Hello One and All,
So after smacking my head heavy off the corner of the ice-rink entrance last week, I was dazed a little to say the least. Whilst Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard, I was starting to feel the effects of such a crash landing. I had stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything, although sitting down Mr Warehouse stopped laughing and made a comment about how I didn't look well. The truth was that I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right. Reaching up to my head I felt searing hot pain spread across my skull accompanying a huge lump. At the size of an orange, I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason.
I decided that after some painkillers, although truth be told I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday. Snoozing most of Sunday, I knew that things were not good when on day three you still have symptoms. Returning to work on Monday was like a whole other challenge as for the first time all weekend I had to really focus my attention on something important, like my job. Answering the phone, listening and concentrating on the screens all became harder and nausea didn't help. NHS guidelines state that it's totally normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks. Where I was normally on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. As the week progressed I felt better but realistically I should have gone to the hospital. The problem is I do not get paid for being off sick, apart from statutory sick pay from the Government (£70 a week - But when I earn more than £70 a day there isn't much point unless I am dying).
I am glad for the feeling of "normal" to return because Friday was Bestie time! Miss Tweedle-Dee and I headed for a day out, checking into a hotel for a cheeky sleepover and hanging out in the City until nightfall! My dinner date was at The Alchemist on Bevis Mark. Describing itself as a new home for The Alchemist’s unique brand of cocktail bars & restaurants in Aldgate, Bevis Marks naturally attracted curiosity and with a unique location, it was a natural choice - Standing out as a glint of pure gold amidst the charcoal & black suits of the London’s business district. Suffice to say that The Alchemist does its business in a decidedly different way. Walking in the impressive golden bar gave way to a quieter restaurant area and a beautiful outdoor terrace, a perfect place for glorious sun and warm summer nights. However, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had to settle with the fading winter sun to sample a selection of exquisite cocktails and stunning food, all accompanied by a theatrical experience.
Starting our evening early I entered a world of theatre as my "Sailors Punch" Cocktail told its own story. Inspired by the spirits & flavours within, the molecular madness in an augmented reality started when Sailor Jerry Rum, Banana liquor, Pineapple & Coconut Bristol Syrup, and a dash of Citrus all turned up on a weird lined coaster. But using the App I downloaded it turned my drink into a far-flung Desert Islands where Pirates poached and Mermaids Merried. Miss Tweedle-Dee made a great decision - The Banoffee Manhattan! Espresso sloshed with a good helping of Monkey Shoulder Whisky, a few squirts of Monin Banana, tickled with Briottet Banana and brought alive by the dreamy Banoffee Foam!
To. Die. For.
Not feeling hungry I opted for a sharing starter platter consisting of BBQ Wings, Nachos, Pork Bon Bons, Mac ‘N’ Cheese Bites, Halloumi Sticks and Veg Sticks & Houmous. Finishing up before making a dash to our evening entertainment I chose my final cocktail of the night - The Colour Changing One! Grey Goose Vodka twisted with Briottet Apple, splashed with Soda, sparkled with Citrus and a little sprinkle of Magic. had this dry-ice drink changing colours from deep navies into vibrant pinks and mysterious purples. Watching the time we fast-walked to Aldgate Station to meet a man. Sounds creepy by we were actually about to encounter something much, much spookier as we dove into 1888.
A Christmas present to my future Maid Of Honour, the Jack the Ripper walk offered a truly atmospheric route. Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were guided (along with others, that would just be weird) into the old, narrow alleyways where we most certainly felt like we had been transported back to the mean streets of the Victorian East End. Along the tour, our guide, an ex-MI5 police investigator and anti-terror detective accompanied us to the murder sites and locations related to the Jack the Ripper murders. Learning more than just about the murders, I must say after doing so many different versions of the Jack The Ripper tours over my years of fascination, the guide - Who had served not only in the police force but undertaken military exercises including Afghanistan, Belfast and the Falklands - an almost exact background to my father, was incredible. Hosting several investigations into who the Ripper was and having detailed documentaries under his belt diving into the possibilities and struggles the forces had in catching him I was enthralled. By the end of the walk, not only was I exhausted and in need of my bed, but I also wanted to take this guy out for a pint and listen to all his fascinating stories and tales.
By the following morning, I was refreshed after a wonderful sleep in the hotel and after a light breakfast, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I departed, but not before commenting on how we should do something like that again. I mentioned a weekend in Edinburgh - Castles, Instgram-worthy photoshoots and Haunted tours galore. But the long journey and costly expense of it all wasn't something that was within reach at the moment, especially since Miss Tweedle-Dee is only a few months off being a fully-fledged adult like moi and having a mortgage. Maybe we will have to park that on the shelf that requires bigger bank balances along with sleepover's in deranged Liverpool mental asylums and hunting down a UK Horror Convention.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Drinks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Drinks. Show all posts
Monday, 16 March 2020
Monday, 28 October 2019
The Creation of Fear Pong
Evening,
Heading out for supplies I was not confident in the evening's frolics. Ever since I had any remotely valid social life I have wanted a Halloween Party. Something to rival Heidi Klum's or Jonathan Ross's. Something people would talk about for months after and anticipate from the sunshine haven of Summer. As the years pass it would go from mad house-party to a family event the school gates would buzz about from September right through until half term. My family's costumes would be infamous, like Neil Patrick Harris and Co.
Alas though, the first year I have held one, I was a little miffed at the turnout, or so I thought. Having a bit of a dramatic meltdown (who me?!) to my fiance a few nights before, I confided in him that not many people were coming. I knew his brother and his family would come with the kids, I also knew my bestie, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss JoHo ould be in attendance along with Miss Tweedle-Dee's lil' bro and another friend. Miss Hackney would probably make an appearance hopefully and a couple from Mr. Warehouse's side of the family. But none of my work colleagues came, disappointingly, however not completely unexpected.
Nevertheless, I felt much more in the "spirit" of things come that afternoon as we decked out the house in bats, cobwebs, Halloween bunting and more, some of which was all the way from the all hallowed place that is the Doller Tree (or at least I hope so as they look incredible) as Mr. and Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb indulged me for my birthday in sending back some schpoopy gifts that I could use at my party. Despite the distance, Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb would be a part of my first ever Halloween party. Now I know a lot of people go OTT with Halloween party decorations, I can see myself being one of them but this can be verging on tacky however my theory is that if you can't go hard on Halloween then you should go home as it is all about being over the top and ultimately spooky. Obviously with Halloween parties you can take two routes.. The first being the classic creepy, gore and blood route which is great for a festive, clich̩ type event - Something I would love to achieve in a classy event with posho cocktails and dry ice - something glamorous and stylish Рdefinitely more of a treat than a trick.
Seven came and went, although I was anxiously awaiting the first guests. Dressed to impress I answered the door to our first guests, arm in arm with my little Frankenstein, complete with doggy dress up as a bat. Me? I was dressed in red, jet black wig and red veil, along with Mr. Warehouse in a black suit, green hair and purple sunken eyes, we were the Beetlejuice Bride and Groom - Betelgeuse and Lydia! Although this is maybe not one of our best ones, I certainly think it was a good going and certainly something I have wanted to do for a while. I had considered on a theme, say 80's slasher films or Hollywood's golden age, however, I felt as if this would put people off even moreso of a party where they have to dress up and make a bit more of an effort than normal. I mean of course I could do something like this in time, however Halloween is already so diverse, as long as your dead you can make it work but you know that there is always some lazybones that takes this as a way out and barely dress up at all!
Another thing I would have done if I was really hardcore about it and I wasn't using this as an excuse to drink at home would have been spooky food. Catering, I feel, can really make or break a party and give an excuse for people to chat and talk and mingle whilst snacking, especially to break up any awkward silences with the weird guy that has danced over for a chat. Themed food and DIY's are a great way of adding personal touches and a “center-piece cake” is an almost must, especially something like cupcakes as it’s something that can be given to kids and adults alike and is easy to eat whilst on the move around the room. Food dye and shape cutters are a godsend for amateur cooks such as myself and who normally screws their Pinterest creations up.
As the night continued, the drink flowed and I most certainly was not counting the Slimming World Syns in the prosecco, or the gin, or the mini sausages I was stuffing down my throat. The highlight, among the many that were had to be teaching my future niece and nephew play "Fear"-pong, a spooked spin on Beer-Pong whereby my niece and nephew would do the pinging and the ponging bit, and the tag-teamed adult would do the drinking. Basically, the kids made us all bladdered. Yes - Definitely a highlight and probably one of the best ideas Mr. Warehouse had. Suffice to say that as a direct result of said drinking game, myself, Mr Warehouse and my other guests were perfectly pickled and come witching hour, I was gone. As the party wound down and the guests dwindled I found myself in my bathroom, looking after a friend of Miss JoHo's who had his head in the toilet bowl. Next thing I knew, I was pushing him out the way to get to the next biggest vessel for my own bile.
By Midnight I was in bed, tucked up, listening to the rest of them get sorted out and heading to the land of nod too, and all thanks to Miss Tweedle-Dee and Mr Warehouse. I think that despite my reservations, and nearly cancelling at one point, I am glad I didn't, persevering and throwing what will be now known as the Halloween Party of the year!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Heading out for supplies I was not confident in the evening's frolics. Ever since I had any remotely valid social life I have wanted a Halloween Party. Something to rival Heidi Klum's or Jonathan Ross's. Something people would talk about for months after and anticipate from the sunshine haven of Summer. As the years pass it would go from mad house-party to a family event the school gates would buzz about from September right through until half term. My family's costumes would be infamous, like Neil Patrick Harris and Co.
Alas though, the first year I have held one, I was a little miffed at the turnout, or so I thought. Having a bit of a dramatic meltdown (who me?!) to my fiance a few nights before, I confided in him that not many people were coming. I knew his brother and his family would come with the kids, I also knew my bestie, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss JoHo ould be in attendance along with Miss Tweedle-Dee's lil' bro and another friend. Miss Hackney would probably make an appearance hopefully and a couple from Mr. Warehouse's side of the family. But none of my work colleagues came, disappointingly, however not completely unexpected.
Nevertheless, I felt much more in the "spirit" of things come that afternoon as we decked out the house in bats, cobwebs, Halloween bunting and more, some of which was all the way from the all hallowed place that is the Doller Tree (or at least I hope so as they look incredible) as Mr. and Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb indulged me for my birthday in sending back some schpoopy gifts that I could use at my party. Despite the distance, Mrs. Tweedle-Dumb would be a part of my first ever Halloween party. Now I know a lot of people go OTT with Halloween party decorations, I can see myself being one of them but this can be verging on tacky however my theory is that if you can't go hard on Halloween then you should go home as it is all about being over the top and ultimately spooky. Obviously with Halloween parties you can take two routes.. The first being the classic creepy, gore and blood route which is great for a festive, clich̩ type event - Something I would love to achieve in a classy event with posho cocktails and dry ice - something glamorous and stylish Рdefinitely more of a treat than a trick.
