr. Warehouse if I was going in or just viewing form the outside. Reluctantly I took my first steps inside a Dentist surgery since I was sixteen. Haha, a lot has changed since then. I have lost my virginity for one, shaken off the shackles of my overbearing mother and moved into my own little palace in the clouds all with a few broken hearts, tears and laughter along the way not to mention a while tonne of growing up to do. Yes, so much had changed. But the way I felt about the Dentist was not something that had altered. I still hated it. The smell. The noise. The odd tasting water. Nope. I was not a Dental Fetish kinda gal!
After speaking to the receptionist, who to be fair was not anything like out of the Addams Family, I was informed I was more than forty-minutes early for my appointment. With the look to Mr. Warehouse about venturing outside for a look along some shops I was given a stern look back, needless to say that I was staying put. In all fairness I think if I had left it would be doubtful that I would come back. After a relaxing half-hour or so in the waiting room of the homely surgery I was called upstairs. Climbing the wooden, creaking staircase I worried about the people whom had come here before and never made it out alive. I was being silly though. Upon entering the spacious room I was greeted by a lovely lady who sat me down and discussed all my fears before rooting around in my gob. Now I wont lie, it wasn't the worst thing in the world and not as bad as I expected granted but with one cracked, half-tooth on my left upper jaw and a filling to sort out I knew that I would have to come back for some more treatments. Haha! Treatments they call them - As if it some sort of fucking day spa! And in all fairness it bloody should have been at those prices. NHS Service in England is free at the point of use for anyone whom needs it says the government website. But they can fuck that up their fucking arses! A scrap, a poke and £51.20 later I have an appointment booked for the beginning of August and whilst my teeth may not be in bad shape, my purse certainly was! Bugger me this National Health Service malarkey is crap! I pay my taxes, pay my way and earn my money and I still have to pay for my dental bills and prescriptions! Bleeding joke if you ask me?!
On with the day I thought and after visiting my grandfather who yet again was in hospital due to yet more ill health (He usually resides in a very nice £900.00 a week care home back in Luton - Again something that my taxes are being put to good use on!? Hmmm). Rounding off the day though and entering into the evening Mr. Warehouse and I embarked on an evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family and a few close friends which I would class as my second Mommy and Daddy. A home from home you may say. But as the evening rolled on, BBQ blazing, shots being poured and cheese board brought out it was time for Mr. Warehouse and I to catch our last bus home of the night. Making sure we were at the bus stop in plenty of time we waited a further twenty-minutes for yet more of my taxes to arrive. When it did I stated where Mr. Warehouse and I were heading and the driver nodded and allowed us to board. But after a few minutes of our journey beginning we were asked to depart. Why? Because apparently it was the end of the line. As I stopped to enquire as to why we were told that the bus goes all the way to Luton train station, I soon found out that Mr. Warehouse and I were just palmed off and were promptly told to look at the other bus boards for the next one. And with that the doors shut and he drove away. With is being Edi in the local area, I knew we would be hard pushed to get a cab, and especially at gone midnight. But after calling round a few, with limited signal in the area we stood in the middle of my home-town a cab finally pulled up. Taking our chances and knowing how dodgy it was to get into a cab that wasn't pre-booked Mr. Warehouse and I took our chances and hopped in. After reeling from the double figured cab journey price totalling over fifteen of my English pounds we reluctantly paid and were on our way.
Arriving at Luton station I was greeted with yet more good news. As Mr. Warehouse asked why there were numerous coached parked outside the station I noticed from the corner of my eye streams and streams of people evacuating the train and walking along the platform and out of the station to the waiting coaches. Ahh yes. The rail-replacement! How could I have known. So perfect to end this evening on a cunting bus filed to the brim of clubbers and party-goers wearing next to nothing and the majority of them loud. Continuing the party I noticed one of the scantily clad blonde bimbo's was someone I used to car-share with regularly at my last job working in Credit Control. I wondered if I should say hello, but given my mood, and how our relationship was left I think it was best for all parties if I just turned my head and pretended that I never saw that scratchy whining little voice. As the bus pulled off I was duly informed by a very tired Mr. Warehouse that not only was he on the brink of following through on one of his many wet farts of the evening so far, but that he also had major travel sickness and didn't deal well with huge crowds and being sat on an over crowded and cramped coach full of them.
Finally we arrived home at nearly 2am, more than £100.00 light from the weekend and with very, very tired heads. We didn't wake the following morning until gone midday and even then we only really made it out to the shops for provisions and TV snacks. But suffice to say that sometimes I don't need to look far for inspirational writing. Safe to say that it wasn't how I imagined Mr. Warehouse's first experience of my home-town to be, but then again, it wouldn't be home without the mishaps.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So after last weeks debacle in regards to when would be the right time to move in with someone, Mr. Warehouse or anyone else of romantic intent that is, I decided to have the talk with Mr. Warehouse himself, slightly prompted by a deep meaningful conversation with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a rather odd dream involving a perverted man and some snide comments from my father over dinner. All is well that ends well and I am glad to say that both Mr. Warehouse and myself are on the same page when it comes to our living arrangements and are more than happy with how things are right now! If it ain't broke they say, don't fix it.
Then again speaking of fixing stuff - Remember that long and drawn out saga with British Gas? Well nearly twelve weeks on and I have discovered that I am on the brink of a breakthrough. After much speculation on my £2,000.00 bill and pressure from unscrupulous and supposedly 'helpful' case handlers I have now been fitted (or my flat should I say, Haha) with a new electronic smart meter which I have now left running for a fortnight and tomorrow I shall take my first reading. Hopefully this one will be accepted and I will be able to see the light at the end of my energy-draining tunnel, and who knows, maybe even some compensation!
