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
Showing posts with label Driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Driving. Show all posts
Monday, 1 April 2019
Monday, 25 March 2019
Sleep tight in car heaven my orange amigo!
Good Evening,
Today is a sad day. Today I have lost a good friend of mine and one that I think I will never forget. My first. My one and only. My beautiful Vivienne.
Back in the throes of my youth in the warm weather of 2016's October, I met my Vivienne at a local reputable dealership. Taking public transport to a dealership I had my heart set on the 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta. A five-door hatchback with a 1.4L engine was everything I had ever hoped and dreamt for in my first car and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors she was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I was financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor at the time, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. And so my little tangerine-coloured car was named Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out that the Ford Fiesta orange hue does not come as standard and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv has. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I was certainly eager to collect her and after a few weeks, our Vivienne was settling into her new home just right. The following few months lots of changes in my life including a brand new job and a serious amount of Adulting!
Over the coming months that turned into years and my beloved Vivienne took many road trips; York where we drove for nearly five and a half hours because I didn't quite realise that the speed limit was 70mph and I was pootling along at 60mph. Then there was The Peak District where we struggled up hills and a crossed snowy mountains. The multiple trips to the seaside with our puppy and even facilitating us to take our poor puppy to the vets on the odd occasion. Countless shopping trips and visiting new places or seeing friends and family. It was on one of these occasions a few weeks ago where I was visiting Mrs Tweedle-Dumb at her family pad in our hometown of Houghton Regis near Dunstable. After a good few weeks of catching-up, constant laughs and seeing each other pretty much every other day it was time for her to go back to America and her husband. With her departure also came her parents move too as they too were moving out of the family home and away to the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales.
Parking as I usually had, I didn't think twice about parking my car outside the family home, and I didn't think anything strange when I returned to my car much later on that evening for the drive home. It was not until the following morning when I went out to the car during my day off in order to get something when I noticed a huge grey and white stripe down the front passenger's side of the vehicle. The paint job itself was extremely noticeable, however, it was the huge dent to the door itself and the caved-in handle that gave me a shock. I was fuming. Not knowing what to do I called Mr Warehouse and hoped that he would have some advice for me that would be worthwhile.
That evening after he arrived home from work we cleaned the car and inspected the overall damage. It was certainly not going to be a cheap job by any means as there were multiple scratches, scuffs and paintwork damage to the car and its bodywork, not to mention the fact that the window made a horrid scraping and scratching noise as it was wound down. Mr Warehouse could even that squeeze his fat sausage digits in between the window and the car door meaning that it was a security risk leaving it. As soon as I could I took her to a bodywork specialist in Bedford who explained that the work was very expensive and would far outweigh my £200 excess. Opting for going through the insurance I followed procedure and took Vivienne to another dealership which was approved.
Checking her over, the Mechanic told of a very bleak and dark future for my little pumpkin. Explaining that the total damage to the car door and paintwork as well as some extras that needed to be done on the bumper, lights and bonnet to restore the condition of the car would reach well in excess of £3,000. I suppose unfortunately this means that poor Vivienne was on the cusp of being written off as a total loss which would mean my car would be scrapped or stripped down entirely, naked to her shell, her parts sold on. The kind car doctor informed me that the diagnosis would be more likely than not a write-off and that I should hurry home to check that I have purchased the all-important gap insurance. Gap insurance means that whatever the insurance company pays out for my poor old Vivienne, my gap insurance will cover the rest to what I have left to pay on my finance deal. This means that inadvertently I would walk away without a car and with the debt cleared meaning I can go out to find a new car or alternatively get a loan to cover the balance on a new car.
This evening after finishing work, I noticed I had a text from the car mechanic who diagnosed Vivienne explaining that my vehicle was now a total loss and that my insurance company will be in contact with me soon. With this, I thought that it would be better if I called the insurance company this evening so I could get the ball rolling, although after a lengthy conversation and many, many questions later the call handler finally revealed to me that my car was no longer insured under my policy and that as of the moment I get home and park her on my drive she will be classed as a category-N write-off meaning I would not be able to drive her ever again.