Seven came and went, although I was anxiously awaiting the first guests. Dressed to impress I answered the door to our first guests, arm in arm with my little Frankenstein, complete with doggy dress up as a bat. Me? I was dressed in red, jet black wig and red veil, along with Mr. Warehouse in a black suit, green hair and purple sunken eyes, we were the Beetlejuice Bride and Groom - Betelgeuse and Lydia! Although this is maybe not one of our best ones, I certainly think it was a good going and certainly something I have wanted to do for a while. I had considered on a theme, say 80's slasher films or Hollywood's golden age, however, I felt as if this would put people off even moreso of a party where they have to dress up and make a bit more of an effort than normal. I mean of course I could do something like this in time, however Halloween is already so diverse, as long as your dead you can make it work but you know that there is always some lazybones that takes this as a way out and barely dress up at all!
Another thing I would have done if I was really hardcore about it and I wasn't using this as an excuse to drink at home would have been spooky food. Catering, I feel, can really make or break a party and give an excuse for people to chat and talk and mingle whilst snacking, especially to break up any awkward silences with the weird guy that has danced over for a chat. Themed food and DIY's are a great way of adding personal touches and a “center-piece cake” is an almost must, especially something like cupcakes as it’s something that can be given to kids and adults alike and is easy to eat whilst on the move around the room. Food dye and shape cutters are a godsend for amateur cooks such as myself and who normally screws their Pinterest creations up.
As the night continued, the drink flowed and I most certainly was not counting the Slimming World Syns in the prosecco, or the gin, or the mini sausages I was stuffing down my throat. The highlight, among the many that were had to be teaching my future niece and nephew play "Fear"-pong, a spooked spin on Beer-Pong whereby my niece and nephew would do the pinging and the ponging bit, and the tag-teamed adult would do the drinking. Basically, the kids made us all bladdered. Yes - Definitely a highlight and probably one of the best ideas Mr. Warehouse had. Suffice to say that as a direct result of said drinking game, myself, Mr Warehouse and my other guests were perfectly pickled and come witching hour, I was gone. As the party wound down and the guests dwindled I found myself in my bathroom, looking after a friend of Miss JoHo's who had his head in the toilet bowl. Next thing I knew, I was pushing him out the way to get to the next biggest vessel for my own bile.
By Midnight I was in bed, tucked up, listening to the rest of them get sorted out and heading to the land of nod too, and all thanks to Miss Tweedle-Dee and Mr Warehouse. I think that despite my reservations, and nearly cancelling at one point, I am glad I didn't, persevering and throwing what will be now known as the Halloween Party of the year!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 1 April 2019
The Fast and Furious of Adulting
Evening All,
Following last week's final adventures in my little Vivienne, she is awaiting her final journey to Car heaven as is still on my driveway. The 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta, with her five-door hatchback body and a 1.4L engine she certainly was everything I had ever hoped for in my first car. Viv's multi-functional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors I was please that I had experienced my first real taste of the open road in her. But alas all good things must come to an end and this week and I will hopefully be welcoming in a new car to my driveway, other than the swanky black Vauxhall Corsa I have had the pleasure of driving for the last few days.
After a heavy night of drinking, dancing and laughing with Miss Hackney and Miss Sugar-Coat, I was not sure I could even look at a car, let alone drive one. But nevertheless, taking time out on Saturday to have a race day with my fiance, Mr Warehouse, at the Bruntingthorpe track in the Harborough district of Leicestershire was certainly one way to get over a fragile head. The best way though, Im not so sure!? A Christmas present from last year from Mr. Warehouse, he had certainly been listening to me when I was banging on about driving a fast car round a race-track. And so I drove the hired Vauxhall Corsa through the country lanes and even avoided a few horses on the road not to mention the sheep crossing too.
I had a fantastic day driving a Mazda MX5 race car. Complete with full roll cage, race suspension and mechanical backup, this was the perfect car for Bruntingthorpe Airbase circuit and has left me wanting more. And so I booked the Bae and me to experience a Ariel Atom Passenger ride where Mr. Warehouse and I hit the tarmac for a supercharged Ariel Atom. The Atom houses a Jacskson Racing Supercharged Honda i-VTEC engine. Stripped to it's bare essentials, a chassis, wheels, engine, gearbox and suspension gives the Atom a better power to weight ratio than the mighty Bugati Veyron. Experiencing one of the quickest cars with a 0.60 in less than 3 seconds was exciting and a great day out and was sure to get our adrenaline pumping.
And after waiting patiently for the last few days I finally had the call I was expecting from the insurance company. Answering all the relevant security questions I prepared myself for the inevitable conversation of being paid barely enough to pay of my finance deal, let alone buy another car.
"Sorry can I just get you to clarify that again for me?" I asked, desperately trying to process exactly what the call handler has just told me.
"Yes certainly madam. So the car's total value is £8,500.00 give or take. Now obviously we have the insurance excess and a few admin charge that we need to take off before we pay the finance company. Although once the insurance company has paid off the finance deal and taken the relevant fees we will be transferring the remainder £4,200.00 over to yourself. Is this OK?" the call handler explained. I was shocked to say the least! Considering I had already bought and financed the car at quite a high rate of interest I was not expecting a single penny back to me at all. As long as the finance deal was settled in full be it partly an insurance pay-out and partly my asset protection insurance to cover the rest, I considered walking away from the situation washing my hands and starting afresh.
"Hello? Miss? Are you there?" the friendly young gentleman said on the other line. Confirming some further details the the call ended and I expected to receive a email or phone call shortly after explaining that there had been a mistake in the finance settlement.
However, less than a few hours later I received an email confirming exactly what I was told over the phone and that I should be expecting payment within the next forty-eight hours. Still in shock, I thought of didn't really believe it until I saw my bank account the next day which read a full four digits on my screen. Excited I started looking for my new car right away, all in the knowledge that I could receive a phone call any second telling me that I would need to hand my hire car back. This would probably have not been such a big deal had I been living in Bedford town center as before, however as I am now a country bumpkin living out in the sticks of Cranfield I have no choice but to need a car. Although I was certainly not going to be making the same mistake as I did last week when I eagerly called the insurance company so I could get the ball rolling following a message from the estimator's garage.
Mostly over the last few days I have been spent looking online at car dealerships websites for any car that tickles my fancy. Obviously I am not looking for much in my next car however I would like some specifications I have since become accustomed to. Firstly on my shopping list is the price as I would like to keep it under the same value that I am already paying on a monthly basis. Secondly, I need the car to be at least a 1.4 engine as anything smaller would be taking a back step from my previous vehicle. Ideally I would like the car to be newer with less mileage on the clock. If I can continue with a petrol engine then that would be fantastic but it must be a manual, only for the fear that if I was to get an automatic with my lazy brain I would forget how to drive stick. Mod-Cons that I would be looking for may include a heated windscreen to save time in the wintery months, a heated steering wheel for exactly the same reason and even a touch screen navigation system.
However that being said, I think I may have already met my new car. Scrolling online I found a cute little Fiat 500L in red. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needs to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and even have a whizz around town but with just over thirty-thousand miles on it 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
Now I know what your thinking, walking away from this unscathed and essentially up n an investment, why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is and always has been a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new not just the first time buying a car but also the second time too. With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and it's almighty diesel engine I am certainly looking forward to receiving my new car and hopefully having this one for good!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Following last week's final adventures in my little Vivienne, she is awaiting her final journey to Car heaven as is still on my driveway. The 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta, with her five-door hatchback body and a 1.4L engine she certainly was everything I had ever hoped for in my first car. Viv's multi-functional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors I was please that I had experienced my first real taste of the open road in her. But alas all good things must come to an end and this week and I will hopefully be welcoming in a new car to my driveway, other than the swanky black Vauxhall Corsa I have had the pleasure of driving for the last few days.
After a heavy night of drinking, dancing and laughing with Miss Hackney and Miss Sugar-Coat, I was not sure I could even look at a car, let alone drive one. But nevertheless, taking time out on Saturday to have a race day with my fiance, Mr Warehouse, at the Bruntingthorpe track in the Harborough district of Leicestershire was certainly one way to get over a fragile head. The best way though, Im not so sure!? A Christmas present from last year from Mr. Warehouse, he had certainly been listening to me when I was banging on about driving a fast car round a race-track. And so I drove the hired Vauxhall Corsa through the country lanes and even avoided a few horses on the road not to mention the sheep crossing too.
I had a fantastic day driving a Mazda MX5 race car. Complete with full roll cage, race suspension and mechanical backup, this was the perfect car for Bruntingthorpe Airbase circuit and has left me wanting more. And so I booked the Bae and me to experience a Ariel Atom Passenger ride where Mr. Warehouse and I hit the tarmac for a supercharged Ariel Atom. The Atom houses a Jacskson Racing Supercharged Honda i-VTEC engine. Stripped to it's bare essentials, a chassis, wheels, engine, gearbox and suspension gives the Atom a better power to weight ratio than the mighty Bugati Veyron. Experiencing one of the quickest cars with a 0.60 in less than 3 seconds was exciting and a great day out and was sure to get our adrenaline pumping.
And after waiting patiently for the last few days I finally had the call I was expecting from the insurance company. Answering all the relevant security questions I prepared myself for the inevitable conversation of being paid barely enough to pay of my finance deal, let alone buy another car.
"Sorry can I just get you to clarify that again for me?" I asked, desperately trying to process exactly what the call handler has just told me.
"Yes certainly madam. So the car's total value is £8,500.00 give or take. Now obviously we have the insurance excess and a few admin charge that we need to take off before we pay the finance company. Although once the insurance company has paid off the finance deal and taken the relevant fees we will be transferring the remainder £4,200.00 over to yourself. Is this OK?" the call handler explained. I was shocked to say the least! Considering I had already bought and financed the car at quite a high rate of interest I was not expecting a single penny back to me at all. As long as the finance deal was settled in full be it partly an insurance pay-out and partly my asset protection insurance to cover the rest, I considered walking away from the situation washing my hands and starting afresh.
"Hello? Miss? Are you there?" the friendly young gentleman said on the other line. Confirming some further details the the call ended and I expected to receive a email or phone call shortly after explaining that there had been a mistake in the finance settlement.
However, less than a few hours later I received an email confirming exactly what I was told over the phone and that I should be expecting payment within the next forty-eight hours. Still in shock, I thought of didn't really believe it until I saw my bank account the next day which read a full four digits on my screen. Excited I started looking for my new car right away, all in the knowledge that I could receive a phone call any second telling me that I would need to hand my hire car back. This would probably have not been such a big deal had I been living in Bedford town center as before, however as I am now a country bumpkin living out in the sticks of Cranfield I have no choice but to need a car. Although I was certainly not going to be making the same mistake as I did last week when I eagerly called the insurance company so I could get the ball rolling following a message from the estimator's garage.
Mostly over the last few days I have been spent looking online at car dealerships websites for any car that tickles my fancy. Obviously I am not looking for much in my next car however I would like some specifications I have since become accustomed to. Firstly on my shopping list is the price as I would like to keep it under the same value that I am already paying on a monthly basis. Secondly, I need the car to be at least a 1.4 engine as anything smaller would be taking a back step from my previous vehicle. Ideally I would like the car to be newer with less mileage on the clock. If I can continue with a petrol engine then that would be fantastic but it must be a manual, only for the fear that if I was to get an automatic with my lazy brain I would forget how to drive stick. Mod-Cons that I would be looking for may include a heated windscreen to save time in the wintery months, a heated steering wheel for exactly the same reason and even a touch screen navigation system.