A right resulting week with what should have been a cracking weekend spent with back home in the blazing sunshine! But after finishing work on Friday and attending a doctors appointment only to find out that I actually have Seasonal Asthma (and yes apparently that is a 'thing') I was not in the best of moods. Tired and hungry I wanted my bed and cuddles the the Boyf. But the medical pa-lavas weren't over yet as Saturday afternoon I stepped outside, Mr. Warehouse in-toe, ready to face ... The Dentist! But as we neared the surgery I could feel my heart racing and pounding to get out of my chest. Squeezing Mr. Warehouse's hands tight I stared up at the tall brick building in front of me. It looked like a house. "It probably was" I thought, optimistic at the thought of a little Georgian family living there with the Nanny and little lap dog. "Yeah, a house of doom!" the other side of my mind said as my imagination played out thunderstorms and lightning cracking above the surgery, raining and with a deathly cold look about it! Suddenly I was snapped out of my daydream and was asked by Mr. Warehouse if I was going in or just viewing form the outside. Reluctantly I took my first steps inside a Dentist surgery since I was sixteen. Haha, a lot has changed since then. I have lost my virginity for one, shaken off the shackles of my overbearing mother and moved into my own little palace in the clouds all with a few broken hearts, tears and laughter along the way not to mention a while tonne of growing up to do. Yes, so much had changed. But the way I felt about the Dentist was not something that had altered. I still hated it. The smell. The noise. The odd tasting water. Nope. I was not a Dental Fetish kinda gal!
After speaking to the receptionist, who to be fair was not anything like out of the Addams Family, I was informed I was more than forty-minutes early for my appointment. With the look to Mr. Warehouse about venturing outside for a look along some shops I was given a stern look back, needless to say that I was staying put. In all fairness I think if I had left it would be doubtful that I would come back. After a relaxing half-hour or so in the waiting room of the homely surgery I was called upstairs. Climbing the wooden, creaking staircase I worried about the people whom had come here before and never made it out alive. I was being silly though. Upon entering the spacious room I was greeted by a lovely lady who sat me down and discussed all my fears before rooting around in my gob. Now I wont lie, it wasn't the worst thing in the world and not as bad as I expected granted but with one cracked, half-tooth on my left upper jaw and a filling to sort out I knew that I would have to come back for some more treatments. Haha! Treatments they call them - As if it some sort of fucking day spa! And in all fairness it bloody should have been at those prices. NHS Service in England is free at the point of use for anyone whom needs it says the government website. But they can fuck that up their fucking arses! A scrap, a poke and £51.20 later I have an appointment booked for the beginning of August and whilst my teeth may not be in bad shape, my purse certainly was! Bugger me this National Health Service malarkey is crap! I pay my taxes, pay my way and earn my money and I still have to pay for my dental bills and prescriptions! Bleeding joke if you ask me?!
On with the day I thought and after visiting my grandfather who yet again was in hospital due to yet more ill health (He usually resides in a very nice £900.00 a week care home back in Luton - Again something that my taxes are being put to good use on!? Hmmm). Rounding off the day though and entering into the evening Mr. Warehouse and I embarked on an evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family and a few close friends which I would class as my second Mommy and Daddy. A home from home you may say. But as the evening rolled on, BBQ blazing, shots being poured and cheese board brought out it was time for Mr. Warehouse and I to catch our last bus home of the night. Making sure we were at the bus stop in plenty of time we waited a further twenty-minutes for yet more of my taxes to arrive. When it did I stated where Mr. Warehouse and I were heading and the driver nodded and allowed us to board. But after a few minutes of our journey beginning we were asked to depart. Why? Because apparently it was the end of the line. As I stopped to enquire as to why we were told that the bus goes all the way to Luton train station, I soon found out that Mr. Warehouse and I were just palmed off and were promptly told to look at the other bus boards for the next one. And with that the doors shut and he drove away. With is being Edi in the local area, I knew we would be hard pushed to get a cab, and especially at gone midnight. But after calling round a few, with limited signal in the area we stood in the middle of my home-town a cab finally pulled up. Taking our chances and knowing how dodgy it was to get into a cab that wasn't pre-booked Mr. Warehouse and I took our chances and hopped in. After reeling from the double figured cab journey price totalling over fifteen of my English pounds we reluctantly paid and were on our way.
Arriving at Luton station I was greeted with yet more good news. As Mr. Warehouse asked why there were numerous coached parked outside the station I noticed from the corner of my eye streams and streams of people evacuating the train and walking along the platform and out of the station to the waiting coaches. Ahh yes. The rail-replacement! How could I have known. So perfect to end this evening on a cunting bus filed to the brim of clubbers and party-goers wearing next to nothing and the majority of them loud. Continuing the party I noticed one of the scantily clad blonde bimbo's was someone I used to car-share with regularly at my last job working in Credit Control. I wondered if I should say hello, but given my mood, and how our relationship was left I think it was best for all parties if I just turned my head and pretended that I never saw that scratchy whining little voice. As the bus pulled off I was duly informed by a very tired Mr. Warehouse that not only was he on the brink of following through on one of his many wet farts of the evening so far, but that he also had major travel sickness and didn't deal well with huge crowds and being sat on an over crowded and cramped coach full of them.
Finally we arrived home at nearly 2am, more than £100.00 light from the weekend and with very, very tired heads. We didn't wake the following morning until gone midday and even then we only really made it out to the shops for provisions and TV snacks. But suffice to say that sometimes I don't need to look far for inspirational writing. Safe to say that it wasn't how I imagined Mr. Warehouse's first experience of my home-town to be, but then again, it wouldn't be home without the mishaps.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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