Rolling her gently onto my driveway, solely dedicated to her and only her, I bid my 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta goodbye as I emptied her insides. Vivienne will be collected in the next few days and after that I should expect to hear what she is worth. To me, however, my first ever car is and always will be priceless. We have cried together, sang together, stressed together and even screamed and shouted together at times. All the selfies. All the memories. I literally thought I would bring my future babies home from the hospital in my Vivienne, car seats and all. Alas, you were beaten up by an unscrupulous driver and thus our adventures will continue no more! You have served me well dear Viv. Miss you already ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Today is a sad day. Today I have lost a good friend of mine and one that I think I will never forget. My first. My one and only. My beautiful Vivienne.
Back in the throes of my youth in the warm weather of 2016's October, I met my Vivienne at a local reputable dealership. Taking public transport to a dealership I had my heart set on the 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta. A five-door hatchback with a 1.4L engine was everything I had ever hoped and dreamt for in my first car and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors she was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I was financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor at the time, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. And so my little tangerine-coloured car was named Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out that the Ford Fiesta orange hue does not come as standard and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv has. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I was certainly eager to collect her and after a few weeks, our Vivienne was settling into her new home just right. The following few months lots of changes in my life including a brand new job and a serious amount of Adulting!
Over the coming months that turned into years and my beloved Vivienne took many road trips; York where we drove for nearly five and a half hours because I didn't quite realise that the speed limit was 70mph and I was pootling along at 60mph. Then there was The Peak District where we struggled up hills and a crossed snowy mountains. The multiple trips to the seaside with our puppy and even facilitating us to take our poor puppy to the vets on the odd occasion. Countless shopping trips and visiting new places or seeing friends and family. It was on one of these occasions a few weeks ago where I was visiting Mrs Tweedle-Dumb at her family pad in our hometown of Houghton Regis near Dunstable. After a good few weeks of catching-up, constant laughs and seeing each other pretty much every other day it was time for her to go back to America and her husband. With her departure also came her parents move too as they too were moving out of the family home and away to the beautiful island of Anglesey in North Wales.
Parking as I usually had, I didn't think twice about parking my car outside the family home, and I didn't think anything strange when I returned to my car much later on that evening for the drive home. It was not until the following morning when I went out to the car during my day off in order to get something when I noticed a huge grey and white stripe down the front passenger's side of the vehicle. The paint job itself was extremely noticeable, however, it was the huge dent to the door itself and the caved-in handle that gave me a shock. I was fuming. Not knowing what to do I called Mr Warehouse and hoped that he would have some advice for me that would be worthwhile.
That evening after he arrived home from work we cleaned the car and inspected the overall damage. It was certainly not going to be a cheap job by any means as there were multiple scratches, scuffs and paintwork damage to the car and its bodywork, not to mention the fact that the window made a horrid scraping and scratching noise as it was wound down. Mr Warehouse could even that squeeze his fat sausage digits in between the window and the car door meaning that it was a security risk leaving it. As soon as I could I took her to a bodywork specialist in Bedford who explained that the work was very expensive and would far outweigh my £200 excess. Opting for going through the insurance I followed procedure and took Vivienne to another dealership which was approved.
Checking her over, the Mechanic told of a very bleak and dark future for my little pumpkin. Explaining that the total damage to the car door and paintwork as well as some extras that needed to be done on the bumper, lights and bonnet to restore the condition of the car would reach well in excess of £3,000. I suppose unfortunately this means that poor Vivienne was on the cusp of being written off as a total loss which would mean my car would be scrapped or stripped down entirely, naked to her shell, her parts sold on. The kind car doctor informed me that the diagnosis would be more likely than not a write-off and that I should hurry home to check that I have purchased the all-important gap insurance. Gap insurance means that whatever the insurance company pays out for my poor old Vivienne, my gap insurance will cover the rest to what I have left to pay on my finance deal. This means that inadvertently I would walk away without a car and with the debt cleared meaning I can go out to find a new car or alternatively get a loan to cover the balance on a new car.