However that being said, I think I may have already met my new car. Scrolling online I found a cute little Fiat 500L in red. The 1.3 liter, 5-door multijet needs to be moved closer for me to have a proper look around the car and even have a whizz around town but with just over thirty-thousand miles on it 2013 plate clock, it was certainly a steal at £140 per month on a Hire Purchase finance deal.
Now I know what your thinking, walking away from this unscathed and essentially up n an investment, why didn't I consider a brand spanking new motor? The fact is that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt which is and always has been a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new not just the first time buying a car but also the second time too. With no noticeable damage or scratches to the paintwork and it's almighty diesel engine I am certainly looking forward to receiving my new car and hopefully having this one for good!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 18 March 2019
Beware - The Stagsden Hag!
Evening All,
Standing in the freezing cold and blustery wind that I thought was going to take me off like Mary Poppins, my frustration and anger was growing minute by minute that we sat in the car park of our future wedding venue, Stagsden Village Hall. For weeks I had been trying to arrange an appointment whereby I could view the building again with a fresh pair of eyes and alongside my fiance Mr Warehouse after we had booked it for our special day. Finally, after some communication issues, I was told that the original lady though we had met on site the first time that we viewed The Village Hall that she has now moved on and how work commitments meant she could not dedicate enough time to the running and upkeep of the village hall and its users.
With this in mind, I had been put in touch with another lady who assured me that she would be here. The difference was that we were not alone and accompanied also by a potential caterer who had met us on site in order to see the facilities that he would be working with in order to give us some scope for a menu.
"This was getting ridiculous" I raged to Mr. Warehouse and the caterer as the wind howled and I stormed around the property. It was now nearly half an hour later than planned and after getting up at the crack of dawn in order to make it for my 9:30am appointment, I was seriously vexed at being seemingly stood up. All things considered, the delay would not have been a huge problem had I been alone and had not consumed 4 bottles of wine the previous evening along with Miss Hackney who had come round for gossip and to offload on the week she had.
Fragile to say the least I had been up until about midnight drinking only to then get up early the next morning in order to drive Mr Warehouse to work at approximately 5:30am. So yes, I am sure that my patience was quite thin anyway and my temper was wearing by each minute that slipped by.
"I could have been in bed asleep, or binge-watching craft and life hacks on YouTube, or maybe even hitting the road for a morning run?!" I fumed to my entourage. So many more things that I could be doing better than standing around waiting for someone to turn up if at all. I was constantly calling the numbers that I had for the village hall which were only one or two. When no one answered I decided to email an urgent request to the contacts I had, and again to no avail.
Just as we had discussed with the caterer that there was to become a time where none of us could wait around all day, a large red people carrier came bungling into the gravel car park and out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties and a gentleman about ten-years-older. She asked for my name and said that she was here to set up for a party the following day. I jokingly said with a little bit of annoyance in my voice that I hoped she had a number and had prearranged an appointment since no one had actually turned up for ours. The lady and gentleman explained that they had booked the whole the following day for a party and that they were there today to set up in preparation and to collect the keys.
It was at this point that I started to get angrier and started to wonder if something sinister had happened. Just as the caterer had come to say he was unable to stay any longer a silver sports car come whizzing into the gravel car park, nearly missing some of us standing around and pulled up to a halt outside the front door. Out popped a chirpy retiree who had mentioned "good morning". Barely being able to hold back after waiting around for nearly an hour I marched over and asked what had happened which made her late for our appointment. She scowled back at me the caterer and Mr Warehouse and proceeded to explain that our meeting was at 10:30am and she was not late.
Taking a deep breath and mustering all I could by not wanting to smack a bitch in the face, I allowed her to open up the village hall as I explained that I was not the 10:30am appointment and that this was the poor woman and her gentleman friend behind me that had arrived on time to set up the venue.
"Oh yes well there must have been a mistake and I do apologise but it is of course run by volunteers don't you know" was her response, to which I could handle no more. I made the gestures that we should probably rearrange a better and more suitable time that would be convenient for both of us since there was already someone setting up the hall to which the retired old hag just ushered us in and said to look around. I didn't feel comfortable and explained that the lady and gentleman in the car park had hired the hall and were clearly setting up for an event that they did not need anyone wondering around taking photos or getting in the way when they have hired and paid good money. On hearing this, however, the lady who was setting up the hall with her friend was quite sweet and had said they did not mind us walking around and taking photos if necessary as it was clear there had been a major misunderstanding. So nice!
Accepting I walked off with my caterer in toe, dashing for the kitchen, Mr Warehouse following and maybe throwing a tut or sigh about the place as he went. However last Stagsden Village Hall is large in comparison to its other contenders we had on the list, it was no stately home and on many occasion, I kept bumping into either the lady and her gentleman friend setting up or the old bag herself. At some point, a group of two or three workmen came in to assess the state of the foyer to lay down some new flooring and then a few moments later another elderly gentleman joined the "Stagsden Hag", tinkering about with the Gas and Electric metres in the middle of the corridor.
Frustrated beyond belief I think the woman figured that I wasn't best pleased that her and tried to stay out of my way. When it came time to leave I asked her for her mobile number so that this incident would not happen again. Yet again she ran off the bullshit spiel that this is "run by volunteers and there must have been a mistake", that was until I pulled up the email which clearly stated the date and time of which our appointment was. Now I acknowledge that as a side note I was probably a little ratty that day. A combination of very little sleep, lack of food and my bloodstream being made up of at least 30% Rose I was in a foul mood. Add in the fact that it was incredibly windy and very cold as well, all whilst I was on time (which anyone who knows me knows this is a rarity in itself) and someone else was late. I suppose in a way that I have blown this a little out of proportion but the way I see it is that I am sure I will laugh about this in years to come however at the moment I am still narked. Mr Warehouse and I left there Saturday morning, hoping against all hopes, that the "Stagsden Hag" would not be the one handing over our keys the day before our wedding next year.
Standing in the freezing cold and blustery wind that I thought was going to take me off like Mary Poppins, my frustration and anger was growing minute by minute that we sat in the car park of our future wedding venue, Stagsden Village Hall. For weeks I had been trying to arrange an appointment whereby I could view the building again with a fresh pair of eyes and alongside my fiance Mr Warehouse after we had booked it for our special day. Finally, after some communication issues, I was told that the original lady though we had met on site the first time that we viewed The Village Hall that she has now moved on and how work commitments meant she could not dedicate enough time to the running and upkeep of the village hall and its users.
With this in mind, I had been put in touch with another lady who assured me that she would be here. The difference was that we were not alone and accompanied also by a potential caterer who had met us on site in order to see the facilities that he would be working with in order to give us some scope for a menu.
"This was getting ridiculous" I raged to Mr. Warehouse and the caterer as the wind howled and I stormed around the property. It was now nearly half an hour later than planned and after getting up at the crack of dawn in order to make it for my 9:30am appointment, I was seriously vexed at being seemingly stood up. All things considered, the delay would not have been a huge problem had I been alone and had not consumed 4 bottles of wine the previous evening along with Miss Hackney who had come round for gossip and to offload on the week she had.
Fragile to say the least I had been up until about midnight drinking only to then get up early the next morning in order to drive Mr Warehouse to work at approximately 5:30am. So yes, I am sure that my patience was quite thin anyway and my temper was wearing by each minute that slipped by.
"I could have been in bed asleep, or binge-watching craft and life hacks on YouTube, or maybe even hitting the road for a morning run?!" I fumed to my entourage. So many more things that I could be doing better than standing around waiting for someone to turn up if at all. I was constantly calling the numbers that I had for the village hall which were only one or two. When no one answered I decided to email an urgent request to the contacts I had, and again to no avail.
Just as we had discussed with the caterer that there was to become a time where none of us could wait around all day, a large red people carrier came bungling into the gravel car park and out stepped a woman in her mid-thirties and a gentleman about ten-years-older. She asked for my name and said that she was here to set up for a party the following day. I jokingly said with a little bit of annoyance in my voice that I hoped she had a number and had prearranged an appointment since no one had actually turned up for ours. The lady and gentleman explained that they had booked the whole the following day for a party and that they were there today to set up in preparation and to collect the keys.
It was at this point that I started to get angrier and started to wonder if something sinister had happened. Just as the caterer had come to say he was unable to stay any longer a silver sports car come whizzing into the gravel car park, nearly missing some of us standing around and pulled up to a halt outside the front door. Out popped a chirpy retiree who had mentioned "good morning". Barely being able to hold back after waiting around for nearly an hour I marched over and asked what had happened which made her late for our appointment. She scowled back at me the caterer and Mr Warehouse and proceeded to explain that our meeting was at 10:30am and she was not late.
Taking a deep breath and mustering all I could by not wanting to smack a bitch in the face, I allowed her to open up the village hall as I explained that I was not the 10:30am appointment and that this was the poor woman and her gentleman friend behind me that had arrived on time to set up the venue.
"Oh yes well there must have been a mistake and I do apologise but it is of course run by volunteers don't you know" was her response, to which I could handle no more. I made the gestures that we should probably rearrange a better and more suitable time that would be convenient for both of us since there was already someone setting up the hall to which the retired old hag just ushered us in and said to look around. I didn't feel comfortable and explained that the lady and gentleman in the car park had hired the hall and were clearly setting up for an event that they did not need anyone wondering around taking photos or getting in the way when they have hired and paid good money. On hearing this, however, the lady who was setting up the hall with her friend was quite sweet and had said they did not mind us walking around and taking photos if necessary as it was clear there had been a major misunderstanding. So nice!
Accepting I walked off with my caterer in toe, dashing for the kitchen, Mr Warehouse following and maybe throwing a tut or sigh about the place as he went. However last Stagsden Village Hall is large in comparison to its other contenders we had on the list, it was no stately home and on many occasion, I kept bumping into either the lady and her gentleman friend setting up or the old bag herself. At some point, a group of two or three workmen came in to assess the state of the foyer to lay down some new flooring and then a few moments later another elderly gentleman joined the "Stagsden Hag", tinkering about with the Gas and Electric metres in the middle of the corridor.
Frustrated beyond belief I think the woman figured that I wasn't best pleased that her and tried to stay out of my way. When it came time to leave I asked her for her mobile number so that this incident would not happen again. Yet again she ran off the bullshit spiel that this is "run by volunteers and there must have been a mistake", that was until I pulled up the email which clearly stated the date and time of which our appointment was. Now I acknowledge that as a side note I was probably a little ratty that day. A combination of very little sleep, lack of food and my bloodstream being made up of at least 30% Rose I was in a foul mood. Add in the fact that it was incredibly windy and very cold as well, all whilst I was on time (which anyone who knows me knows this is a rarity in itself) and someone else was late. I suppose in a way that I have blown this a little out of proportion but the way I see it is that I am sure I will laugh about this in years to come however at the moment I am still narked. Mr Warehouse and I left there Saturday morning, hoping against all hopes, that the "Stagsden Hag" would not be the one handing over our keys the day before our wedding next year.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 7 May 2018
The Missing Minutes!
Heyy,
After what felt like the longest week for quite some time (and to be fair it was since I had taken a day off making the last few weeks a four-day week) I was more than happy that it was a bank holiday weekend and with an extra day to spend trying to do up our small flat. Last weekend I spoke of finishing work early on Friday and went to collect some house things before heading to Basingstoke for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Wedding. Following a long search for a property on budget as well as allowing dog's, Mr Warehouse and I had looked and viewed a few properties in the last few months that ticked all of the boxes. The only problem that we seem to come up against was the fact that the majority of these properties were very run down or poorly kept meaning we would have to put in a lot of work to a home that was not ours, something that at the end of the day we could quite easily do in the place that we have here. So we thought why not!? OK so our flat is small in comparison to the two-bedroom house with Garden and parking I wanted but I would say that our flat is still on the large side. And so after having several meltdowns over the last few weeks about where Mr Warehouse and I live, a combination brought about by the safety and security of the property (or the lack thereof), not to mention what seems like a complete lack of empathy or activity at all from the landlord.
But before any painting wallpapering or decorating could get underway I had been booked in for a night out with some old work pal's, you remember them - Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat. The night started well as the three of us had planned to go for a cheeky Nando's with our other halves before heading into the infamous Bedford town centre for a good old fashioned knees up. I would never have thought that the night would have ended in as tragically as it did. With Nando's fully booked and with a queue out the door Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and I thought that it might be a good idea to go to another restaurant a couple of doors down. A Turkish restaurant called Nazar was somewhere that we had presented before and to be fair had quite nice food. As we sat down and ordered drinks I thought about how this was the first time Mr Warehouse and I had been out for a meal in quite some time after trying to save for a house. Nevertheless the company was enjoyable to say the least with Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and a friend of Miss Sugarcoat's in place of her girlfriend. Miss Hackney had recently split from her most recent fuck-boy and Miss Sugarcoat and I were hoping that her friend might provide Miss Hackney some "comfort".
With our meal taking slightly longer than anticipated due to the fact they forgot about Mr Warehouse's order, we headed to one of the many bars along Bedford main High Street for a drink with Mr Warehouse before he departed to go home. Unfortunately my dearest boyfriend was working from 6am the following morning so was probably best if he didn't have a late one. After a couple of cider's outside in the newly refurbished beer garden of the pub he left us to our night. And I can only assume that it was from this point onwards that it all went downhill. With Miss Sugarcoat buying us or a round of Jagerbombs I struggled to keep it down. Luckily I had a Chaser drink of the half bottle of wine that Miss Hackney and I were sharing. And that continues throughout the night, nothing more, nothing less just wine and I think maybe the odd glass of Prosecco. Unlike normal I was certainly not drinking any shots spirits or even cocktails. Just Wine. How I was so wasted on such a small amount I will never know. I remember everything up until the point of which I left the club. I remember everything from the previous two bars and pubs we had been into and even remember having to pay to get into the club and being in there. I clearly remember at one point and for some unknown reason that I still don't quite understand I just thought I want or need to go home and with that picked up my bag and left not even saying goodbye to Miss Hackney or Miss Sugarcoat.
I remember walking through the fellow clubbers. I remember vaguely walking down the stairs and seemingly out of the venue. I do not remember how but some way I ended up at the taxi rank, across the road and down the road a bit on the corner. Hazily I remember standing and waiting for a cab outside the rank. I think I remember getting in a cab and sitting in the back passenger seat. After that I don't remember anything at all even to this moment now. Normally, as most of you know who read along regularly and from some of my earlier party animal days, that I remember everything from a night out. Every gorey detail. Every alcoholic drink. Every dude that I used to get hit on or hit up on. Every. Little. Thing.
Its not clear but I faintly remember feeling sick and knowing if I threw up in the cab that it would cost me dearly with a fine for the clean-up, and so weighing up the options in my drunken stupor I thought that being violently sick in my Ted Baker clutch would be the best option. Unfortunately I failed to take into account that my Vape, my power bank and cables not to mention a lipstick and other items were also being housed in the safety of my designer handbag. And with the decision being made in my head I made my choice to be sick inside the one vessel that would not charge me £50 for a clean up fee AKA my Ted Baker clutch.
The only saying that is fully clear in my head is that I woke up at about 11:30am when I heard Mr Warehouse calling my name. I think at first I was woken up by his motorcycle coming back home from his shift although that may well have been a dream. He was so angry and immediately started flying off the handle about how drunk I was and what estate I came home. Apparently Mr Warehouse had been trying to call me all morning, ringing more than sixteen times. I think in all fairness he was probably angry out of the fear for when he left for work (with only two-hours sleep) he was terrified of that we would come home to meet dead after choking on my own vomit. Luckily that was not the case however I felt awful for making him so angry. To be fair I don't think I have ever seen him so angry with me. I was devastated and yet confused by the fact that I found myself naked and in my bed but did not look or how I got home.
Even to this moment a trying to terrifies me that I do not know exactly how I got back into my bed that night. All I can be thankful for is Mr Warehouse living with me as I am not sure what state or even if I would have gotten home safely. From the account that my wonderful boyfriend has given, I stumbled through the door at about 2am and made probably as much racket as I possibly could. By this point I had apparently already thrown up outside on the steps leading up to our flat as well as all down our French patio doors as well as the handle. I had as usual come in and gone straight to the bathroom sat on the toilet and throwing up all over myself in a last ditch attempt to aim for the bath. I can only assume that it was at this point that Mr Warehouse was roused from his slumber by my sickening wretches and came to save me, undressing me and putting me to bed safely.
Whilst there has been some serious cleaning and even a moving round of some furniture in order to accommodate hopefully under open plan living situation in our front room, there has been very little if any decorating at all done. I can assure you though that I have most definitely learnt my lesson. I have thought about the missing minutes and hours potentially I have had over this weekend and would even consider the possibility that I may well have been spiked. I suppose that there is always the possibility. Not entirely sure as to why someone would want to spike my drink in particular or maybe they thought that it was Miss Hackney's. Either way something was telling me to just go home and maybe this was my subconscious kicking into action and overhauling my drunken mind. Whatever happened I am most certainly going to be more careful when I am out drinking next time, should there even be a next time since I am still in the dog house!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
After what felt like the longest week for quite some time (and to be fair it was since I had taken a day off making the last few weeks a four-day week) I was more than happy that it was a bank holiday weekend and with an extra day to spend trying to do up our small flat. Last weekend I spoke of finishing work early on Friday and went to collect some house things before heading to Basingstoke for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Wedding. Following a long search for a property on budget as well as allowing dog's, Mr Warehouse and I had looked and viewed a few properties in the last few months that ticked all of the boxes. The only problem that we seem to come up against was the fact that the majority of these properties were very run down or poorly kept meaning we would have to put in a lot of work to a home that was not ours, something that at the end of the day we could quite easily do in the place that we have here. So we thought why not!? OK so our flat is small in comparison to the two-bedroom house with Garden and parking I wanted but I would say that our flat is still on the large side. And so after having several meltdowns over the last few weeks about where Mr Warehouse and I live, a combination brought about by the safety and security of the property (or the lack thereof), not to mention what seems like a complete lack of empathy or activity at all from the landlord.
But before any painting wallpapering or decorating could get underway I had been booked in for a night out with some old work pal's, you remember them - Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat. The night started well as the three of us had planned to go for a cheeky Nando's with our other halves before heading into the infamous Bedford town centre for a good old fashioned knees up. I would never have thought that the night would have ended in as tragically as it did. With Nando's fully booked and with a queue out the door Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and I thought that it might be a good idea to go to another restaurant a couple of doors down. A Turkish restaurant called Nazar was somewhere that we had presented before and to be fair had quite nice food. As we sat down and ordered drinks I thought about how this was the first time Mr Warehouse and I had been out for a meal in quite some time after trying to save for a house. Nevertheless the company was enjoyable to say the least with Miss Hackney, Miss Sugarcoat and a friend of Miss Sugarcoat's in place of her girlfriend. Miss Hackney had recently split from her most recent fuck-boy and Miss Sugarcoat and I were hoping that her friend might provide Miss Hackney some "comfort".
With our meal taking slightly longer than anticipated due to the fact they forgot about Mr Warehouse's order, we headed to one of the many bars along Bedford main High Street for a drink with Mr Warehouse before he departed to go home. Unfortunately my dearest boyfriend was working from 6am the following morning so was probably best if he didn't have a late one. After a couple of cider's outside in the newly refurbished beer garden of the pub he left us to our night. And I can only assume that it was from this point onwards that it all went downhill. With Miss Sugarcoat buying us or a round of Jagerbombs I struggled to keep it down. Luckily I had a Chaser drink of the half bottle of wine that Miss Hackney and I were sharing. And that continues throughout the night, nothing more, nothing less just wine and I think maybe the odd glass of Prosecco. Unlike normal I was certainly not drinking any shots spirits or even cocktails. Just Wine. How I was so wasted on such a small amount I will never know. I remember everything up until the point of which I left the club. I remember everything from the previous two bars and pubs we had been into and even remember having to pay to get into the club and being in there. I clearly remember at one point and for some unknown reason that I still don't quite understand I just thought I want or need to go home and with that picked up my bag and left not even saying goodbye to Miss Hackney or Miss Sugarcoat.
I remember walking through the fellow clubbers. I remember vaguely walking down the stairs and seemingly out of the venue. I do not remember how but some way I ended up at the taxi rank, across the road and down the road a bit on the corner. Hazily I remember standing and waiting for a cab outside the rank. I think I remember getting in a cab and sitting in the back passenger seat. After that I don't remember anything at all even to this moment now. Normally, as most of you know who read along regularly and from some of my earlier party animal days, that I remember everything from a night out. Every gorey detail. Every alcoholic drink. Every dude that I used to get hit on or hit up on. Every. Little. Thing.
Its not clear but I faintly remember feeling sick and knowing if I threw up in the cab that it would cost me dearly with a fine for the clean-up, and so weighing up the options in my drunken stupor I thought that being violently sick in my Ted Baker clutch would be the best option. Unfortunately I failed to take into account that my Vape, my power bank and cables not to mention a lipstick and other items were also being housed in the safety of my designer handbag. And with the decision being made in my head I made my choice to be sick inside the one vessel that would not charge me £50 for a clean up fee AKA my Ted Baker clutch.
The only saying that is fully clear in my head is that I woke up at about 11:30am when I heard Mr Warehouse calling my name. I think at first I was woken up by his motorcycle coming back home from his shift although that may well have been a dream. He was so angry and immediately started flying off the handle about how drunk I was and what estate I came home. Apparently Mr Warehouse had been trying to call me all morning, ringing more than sixteen times. I think in all fairness he was probably angry out of the fear for when he left for work (with only two-hours sleep) he was terrified of that we would come home to meet dead after choking on my own vomit. Luckily that was not the case however I felt awful for making him so angry. To be fair I don't think I have ever seen him so angry with me. I was devastated and yet confused by the fact that I found myself naked and in my bed but did not look or how I got home.
Even to this moment a trying to terrifies me that I do not know exactly how I got back into my bed that night. All I can be thankful for is Mr Warehouse living with me as I am not sure what state or even if I would have gotten home safely. From the account that my wonderful boyfriend has given, I stumbled through the door at about 2am and made probably as much racket as I possibly could. By this point I had apparently already thrown up outside on the steps leading up to our flat as well as all down our French patio doors as well as the handle. I had as usual come in and gone straight to the bathroom sat on the toilet and throwing up all over myself in a last ditch attempt to aim for the bath. I can only assume that it was at this point that Mr Warehouse was roused from his slumber by my sickening wretches and came to save me, undressing me and putting me to bed safely.