This evening after finishing work, I noticed I had a text from the car mechanic who diagnosed Vivienne explaining that my vehicle was now a total loss and that my insurance company will be in contact with me soon. With this, I thought that it would be better if I called the insurance company this evening so I could get the ball rolling, although after a lengthy conversation and many, many questions later the call handler finally revealed to me that my car was no longer insured under my policy and that as of the moment I get home and park her on my drive she will be classed as a category-N write-off meaning I would not be able to drive her ever again.
Rolling her gently onto my driveway, solely dedicated to her and only her, I bid my 2011-plate little orange Ford Fiesta goodbye as I emptied her insides. Vivienne will be collected in the next few days and after that I should expect to hear what she is worth. To me, however, my first ever car is and always will be priceless. We have cried together, sang together, stressed together and even screamed and shouted together at times. All the selfies. All the memories. I literally thought I would bring my future babies home from the hospital in my Vivienne, car seats and all. Alas, you were beaten up by an unscrupulous driver and thus our adventures will continue no more! You have served me well dear Viv. Miss you already ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 5 March 2018
Snowmageddon
Hello one and all!
So with the new found confidence I discovered in a bar last week down in Bedford's grim town centre of a Friday night I battled the storms and winter weather just as everyone else did admit Storm Emma and the dreaded Beast from The East. England and the rest of the UK was in for a chilly reminder that winter is yet to be over this last week and whilst it is nearly Easter and should be all spring time sunshine, flowers, bunnies and lambs - This is far from the reality of Blighty weather.
With apply named Beast from The East, the colder weather coming across from Russia being blown by Siberia and picking up some icy chills on the way the temperatures plummeted to rival the sinking of the Titanic and blizzard snow's hampering travel plans and all manner of daily activities life for some across the British Isles this week has not been great. All was but for a minor inconvenience until Storm Emma forcing the MET Office to issue a red weather warning foreboding to a loss of life should people be caught up in the outside winds of 70mph coupled with the already existing polar vortex from Beast from The East with forecasts for -15C wind chills and snowdrifts nearly as tall as you. Yes you!
As the snow fell carnage descended as shelves were left empty as shoppers (and general idiots) grabbed everything they could (including wiping one Tesco I went into completely of cake) in order to brave the potentially long winter nights ahead. Delays of two hours were a pleasant surprise for some people where others were stuck for hours or sometimes a couple of days on end in the middle of motorways and A-roads up and down the country.
Call me cynical and don't get me wrong I don't live very far North of London so weather here in the comfy Home-Counties was not adverse by anyone's standards but I just don't get it when people freak the fuck out about a little bit of the white stuff. I mean it is to be expected, we are an island off the coast of some of the coldest places in the entire world; Russia, Siberia, Iceland and the Artie just to name a few, and that's not including places right on our door step like Scotland, Norway and Sweden all suffering from much snowier weather during the winter months. But they deal with it in a much better way. Heated paths and walkways so people don't slip over and better public transport that doesn't just break under the strain of a few snowflakes. I understand that for the UK the methods used in other countries are both costly and something that would not necessarily be beneficial for the people of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland but it does question about how they seem to have got a grip on things over there when the weather gets bad.
Now I get that not everyone was that lucky enough like me and Mr. Warehouse to have the snow disappear on Saturday Afternoon as it did in Bedfordshire. I understand that to be in a car for over sixteen-hours potentially with a newborn baby with little or no water or food and only a blanket to keep warm or if you were stuck at home awaiting an ambulance to come and help you when you need it most it is not ideal and when weather is poor it only exasperates the situation and makes it worse. I, like others, have watched the news and listened to the radio hearing stories of wonderful community spirit and people being labelled as Snow Angels for the acts of heroism from John O'Groats to Lands End and everywhere in-between. And it is those moments that make me proud to be British, regardless of the weather - Come rain or shine we all stick together!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So with the new found confidence I discovered in a bar last week down in Bedford's grim town centre of a Friday night I battled the storms and winter weather just as everyone else did admit Storm Emma and the dreaded Beast from The East. England and the rest of the UK was in for a chilly reminder that winter is yet to be over this last week and whilst it is nearly Easter and should be all spring time sunshine, flowers, bunnies and lambs - This is far from the reality of Blighty weather.