Whilst there has been some serious cleaning and even a moving round of some furniture in order to accommodate hopefully under open plan living situation in our front room, there has been very little if any decorating at all done. I can assure you though that I have most definitely learnt my lesson. I have thought about the missing minutes and hours potentially I have had over this weekend and would even consider the possibility that I may well have been spiked. I suppose that there is always the possibility. Not entirely sure as to why someone would want to spike my drink in particular or maybe they thought that it was Miss Hackney's. Either way something was telling me to just go home and maybe this was my subconscious kicking into action and overhauling my drunken mind. Whatever happened I am most certainly going to be more careful when I am out drinking next time, should there even be a next time since I am still in the dog house!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 5 February 2018
Greener Grass and Flecks of Gold
Evening All,
Only a week after payday I really wondered how I was so poor. I did not have to look far though as my bank balance for our new house fund was slowly growing. Soon I hoped that I would see that little comma appear proving that I was doing the right thing by saving all my pennies but I never knew how stressful and broke it would make me feel knowing I have money but it is tied up and away. Now don't get me wrong I knew that this would not be an easy journey, saving every scrap of money that both me and Mr Warehouse have between us was certainly going to be a struggle especially when I am giving up on my summer holiday this year with Mr. Warehouse, something that makes me deeply sad and frustrated for this was going to be the year that we were going to have a blowout holiday were by the head off somewhere hot by the beach relaxing for a week or two.
Anyway enough with the same old same old, and back to the good old good old. That's right, after far far too long apart, me, Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat along with her latest Beau met in a local eatery for some Mexican food and what I hoped would be a change to the normal schedule of shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots! It had been a long time since I saw them and it felt like I was going back to something familiar. I enjoy their company separately with Miss Hackney's laughter and down to earth approach mixed in with some gritty tales of the dating game (some more horrific and hilarious than mine I might add) and Miss Sugarcoat's intellectual conversation and ideas on life along with the added spice of strong controversial opinions (some of which I back entirely and some I try to hide from and pretend she is not with me), yet together we seem to create so much noise that it is sometimes hard to hear myself think.
Harping back to the good old times in which we used to fart around in the office not doing much work or course, we reminisced well into the evening and chatted about life as we know it now with our new relationships, friendships and jobs. I had so much to tell them as they had for me although I felt that we were all talking over each other and that the noisy restaurant did not help. Both Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat seemed to have developed and carved out good careers for themselves, expanding on their talents and skills in order to obtain well paying jobs. This left me slightly questioning if I ever made the right decision moving, even though I knew in my heart that's a good decision was made. OK so I am not earning £35,000 working for a plumbing and heating company and I am also not spending my evenings and weekends attending events that I am hosting in aid of cosmetic beauty. Am I happy I jumped ship? Yes certainly and with everything that has happened in the last year and a half I think I have a fairly good deal where I am at the moment especially given the pay, ever-growing relationships both in and outside of the office as well as the fact that I now have a similar relationship with my engineers as I had before with my old ones.
As the shots kept coming I knew that my hopes of a quiet and sophisticated chat over dinner would not be the case this evening. Maybe another night I thought. Maybe a quiet evening in with a bottle or two and a comfy sofa to put the world to rights would be just what we all needed to calm down a bit for the atmosphere of a busy restaurant on a Friday night and then a loud pub with DJ were probably not the ideal places to share stories from the last eighteen months or so since I left. This was not to say that I was not enjoying myself knocking back shots of tequila whilst sipping on Prosecco, trying to keep an ounce of classy about the evening of course. As we rambled through the evening, drinking more and chatting less I was enjoying myself but in a different kind of way that I was used to and an alternative way I would if I was with my current work colleagues.
I suppose in the grand old scheme of things that this is the big difference between my old workplace and where I work now. The majority of the time that I spent with my old work colleagues was getting drunk and talking about shite. That is not to say that given a problem or issue I was experiencing I could not talk to my old work colleagues and looking back on my time there I got some brilliant advice from some amazing people who I would like to consider even now as friends despite not talking in quite some time. A night out on the tiles now consists of going round to someone else to pre-drinking in a sophisticated fashion all whilst helping each other to get dressed and gossipping as women do, then heading into town for a nice meal and some cocktails afterwards. And whilst I don't feel like I have achieved that level of conversation with anyone of my current work colleagues at this moment in time, that is not to say that if something was bugging me or I needed to talk to someone that I would have no one to talk openly to as I am sure that there would be plenty of people to offer a sympathetic ear - I hope at least.
Nevertheless my Friday evening spent with my old work colleagues or certainly a laugh and certainly something that we will make sure not to leave so long again. Isn't it funny I thought to myself and as I later tried to explain to Man-Brain Mr. Warehouse - You spend a good majority of your life working and those people you work with, if you are close, know everything about you and your life as you do about them and theirs. From Monday to Friday, Nine 'til Five you spill your guts about how your feeling and what happened at home or over the weekend. The kids, the other-half, the house, the in-laws and everything and everyone in between. You get to know their social networks and circles without ever actually meeting them and are able to provide comfort and warmth in a time of need. They know your relationships better than maybe you do yourself and can even offer advise that could change everything. With the staples and cellotape and paperclips galore they help you as much as you help them in times of joy, sorrow, support and laughter, colleagues like mine at my old job were like literal tiny flecks of gold dust, blowing into your life five-days-a-week.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Only a week after payday I really wondered how I was so poor. I did not have to look far though as my bank balance for our new house fund was slowly growing. Soon I hoped that I would see that little comma appear proving that I was doing the right thing by saving all my pennies but I never knew how stressful and broke it would make me feel knowing I have money but it is tied up and away. Now don't get me wrong I knew that this would not be an easy journey, saving every scrap of money that both me and Mr Warehouse have between us was certainly going to be a struggle especially when I am giving up on my summer holiday this year with Mr. Warehouse, something that makes me deeply sad and frustrated for this was going to be the year that we were going to have a blowout holiday were by the head off somewhere hot by the beach relaxing for a week or two.
Anyway enough with the same old same old, and back to the good old good old. That's right, after far far too long apart, me, Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat along with her latest Beau met in a local eatery for some Mexican food and what I hoped would be a change to the normal schedule of shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots! It had been a long time since I saw them and it felt like I was going back to something familiar. I enjoy their company separately with Miss Hackney's laughter and down to earth approach mixed in with some gritty tales of the dating game (some more horrific and hilarious than mine I might add) and Miss Sugarcoat's intellectual conversation and ideas on life along with the added spice of strong controversial opinions (some of which I back entirely and some I try to hide from and pretend she is not with me), yet together we seem to create so much noise that it is sometimes hard to hear myself think.
Harping back to the good old times in which we used to fart around in the office not doing much work or course, we reminisced well into the evening and chatted about life as we know it now with our new relationships, friendships and jobs. I had so much to tell them as they had for me although I felt that we were all talking over each other and that the noisy restaurant did not help. Both Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat seemed to have developed and carved out good careers for themselves, expanding on their talents and skills in order to obtain well paying jobs. This left me slightly questioning if I ever made the right decision moving, even though I knew in my heart that's a good decision was made. OK so I am not earning £35,000 working for a plumbing and heating company and I am also not spending my evenings and weekends attending events that I am hosting in aid of cosmetic beauty. Am I happy I jumped ship? Yes certainly and with everything that has happened in the last year and a half I think I have a fairly good deal where I am at the moment especially given the pay, ever-growing relationships both in and outside of the office as well as the fact that I now have a similar relationship with my engineers as I had before with my old ones.
As the shots kept coming I knew that my hopes of a quiet and sophisticated chat over dinner would not be the case this evening. Maybe another night I thought. Maybe a quiet evening in with a bottle or two and a comfy sofa to put the world to rights would be just what we all needed to calm down a bit for the atmosphere of a busy restaurant on a Friday night and then a loud pub with DJ were probably not the ideal places to share stories from the last eighteen months or so since I left. This was not to say that I was not enjoying myself knocking back shots of tequila whilst sipping on Prosecco, trying to keep an ounce of classy about the evening of course. As we rambled through the evening, drinking more and chatting less I was enjoying myself but in a different kind of way that I was used to and an alternative way I would if I was with my current work colleagues.
I suppose in the grand old scheme of things that this is the big difference between my old workplace and where I work now. The majority of the time that I spent with my old work colleagues was getting drunk and talking about shite. That is not to say that given a problem or issue I was experiencing I could not talk to my old work colleagues and looking back on my time there I got some brilliant advice from some amazing people who I would like to consider even now as friends despite not talking in quite some time. A night out on the tiles now consists of going round to someone else to pre-drinking in a sophisticated fashion all whilst helping each other to get dressed and gossipping as women do, then heading into town for a nice meal and some cocktails afterwards. And whilst I don't feel like I have achieved that level of conversation with anyone of my current work colleagues at this moment in time, that is not to say that if something was bugging me or I needed to talk to someone that I would have no one to talk openly to as I am sure that there would be plenty of people to offer a sympathetic ear - I hope at least.
Nevertheless my Friday evening spent with my old work colleagues or certainly a laugh and certainly something that we will make sure not to leave so long again. Isn't it funny I thought to myself and as I later tried to explain to Man-Brain Mr. Warehouse - You spend a good majority of your life working and those people you work with, if you are close, know everything about you and your life as you do about them and theirs. From Monday to Friday, Nine 'til Five you spill your guts about how your feeling and what happened at home or over the weekend. The kids, the other-half, the house, the in-laws and everything and everyone in between. You get to know their social networks and circles without ever actually meeting them and are able to provide comfort and warmth in a time of need. They know your relationships better than maybe you do yourself and can even offer advise that could change everything. With the staples and cellotape and paperclips galore they help you as much as you help them in times of joy, sorrow, support and laughter, colleagues like mine at my old job were like literal tiny flecks of gold dust, blowing into your life five-days-a-week.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 5 January 2015
Fiery Frumps, Fabulous Furs and Festivities Galore!
Evening All,
And a very Happy New Year to everyone. Hope 2015 has been treating you well and that you are all now mid-binge, scoffing chocolate and downing wine from all your Christmas/New Years Resolution-Detox. I love a good binge! But alas I have set myself some New Years Resolutions for myself for the coming year. Loosing weight never works and actually I think I am happy being a wobbly but normal looking lady. I am in no need to slim down because the man I am with finds me sexy just as I am. What a darling?! I am however cutting down on take-out and am sticking to once or twice a month at most. Secondly I plan to improve my time-keeping and not be late which will no end make my nearest and dearest happy, especially long suffering BFF's - Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Other than that though I have not much planned although I would like to travel more and maybe even learn to drive? No doubt I shall keep you informed on my going-on's as today I celebrate over two-years of writing for you all.