With apply named Beast from The East, the colder weather coming across from Russia being blown by Siberia and picking up some icy chills on the way the temperatures plummeted to rival the sinking of the Titanic and blizzard snow's hampering travel plans and all manner of daily activities life for some across the British Isles this week has not been great. All was but for a minor inconvenience until Storm Emma forcing the MET Office to issue a red weather warning foreboding to a loss of life should people be caught up in the outside winds of 70mph coupled with the already existing polar vortex from Beast from The East with forecasts for -15C wind chills and snowdrifts nearly as tall as you. Yes you!
As the snow fell carnage descended as shelves were left empty as shoppers (and general idiots) grabbed everything they could (including wiping one Tesco I went into completely of cake) in order to brave the potentially long winter nights ahead. Delays of two hours were a pleasant surprise for some people where others were stuck for hours or sometimes a couple of days on end in the middle of motorways and A-roads up and down the country.
Call me cynical and don't get me wrong I don't live very far North of London so weather here in the comfy Home-Counties was not adverse by anyone's standards but I just don't get it when people freak the fuck out about a little bit of the white stuff. I mean it is to be expected, we are an island off the coast of some of the coldest places in the entire world; Russia, Siberia, Iceland and the Artie just to name a few, and that's not including places right on our door step like Scotland, Norway and Sweden all suffering from much snowier weather during the winter months. But they deal with it in a much better way. Heated paths and walkways so people don't slip over and better public transport that doesn't just break under the strain of a few snowflakes. I understand that for the UK the methods used in other countries are both costly and something that would not necessarily be beneficial for the people of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland but it does question about how they seem to have got a grip on things over there when the weather gets bad.
Now I get that not everyone was that lucky enough like me and Mr. Warehouse to have the snow disappear on Saturday Afternoon as it did in Bedfordshire. I understand that to be in a car for over sixteen-hours potentially with a newborn baby with little or no water or food and only a blanket to keep warm or if you were stuck at home awaiting an ambulance to come and help you when you need it most it is not ideal and when weather is poor it only exasperates the situation and makes it worse. I, like others, have watched the news and listened to the radio hearing stories of wonderful community spirit and people being labelled as Snow Angels for the acts of heroism from John O'Groats to Lands End and everywhere in-between. And it is those moments that make me proud to be British, regardless of the weather - Come rain or shine we all stick together!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 7 November 2016
The Infectious Zombie Disease That Became A Reality!
Hello-Hello,
So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!
It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party.
The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved.
A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol.
But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness.
Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid.
Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So I know what you are all thinking. Am I dead? No?! Well Not quite. I certainly was last week though and as Monday's are normally my night to self-consume myself with Blog writing, however last week I was barely in a position to hold a conversation or eat, let alone write something. Now I am proclaiming that it all started I suppose on Saturday night where myself and Mr. Warehouse transformed ourselves from young sweethearts in love to a flesh-eating, disease-ridden Zombie Medical Team. Mr. Warehouse was my lead Consultant Doctor and I was a nurse. Nurse Price - Hmmm?!
It was a Halloween Party and rather unlike myself I had left everything till last minute and subsequently our plans to go as the Mad Hatter, fully complete with real china tea-cup impaled on face, and Mr. Warehouse as the March Hare from Alice in Wonderland (The original, not that crap Tim Burton churned out for his dwindling bank balance). So as the weekend approached faster than I anticipated Mr. Warehouse and I gave up on the hope of a warped Disney fantasy and opted for a fancy-dress shop bought costume. Nevertheless we spent most of the afternoon making fake blood, Halloween inspired cake pops and flinging a red concoction of pantry cupboard ingredient's at each other, making the whole of our little courtyard look like we had actually killed something. Good thing the Dog was still running around. Hanging up our outfits to dry, Mr. Warehouse and I took to the warmth of the inside in order to "glam" up for the party.
The annual bash is something that is hosted by Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife, a lovely couple who enjoy Halloween as much as Jack and Sally, celebrating it bigger than some people do Christmas. They decorate the whole house; Bathroom, Reception Rooms, Hallways, Landings, Kitchens and Back Yard - All in hauntingly beautiful arrays of cobwebs, black and creeped out dec's. I cannot wait for the moment in my life that it is appropriate enough to have my own Halloween Party, although I am almost certain it will take many years, weeks and pennies to achieve the levels Mr. Warehouse's Cousin and his wife have achieved.
A successful few hours later, our costumes more intact than last year (Whereby Mr. Warehouse's overalls were quite literally ripped off his back when we dressed as the Big Bad Wolf and Little 'Dead' Riding Hood) we headed off home, and I was impressed that I had gone out of a night time and enjoyed myself at a Party whilst not drinking a single drop of Alcohol.
But it would appear that the effects of the Zombie Apocalypse did not wear off as fast as I had hoped, for as Monday afternoon approached I started to feel queasy. "Food might help" I thought. So I had my lunch, albeit late. It made the stomach cramps and nausea worse. "A glass of milk might make it better" I continued.
But again, it made everything worse. Dashing to the bathroom in order to vomit I knew I had to go to the doctors. I couldn't believe that yet again had the same symptoms I had a few weeks ago had returned and it would appear I again had a horrendous viral infection. Only this time I needed to be at work. Not just for the fact that it was a new job and I wanted to be there to learn and show I was willing, but also the simple fact they no matter how long you are with the company they do not pay sickness.
Shockingly poorly I went to the doctors and struggled driving home, vomiting not only in the doctors surgery but also outside the local Pharmacy whilst waiting for my prescription. I knew it was Halloween it was scary how sick I was feeling. Getting home I desperately tried to manager some bolognese but that came up as quick as it went down. Water and juice was unable to stay put also and by the time I had even thought about writing last week I was bent over double throwing up or curled up on Mr. Warehouse's lap, shivering under several blankets and layers of clothes. Having enough, my beautifully caring other-half put me to bed and left the bucket now used for such occasions and a glass of water to sip on, wrapping me up in the duvet and promising to check on me every hour, which he did but if only to make sure I hadn't choked on my own stomach acid.
Two days later I returned to work, still not feeling great but with limiting options since I wasn't getting paid for the pleasure of sitting at home in my pyjamas under a duvet with a sick bowl to hand. I am feeling much better today and throughout the last couple of days, I am just hoping it doesn't attack me again with another bout of The Zombie Sickness Bug.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 17 October 2016
Buy Less, Choose Well, Make It Last: A Quote From Vivienne Westwood
Hellooo,
Last week, along with announcing that I had a new job to go to, which I will be starting this time next week (Eek!) but also that I had taken my driving test for the second time. Driving up to the test centre I was nervous about the 'Show Me Tell Me' questions as I had not practised them much on the run up as I had before, but other than that I felt very confident about taking my test again.
Sitting in the waiting area again I was anxious to get going. Seeing my previous driving examiner readying another candidate I was saddened that my learning-to-drive journey would not end with being passed by the same examiner that failed me first time around. Nevertheless I awaited my name to be called and introduced myself when the time came. An elderly gentleman with a large mole or birth mark on his face I was ready to show him what I was made of and hopefully impress him enough to give me that coveted pink drivers licence was so desperate to have. Sitting in the car, ready to go I was determined this would be the last time I have to do this. I needed to pass. Failure was honestly not an option. Halloween was merely a few weeks away and the stingy part of me did not want to shell out in cab fares back and fourth from Bedford to Mr. Warehouse's Cousin's party in nearby Stewartby.