One thing that New Years also does is encourage people to get out there and drink to oblivion, partying into the wee small hours and kissing strangers at the stroke of Midnight. No this is not Cinderella, it is I ... Abbey-Lou. Despite being quite pissed by the time I left my work colleagues on Christmas Eve last week and continuing the festivities well into Christmas Day and Boxing Day (Clocking up into the double figures on bottles of Rose I might add), I still felt the need to completely obliterate myself on New Years Eve. Spending the last few hours of 2014 with Mr. Warehouse and a few friends including Mr. Creepy-Warehouse-Guy himself. Starting on the Prosecco with four-hours to go I started slow but bubbles always get me wasted and very, very quickly too. Nevertheless I was slightly sozzled by the time we reached the local pub in Marston Mortaine in Bedford.
As the evening continued I danced the night away to hits including the Macarena, The Cha Cha Slide and even catching the end of Mambo Number Five after being so drunk I couldn't get off the toilet. With about half hour left before the New Year Kicked in Mr. CWG suggested that beyond the children's Slide in the beer garden there were some swings. Now I love swings (Although I must stress I am no swinger although a consider-er) and upon hearing this fantastic and magical news I proceeded in platforms to discover such wonder and merriment. It was not to be found though as I soon discovered that not only was the ground soft and wet from the rain, but the grass was boggy and that it would only be a matter of time before I fell over. No sooner had I thought this I misplaced my footing and was plunged head first into a freezing cold mud pit. Tenacious through and through I stood and found my way to the swings. Cold and wet I realised that this was not one of the better ideas I had ever had and so went back to find the others and Mr. Warehouse. His face was not best pleased as I walked back through the packed public house with mud and dirt dripping from my chin to my toes.
After cleaning myself up in the toilets, finding more booze at the bar and throwing some shapes on the dance-floor I realised people were chanting. "...5...4...3...2...1..." I could hear them counting away. Realising it was finally New Year I grabbed my man and holding onto for dear life we kissed passionately before we joined a bunch of people I don't know and will never know to sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. The night concluded by me somehow getting home after falling over several more times and then being sick in Mr. Warehouse's dog's bowl. Nice! And with some recovering in the form of good food, great company and some well needed time to sober up the past few days, Mr. Warehouse and I decided to take a trip to London.
Waking early on Sunday morning Mr. Warehouse and I struggled to not to have sex with each other as normal in the mornings let alone prise ourselves from the warmth of the bed sheets. Stepping out into the icy air I thought that it would soon warm up and after postponing for a day because of the weather already I personally was determined to do something other than lounge around and waste yet another day in front of the box. But it didn't get any warmer. In fact it only got worse. Minus-two-degrees-Celsius it got yesterday. Minus-two. Now I know to some of you in other parts of the world must have thought that this kind of temperature was normal, maybe even mild, but here in Blighty it was more than just a bit nippy. Frosty fingers and thawed thighs began to melt as Starbucks trickled down our throats, easing the missing of the first train.
Soon enough though we were in the Big Smoke and strange as it were I was more anxious and dubious about going. It had been almost a year to the day that I had left London and my on/off relationship with Mr. Cheese and to be back was just odd. Constantly in a rush I kept feeling myself slip into the mode of Londoner whereby you want to get from 'A' to 'B' as quickly as possible. Nevertheless I really enjoyed my time with Mr. Warehouse, wandering around the sites of the City and major landmarks before heading to the Natural History Museum for some culture and to see stuffed animals, rather like a dead zoo. Now if you have not gone then I strongly suggest you do. Not only will you be walking around the Mammal section making up voices and tag lines for the lifeless soles but you will also be enthralled in the beauty of these creatures and just how spectacular life can be.
After a few selfies with Hippopotamuses and Porpoises alike Mr. Warehouse and I headed to the luxury that is the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to visit one of the world's most prestigious stores ... Harrods of London! Immediately stepping out onto the Winter Knightsbridge pavement, Mr. Warehouse became alarmingly aware of his surroundings and just by looking at him you could tell he was completely out of his comfort zone. Trying to make him feel at ease I thought I would start with the Pet Shop. Asking the footman on the door as to where we were in the direction of he explained that this had been closed for more than a year. Instead I marched Mr. Warehouse and I to the womenswear department. Lift doors opening my eyes nearly exploded. All I could see was fur. Mink, Rabbit, Fox, Chinchilla and Alpaca, All of it real as life itself once was for these animals. I was in fur heaven! And the best thing about all of this was not only were the clothing and accessories made with real and bonafide, quality fur; But there was a sale on! All of the top designers were there: Gucci, Prada, Dior and my favourite Valentino were all hosting their coats and jackets. Dolce and Gabbana was one of the only boutiques I actually had a proper nose around and whilst Mr. Warehouse felt like a fish out of water I needed this. I couldn't go home to a fluffy dog and I certainly didn't have the money for the four and five figure price-tags on some of these outerwear so I had to indulge myself whenever I could.
Revelling in the luxury and hungrily running my hands over the garments made me feel happy. But my boyfriends face did not. And so sensing the shop assistant clocking that we were not here to buy and the fact that Mr. Warehouse was now tired and grumping we headed for the tube home. Unfortunately my dear lover's attention was captured by a lady at the till. Not for her stunning good looks or celebrity status, oh no! It was because she had just bought the red-dyed Mink fur cropped jacket and with a price tag more than what Mr. Warehouse earns in a year he took it completely to heart. Storming off and in a foul mood for the rest of the day until we got into bed he ranted on about this women and where her money came from, how she got it, where she spent it and what on. Nothing I did appeased him and as he ranted on about how that one item of clothing could have written off his debts more than five-times-over and how there were more deserving people of the money spent - Mainly him I figured?! He still wouldn't pipe down as we were sitting down to dinner, my treat, at Honest Burger in Kings Cross - Genuinely one of the best burgers I think you will ever have in your entire existence. If you haven't been there then go and if you have well what are you waiting for ... GO AGAIN! I think if I ever had to choose my favourite-est (yes that is a word) restaurant in the world then that would be it. With only five across the whole capital I am glad that I splurged but I just wished my boyfriend wasn't so hung up about money, especially since it wasn't even his.
Nevertheless we had a good day out and exhausted as we were we still managed to find time to fuck at the end of the day. Falling asleep in each others I whispered about how hard it is going to be not having him next to me as most if not all of the past few weeks over the Christmas and New Years break from work we have spent together, drifting off as one. I am so used to being spooned and only having to reach out for Mr. Warehouse at night, it is going to be strange not sleeping together. But alas I must oblige as the alternative of moving in with each other is far, far too soon. And besides, I like my own space and time away from him. I think it makes us stronger and better as a couple.
Looking into 2015, I don't know what the world will bring me, but one thing is for sure, this year blogging-wise I plan to continue with my life as a twenty-something and enjoy life to its fullest keeping you all in the loop and giving you the scoop on what's hot and what's not in the world of moi! I will however be trying to shorten my tales of fun and frolics as I feel they are too long sometimes. How I do love to witter on. If however you would like me to continue writing big long essay's that fill up your coffee breaks at work and evenings in bed then feel free to message me, I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions as well as any ideas for making my life a little more interesting or what you would like me to do in 2015! Serious suggestions please I do not want to be bummed by Barack Obama nor do I want to give a hand-job to a slightly aggressive Yak.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
And a very Happy New Year to everyone. Hope 2015 has been treating you well and that you are all now mid-binge, scoffing chocolate and downing wine from all your Christmas/New Years Resolution-Detox. I love a good binge! But alas I have set myself some New Years Resolutions for myself for the coming year. Loosing weight never works and actually I think I am happy being a wobbly but normal looking lady. I am in no need to slim down because the man I am with finds me sexy just as I am. What a darling?! I am however cutting down on take-out and am sticking to once or twice a month at most. Secondly I plan to improve my time-keeping and not be late which will no end make my nearest and dearest happy, especially long suffering BFF's - Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Other than that though I have not much planned although I would like to travel more and maybe even learn to drive? No doubt I shall keep you informed on my going-on's as today I celebrate over two-years of writing for you all.
One thing that New Years also does is encourage people to get out there and drink to oblivion, partying into the wee small hours and kissing strangers at the stroke of Midnight. No this is not Cinderella, it is I ... Abbey-Lou. Despite being quite pissed by the time I left my work colleagues on Christmas Eve last week and continuing the festivities well into Christmas Day and Boxing Day (Clocking up into the double figures on bottles of Rose I might add), I still felt the need to completely obliterate myself on New Years Eve. Spending the last few hours of 2014 with Mr. Warehouse and a few friends including Mr. Creepy-Warehouse-Guy himself. Starting on the Prosecco with four-hours to go I started slow but bubbles always get me wasted and very, very quickly too. Nevertheless I was slightly sozzled by the time we reached the local pub in Marston Mortaine in Bedford.
As the evening continued I danced the night away to hits including the Macarena, The Cha Cha Slide and even catching the end of Mambo Number Five after being so drunk I couldn't get off the toilet. With about half hour left before the New Year Kicked in Mr. CWG suggested that beyond the children's Slide in the beer garden there were some swings. Now I love swings (Although I must stress I am no swinger although a consider-er) and upon hearing this fantastic and magical news I proceeded in platforms to discover such wonder and merriment. It was not to be found though as I soon discovered that not only was the ground soft and wet from the rain, but the grass was boggy and that it would only be a matter of time before I fell over. No sooner had I thought this I misplaced my footing and was plunged head first into a freezing cold mud pit. Tenacious through and through I stood and found my way to the swings. Cold and wet I realised that this was not one of the better ideas I had ever had and so went back to find the others and Mr. Warehouse. His face was not best pleased as I walked back through the packed public house with mud and dirt dripping from my chin to my toes.
After cleaning myself up in the toilets, finding more booze at the bar and throwing some shapes on the dance-floor I realised people were chanting. "...5...4...3...2...1..." I could hear them counting away. Realising it was finally New Year I grabbed my man and holding onto for dear life we kissed passionately before we joined a bunch of people I don't know and will never know to sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. The night concluded by me somehow getting home after falling over several more times and then being sick in Mr. Warehouse's dog's bowl. Nice! And with some recovering in the form of good food, great company and some well needed time to sober up the past few days, Mr. Warehouse and I decided to take a trip to London.
Waking early on Sunday morning Mr. Warehouse and I struggled to not to have sex with each other as normal in the mornings let alone prise ourselves from the warmth of the bed sheets. Stepping out into the icy air I thought that it would soon warm up and after postponing for a day because of the weather already I personally was determined to do something other than lounge around and waste yet another day in front of the box. But it didn't get any warmer. In fact it only got worse. Minus-two-degrees-Celsius it got yesterday. Minus-two. Now I know to some of you in other parts of the world must have thought that this kind of temperature was normal, maybe even mild, but here in Blighty it was more than just a bit nippy. Frosty fingers and thawed thighs began to melt as Starbucks trickled down our throats, easing the missing of the first train.
Soon enough though we were in the Big Smoke and strange as it were I was more anxious and dubious about going. It had been almost a year to the day that I had left London and my on/off relationship with Mr. Cheese and to be back was just odd. Constantly in a rush I kept feeling myself slip into the mode of Londoner whereby you want to get from 'A' to 'B' as quickly as possible. Nevertheless I really enjoyed my time with Mr. Warehouse, wandering around the sites of the City and major landmarks before heading to the Natural History Museum for some culture and to see stuffed animals, rather like a dead zoo. Now if you have not gone then I strongly suggest you do. Not only will you be walking around the Mammal section making up voices and tag lines for the lifeless soles but you will also be enthralled in the beauty of these creatures and just how spectacular life can be.
After a few selfies with Hippopotamuses and Porpoises alike Mr. Warehouse and I headed to the luxury that is the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to visit one of the world's most prestigious stores ... Harrods of London! Immediately stepping out onto the Winter Knightsbridge pavement, Mr. Warehouse became alarmingly aware of his surroundings and just by looking at him you could tell he was completely out of his comfort zone. Trying to make him feel at ease I thought I would start with the Pet Shop. Asking the footman on the door as to where we were in the direction of he explained that this had been closed for more than a year. Instead I marched Mr. Warehouse and I to the womenswear department. Lift doors opening my eyes nearly exploded. All I could see was fur. Mink, Rabbit, Fox, Chinchilla and Alpaca, All of it real as life itself once was for these animals. I was in fur heaven! And the best thing about all of this was not only were the clothing and accessories made with real and bonafide, quality fur; But there was a sale on! All of the top designers were there: Gucci, Prada, Dior and my favourite Valentino were all hosting their coats and jackets. Dolce and Gabbana was one of the only boutiques I actually had a proper nose around and whilst Mr. Warehouse felt like a fish out of water I needed this. I couldn't go home to a fluffy dog and I certainly didn't have the money for the four and five figure price-tags on some of these outerwear so I had to indulge myself whenever I could.
Revelling in the luxury and hungrily running my hands over the garments made me feel happy. But my boyfriends face did not. And so sensing the shop assistant clocking that we were not here to buy and the fact that Mr. Warehouse was now tired and grumping we headed for the tube home. Unfortunately my dear lover's attention was captured by a lady at the till. Not for her stunning good looks or celebrity status, oh no! It was because she had just bought the red-dyed Mink fur cropped jacket and with a price tag more than what Mr. Warehouse earns in a year he took it completely to heart. Storming off and in a foul mood for the rest of the day until we got into bed he ranted on about this women and where her money came from, how she got it, where she spent it and what on. Nothing I did appeased him and as he ranted on about how that one item of clothing could have written off his debts more than five-times-over and how there were more deserving people of the money spent - Mainly him I figured?! He still wouldn't pipe down as we were sitting down to dinner, my treat, at Honest Burger in Kings Cross - Genuinely one of the best burgers I think you will ever have in your entire existence. If you haven't been there then go and if you have well what are you waiting for ... GO AGAIN! I think if I ever had to choose my favourite-est (yes that is a word) restaurant in the world then that would be it. With only five across the whole capital I am glad that I splurged but I just wished my boyfriend wasn't so hung up about money, especially since it wasn't even his.
Nevertheless we had a good day out and exhausted as we were we still managed to find time to fuck at the end of the day. Falling asleep in each others I whispered about how hard it is going to be not having him next to me as most if not all of the past few weeks over the Christmas and New Years break from work we have spent together, drifting off as one. I am so used to being spooned and only having to reach out for Mr. Warehouse at night, it is going to be strange not sleeping together. But alas I must oblige as the alternative of moving in with each other is far, far too soon. And besides, I like my own space and time away from him. I think it makes us stronger and better as a couple.
Looking into 2015, I don't know what the world will bring me, but one thing is for sure, this year blogging-wise I plan to continue with my life as a twenty-something and enjoy life to its fullest keeping you all in the loop and giving you the scoop on what's hot and what's not in the world of moi! I will however be trying to shorten my tales of fun and frolics as I feel they are too long sometimes. How I do love to witter on. If however you would like me to continue writing big long essay's that fill up your coffee breaks at work and evenings in bed then feel free to message me, I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions as well as any ideas for making my life a little more interesting or what you would like me to do in 2015! Serious suggestions please I do not want to be bummed by Barack Obama nor do I want to give a hand-job to a slightly aggressive Yak.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 22 September 2014
What A Difference A Year Makes ...
Hello you,
Sliding into the itchiness of my office chair I prepared myself for the day ahead. My legs felt as if they were made of unset jelly and I was still a little shaky. Why you ask? Well dearest readers of mine I was recovering. Recovering from my first ever weekender completing two messy nights out on the town with non-stop consumption of alcohol and not much else. Over the course of the weekend there was a few mistakes, a wardrobe malfunction and even a tactical chunder! So lets together relive my first weekend of being twenty-three!
Rolling into work on Thursday morning I placed the eighteen cupcakes in the office with many a gasp and nosey look and they didn't take long to disappear, most of them gone by Elevenses. Making myself a coffee and being wished many happy returns for my special day was as wonderful as I had hoped for. I had some of the best work colleagues and when asked why I didn't take the day off, my reply was simple - Why would I ever want to be anywhere else? Arriving back at my desk there was already some colourful miscellaneous envelopes and a odd voice-mail from my engineers. Sweethearts really. Opening my cards I felt my smile grow bigger. As the day went on we were all treated to a McDonald's Breakfast and when my Regional Sales Representative arrived I got a beautiful little box of chocolates. The day flew by in a haze of congratulations, presents, messages all mixed in with the usual coffee and paperwork.
As five arrived I grabbing my jacket and headed from the office to meet my Dad in the car-park. Heading out to dinner was going to be special as it didn't happen often and whilst I would have to share him I would still enjoy the company. Arriving at the restaurant I noticed a familiar blue car in the parking lot. With no time to ponder I was ushered out of the car and handed a big bag of presents from my Dad's girlfriend. Hugging and entering the 50's style diner we were seated. But wait! Who was that in my seat! Miss Tweedle-Dee! Miss Tweedle-Dumb! Oh happy days! A birthday surprise only made better for the fact that the evening before I was saying that it sucked that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had to do overtime only to realise it was a porky-pie to throw me off the scent! And so an evening ensued of good food, good company and a near falling over my own feet. There was even a cheeky flash of my arse to the entire restaurant when I was asked to get up and dance with the eateries mascot which was obviously a waiter dressed up in what appeared to be a very creepy dog suit! Falling fast asleep that night I took a moment to look to the stars as I lay awake. 'What a difference a year makes?!' I thought to myself. 'This time last year everyone had just met Mr. Cheese for the first time and was commenting on how the way he looked at me was like nothing they had ever seen before' and as I wondered what life was like a few-thousand miles away I slipped into a slumber.
Friday morning. Into work bright and early donning a simple pair of jeans and a jumper in anticipation for the evenings debauchery! Another work's night out was nearly upon us and there was still so much I had to do - Get my hair done, sort out work drama's, plan what I was wearing, organise everyone, tidy the flat in case I get lucky, 'de-fluff' again for the same reasons and decide what shoes I will wear. Frantically primping, pruning and pampering I was finally ready to paint the town red with my work buddies! And so with my golden dress, suspender tights, platforms and plastic crown I knew that it was a well-earned night off from being the office stress-head. All the best people were out in force, mainly to celebrate my twenty-third year on the planet but secondly to just get twatted! And twatted did we get. Heading from bar to bar there wasn't a moment my hands were not empty. A double screwdriver turned into two and before I knew it I was downing drink like anything.
Into the next one we go, Bar Chameleon (Which is ironic since that is where I spent most of my college days in a bar called the same back home in Dunstable), after a few selfies with my little warehouse admirers I was well on my way to losing all decorum which was dangerous given the fact I see more of my work colleagues than I do my Nan. Mr. Warehouse was gunning for something to happen but as shy as he was all that was swapped was a few naughty flirts, admiring gazes and the constant hum from fellow employees that we should just hook up. More drinks down I soon I spotted a pole! Shiny and silver it glistened with spilt drinks and shameful sweat from many a spontaneous moment through the misty smog of the club. 'You are mine!' I thought to myself. But not before I had a cheeky photo with the bouncer and another few cocktails. Heading over to the dance-floor I suddenly without warning or even explanation I found myself wrapping my limbs round that infamous pole, desperately trying not to look like a complete tool. It did not work. At the time I felt stupidly sexy, now I realise I probably looked like a goofy lap-dancer. I would like to think that I looked at least somewhat endearing as I swung round and round nearly breaking my knee in the process. And although Mr. Warehouse had excitedly whipped out his phone and started filming (Yes there is video evidence - No your not going to see it!) I sensed that it may be used as evidence at a later date of just how drunk I really was.
Third bar we entered was an old favourite. One of the first ever bars I went into as a new resident of Bedford, The Rose had everything you could ask for - Except a pole. Although if they were going to make an addition to the dance floor a podium suits me much better! I can be admired by all! Haha! Getting some more drinks in I could feel my limited fast approaching. Continuing to the dance floor me and my colleagues partied the night away. But as my blood-alcohol level got higher so did the level of outrageously cringe flirting that was going on, and not just between me and Mr. Warehouse. Oh no everyone was at it! It was like an infectious disease. We had been bitten by the Lust Bug and it wasn't about to let go! As people got down and partied on the dance-floor I continued to have a good time. Until that is I felt my seven-inch platforms give way. As I slowmo-ed through the thick air I felt a pair of arms reach out and catch me. Mr. Warehouse - Always there when I needed him! Quickly after though I felt an odd flopping on my foot. Feeling that this was a bad thing I took to the ladies to investigate. Sliding shut the lock on the cubicle door I realised the extent of the issue. My Shoe. It was broke. Not only broke but the entire sole was hanging on mere threads. Saddened that their maiden outing had ruined them I reluctantly slipped them off and popped on a pair of pre-planned pumps hidden in my clutch. 'Good thinking Batman' I thought to myself. Returning to Mr. Warehouse's patently waiting side he queried as to my now lacking height. After explaining what had happened we laughed it off and headed for a boogie!
Lights on and it was apparently home-time. I didn't want to go home yet. I was twenty-three and still ready to party until the sun came up. Sadly the only place that was open was Subway and what looked like a gentleman's club. After loosing a few people to Cab's home, the few of us that were left headed to the line for the Exec Club and after a good ten minutes of trying to persuade Mr. Warehouse to come into the club with us and then eventually crash at mine he declined and went home in a taxi himself. Shocked that my not-so-secret-admirer turned down a night in my flat with the possibility of some spooning, I attended inside the sports bar where I was greeted by an empty dance-floor, a minimal crowd and a guy who thought that he was coming home with me. Deciding to call it a night I encouraged everyone to come back to my flat and call a cab home from there. As the night came to a close I found myself welcoming my boss, a creepy warehouse guy and a close office colleague into my humble home. Noticing one of my bra's on the floor I quickly threw down my jacket desperately hoping that the first thing my boss saw of my flat was my freshly washed bra just hanging about. Surreal as it was having my boss sitting at my dining table they all soon left, leaving me to put to bed the creepy warehouse guy. Bed for me - Sofa for him. 'No spooning for me tonight!' I thought as I quickly drifted off.
I woke with a bang in the morning. Saturday. Not knowing what it is I pondered where the noise came from I lay in bed wondering what to do. Then a little head poked round the corner rousing me from slumber fast. It was creepy warehouse guy. The noise had been made by him when he had gone to the toilet and smashed his head on one of my many angled ceilings. After letting him out my flat I snoozed for a while before going into town for provisions for that evenings excitement.
And so as everyone bundled into my little flat again the drinks began flowing. Champagne, more birthday presents, a phony scratch-card entitling me to over five-thousand fake pounds and a few dangerously brutal drinking games later and it was time to head out into town again. Partying the night away with Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb we chugged down a Jaeger-Bomb each. As soon as it hit my lips I knew what was going to happen. Feeling the cough-syrup taste linger in my mouth I felt the swell in my stomach. Making my excuses I headed for the bathroom hoping I would make it in time. As I climbed the steps I sensed my mouth filling and watering in anticipation for what was to follow. Shutting the cubicle door I could hold it in no more and so out came a fountain of orange coloured watery vomit. Feeling proud of myself that it was so easily exiled from my body I found a glass nearby and placed it on the floor, my drunken state saying that it would look like someone had dropped their drink rather than someone chunking up all over the back of the door. Heading out and washing my hands I saw the cleaning lady and feeling bad I mentioned how someone must have spilt their drink whilst on the toilet. She smiled but we both knew what really happened. After lying through my teeth I left, secretly a little proud that I had got away with something so abhorrently unladylike.
Whilst on the dance-floor, Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I met a few friendly faces in town, one of which was Miss Tweedle-Dee's younger cousin on a night out also. Somehow the night ended with her sleeping on my lounge floor on the cushions from my couch. Another friendly face I would love to meet again was one of chiseled proportions and stubble. Taller than me and wearing a powder blue shirt I could tell even with beer goggles on he was a catch. After doing a cheesy reeling-him-in dance move, pretending I was fishing for him he returned the favour by lassoing me from the other side of the floor. In my trusty sneakers I felt much more at ease but with the knowledge that I couldn't really bring anyone back home I called it a night and decided to turn my back on the attractive dancer for as the saying goes - Sisters before Misters!
And so the story ends. A sticky kitchen floor, a body that is only just recovering from the shakes of alcohol withdrawal and three bin-bags later I know now that I can do two nights in a row! Here's to another year! Here's to being twenty-three!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Sliding into the itchiness of my office chair I prepared myself for the day ahead. My legs felt as if they were made of unset jelly and I was still a little shaky. Why you ask? Well dearest readers of mine I was recovering. Recovering from my first ever weekender completing two messy nights out on the town with non-stop consumption of alcohol and not much else. Over the course of the weekend there was a few mistakes, a wardrobe malfunction and even a tactical chunder! So lets together relive my first weekend of being twenty-three!
Rolling into work on Thursday morning I placed the eighteen cupcakes in the office with many a gasp and nosey look and they didn't take long to disappear, most of them gone by Elevenses. Making myself a coffee and being wished many happy returns for my special day was as wonderful as I had hoped for. I had some of the best work colleagues and when asked why I didn't take the day off, my reply was simple - Why would I ever want to be anywhere else? Arriving back at my desk there was already some colourful miscellaneous envelopes and a odd voice-mail from my engineers. Sweethearts really. Opening my cards I felt my smile grow bigger. As the day went on we were all treated to a McDonald's Breakfast and when my Regional Sales Representative arrived I got a beautiful little box of chocolates. The day flew by in a haze of congratulations, presents, messages all mixed in with the usual coffee and paperwork.
As five arrived I grabbing my jacket and headed from the office to meet my Dad in the car-park. Heading out to dinner was going to be special as it didn't happen often and whilst I would have to share him I would still enjoy the company. Arriving at the restaurant I noticed a familiar blue car in the parking lot. With no time to ponder I was ushered out of the car and handed a big bag of presents from my Dad's girlfriend. Hugging and entering the 50's style diner we were seated. But wait! Who was that in my seat! Miss Tweedle-Dee! Miss Tweedle-Dumb! Oh happy days! A birthday surprise only made better for the fact that the evening before I was saying that it sucked that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had to do overtime only to realise it was a porky-pie to throw me off the scent! And so an evening ensued of good food, good company and a near falling over my own feet. There was even a cheeky flash of my arse to the entire restaurant when I was asked to get up and dance with the eateries mascot which was obviously a waiter dressed up in what appeared to be a very creepy dog suit! Falling fast asleep that night I took a moment to look to the stars as I lay awake. 'What a difference a year makes?!' I thought to myself. 'This time last year everyone had just met Mr. Cheese for the first time and was commenting on how the way he looked at me was like nothing they had ever seen before' and as I wondered what life was like a few-thousand miles away I slipped into a slumber.
Friday morning. Into work bright and early donning a simple pair of jeans and a jumper in anticipation for the evenings debauchery! Another work's night out was nearly upon us and there was still so much I had to do - Get my hair done, sort out work drama's, plan what I was wearing, organise everyone, tidy the flat in case I get lucky, 'de-fluff' again for the same reasons and decide what shoes I will wear. Frantically primping, pruning and pampering I was finally ready to paint the town red with my work buddies! And so with my golden dress, suspender tights, platforms and plastic crown I knew that it was a well-earned night off from being the office stress-head. All the best people were out in force, mainly to celebrate my twenty-third year on the planet but secondly to just get twatted! And twatted did we get. Heading from bar to bar there wasn't a moment my hands were not empty. A double screwdriver turned into two and before I knew it I was downing drink like anything.
Into the next one we go, Bar Chameleon (Which is ironic since that is where I spent most of my college days in a bar called the same back home in Dunstable), after a few selfies with my little warehouse admirers I was well on my way to losing all decorum which was dangerous given the fact I see more of my work colleagues than I do my Nan. Mr. Warehouse was gunning for something to happen but as shy as he was all that was swapped was a few naughty flirts, admiring gazes and the constant hum from fellow employees that we should just hook up. More drinks down I soon I spotted a pole! Shiny and silver it glistened with spilt drinks and shameful sweat from many a spontaneous moment through the misty smog of the club. 'You are mine!' I thought to myself. But not before I had a cheeky photo with the bouncer and another few cocktails. Heading over to the dance-floor I suddenly without warning or even explanation I found myself wrapping my limbs round that infamous pole, desperately trying not to look like a complete tool. It did not work. At the time I felt stupidly sexy, now I realise I probably looked like a goofy lap-dancer. I would like to think that I looked at least somewhat endearing as I swung round and round nearly breaking my knee in the process. And although Mr. Warehouse had excitedly whipped out his phone and started filming (Yes there is video evidence - No your not going to see it!) I sensed that it may be used as evidence at a later date of just how drunk I really was.
Third bar we entered was an old favourite. One of the first ever bars I went into as a new resident of Bedford, The Rose had everything you could ask for - Except a pole. Although if they were going to make an addition to the dance floor a podium suits me much better! I can be admired by all! Haha! Getting some more drinks in I could feel my limited fast approaching. Continuing to the dance floor me and my colleagues partied the night away. But as my blood-alcohol level got higher so did the level of outrageously cringe flirting that was going on, and not just between me and Mr. Warehouse. Oh no everyone was at it! It was like an infectious disease. We had been bitten by the Lust Bug and it wasn't about to let go! As people got down and partied on the dance-floor I continued to have a good time. Until that is I felt my seven-inch platforms give way. As I slowmo-ed through the thick air I felt a pair of arms reach out and catch me. Mr. Warehouse - Always there when I needed him! Quickly after though I felt an odd flopping on my foot. Feeling that this was a bad thing I took to the ladies to investigate. Sliding shut the lock on the cubicle door I realised the extent of the issue. My Shoe. It was broke. Not only broke but the entire sole was hanging on mere threads. Saddened that their maiden outing had ruined them I reluctantly slipped them off and popped on a pair of pre-planned pumps hidden in my clutch. 'Good thinking Batman' I thought to myself. Returning to Mr. Warehouse's patently waiting side he queried as to my now lacking height. After explaining what had happened we laughed it off and headed for a boogie!
Lights on and it was apparently home-time. I didn't want to go home yet. I was twenty-three and still ready to party until the sun came up. Sadly the only place that was open was Subway and what looked like a gentleman's club. After loosing a few people to Cab's home, the few of us that were left headed to the line for the Exec Club and after a good ten minutes of trying to persuade Mr. Warehouse to come into the club with us and then eventually crash at mine he declined and went home in a taxi himself. Shocked that my not-so-secret-admirer turned down a night in my flat with the possibility of some spooning, I attended inside the sports bar where I was greeted by an empty dance-floor, a minimal crowd and a guy who thought that he was coming home with me. Deciding to call it a night I encouraged everyone to come back to my flat and call a cab home from there. As the night came to a close I found myself welcoming my boss, a creepy warehouse guy and a close office colleague into my humble home. Noticing one of my bra's on the floor I quickly threw down my jacket desperately hoping that the first thing my boss saw of my flat was my freshly washed bra just hanging about. Surreal as it was having my boss sitting at my dining table they all soon left, leaving me to put to bed the creepy warehouse guy. Bed for me - Sofa for him. 'No spooning for me tonight!' I thought as I quickly drifted off.
I woke with a bang in the morning. Saturday. Not knowing what it is I pondered where the noise came from I lay in bed wondering what to do. Then a little head poked round the corner rousing me from slumber fast. It was creepy warehouse guy. The noise had been made by him when he had gone to the toilet and smashed his head on one of my many angled ceilings. After letting him out my flat I snoozed for a while before going into town for provisions for that evenings excitement.
And so as everyone bundled into my little flat again the drinks began flowing. Champagne, more birthday presents, a phony scratch-card entitling me to over five-thousand fake pounds and a few dangerously brutal drinking games later and it was time to head out into town again. Partying the night away with Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb we chugged down a Jaeger-Bomb each. As soon as it hit my lips I knew what was going to happen. Feeling the cough-syrup taste linger in my mouth I felt the swell in my stomach. Making my excuses I headed for the bathroom hoping I would make it in time. As I climbed the steps I sensed my mouth filling and watering in anticipation for what was to follow. Shutting the cubicle door I could hold it in no more and so out came a fountain of orange coloured watery vomit. Feeling proud of myself that it was so easily exiled from my body I found a glass nearby and placed it on the floor, my drunken state saying that it would look like someone had dropped their drink rather than someone chunking up all over the back of the door. Heading out and washing my hands I saw the cleaning lady and feeling bad I mentioned how someone must have spilt their drink whilst on the toilet. She smiled but we both knew what really happened. After lying through my teeth I left, secretly a little proud that I had got away with something so abhorrently unladylike.
Whilst on the dance-floor, Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I met a few friendly faces in town, one of which was Miss Tweedle-Dee's younger cousin on a night out also. Somehow the night ended with her sleeping on my lounge floor on the cushions from my couch. Another friendly face I would love to meet again was one of chiseled proportions and stubble. Taller than me and wearing a powder blue shirt I could tell even with beer goggles on he was a catch. After doing a cheesy reeling-him-in dance move, pretending I was fishing for him he returned the favour by lassoing me from the other side of the floor. In my trusty sneakers I felt much more at ease but with the knowledge that I couldn't really bring anyone back home I called it a night and decided to turn my back on the attractive dancer for as the saying goes - Sisters before Misters!
And so the story ends. A sticky kitchen floor, a body that is only just recovering from the shakes of alcohol withdrawal and three bin-bags later I know now that I can do two nights in a row! Here's to another year! Here's to being twenty-three!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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