Heading out of the test centre we took a route unfamiliar to myself, but I carried through and before I knew it my time was almost up. Pulling up on a residential road I had already managed some tricky junctions, manoeuvres and traffic situations. Now it was time for my independent driving; A full ten-minutes of silence from everyone in the car whilst I adhered to the already pre-instructed route back to the test centre. Again I was asked to take the route that had failed me last time. Taking it away I put the motions into place and headed out towards the A421 taking directions for Cambridge and the north. Although coming up to a roundabout I was approaching with caution due to an Audi driver not signalling off. As a result I had not noticed I had been driving in the chevron area for some time and it was only now, as I mounted the curb on the island approaching the roundabout that I realised my faults.
Managing my way around the junction and out onto the cross roads that stung me last time I was sure not to make the same mistake twice, coming up to the junction to stop, look and then ace pulling out into the steadily moving traffic. Heading back to the test centre now I was confident it had been a great drive, maybe one of my best but the fact that I had mounted the curb had thrown me slightly. "If I have failed at that point again I will be really upset and angry with myself. Twelve minutes that's all it is. Twelve minutes from home at the test centre!" I said internally as I exited the slip road and headed towards Cardington. Driving up the winding lanes I was hoping for success and as I pulled my faithful Beema into the parking space I held my breath slightly in anticipation of the news.
"So I am pleased to tell you that you have passed your driving test" said the examiner, a smiling yet concerned look on his wrinkled face.
"You mounted the curb back there and in all fairness whilst it was some good driving, most of the five minors you have encountered are for steering or steering related" he continued as my mind drifted off to thoughts of buying a car and what I would tell friends, family and co-workers.
"You need to make sure you pay more attention and maybe consider taking lessons to counteract your steering issues I have highlighted" my examiner said as I beamed with excitement. Bidding farewell I exited the BMW and shaking, sat in the passengers seat as my instructor took to the wheel to drive me to work.
The journey back to work was a quick one, passing in a blur of advice and practical knowledge from my instructor whom six-months earlier was just a stranger. Pulling into the car park I was slightly late arriving at just gone ten-in-the-morning. Seeing Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat having a cheeky mid-morning cigarette I saw them trying to read my face as I got out of the car. Thanking my instructor I collected my bag and coat, shaking with my certificate I walked over to where my work colleagues were standing. Shaking my head I heard the sympathies of failing again. That was until I pulled out my pass certificate yelling "Look what I found!?"
Screams and jeers followed in the wake of my announcement, other colleagues peering out of windows and asking if I had passed. Holding up my certificate like a scene from Lion King ("Ha-Min-Yah" and all that malarkey) I was proud as punch. Is this what becoming a parent feels like? Maybe? Who knows? Who cares? I mounted the curb during my driving test and somehow still passed?! I was buzzing. I think I spent most of the rest of the day being congratulated and asked about my test and how it all went. A part of me really started to question why I was leaving when this felt so much like home and family.
Nevertheless the week continued to drag and as the end of the week was in sight I started to scout out some cars at local reputable dealerships. Taking public transport to a dealership on Saturday I had my heart set on a little orange Ford Fiesta. It is an eleven-plate, five-door hatchback with a 1.4 engine and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors it was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I will be financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. Yes my car is a she and because it is a female, my little tangerine-coloured car will be called Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out from Mr. CWG that in actual fact the Ford Fiesta does not come as standard with that colouring and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv got. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I am certainly eagar to collect her as soon as possible and it was due to be tonight after I finished work, but with the financial approver being off sick yesterday and today, it is looking like the earliest date Vivienne can come home will be Thursday at earliest. Between now and then I need to barter for a good insurance deal, buy my annual road tax and pick up some screen wash and other car bits to make her look and smell as pretty as a peach in summer.
Phhew! Some serious Adulting has been done recently; New Job, Newly aquired driving liecence and a successful application for car finance. Hopefully next week I can let you know how Vivienne is settling into her new home and how we get along as newly associated BFF's!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Last week, along with announcing that I had a new job to go to, which I will be starting this time next week (Eek!) but also that I had taken my driving test for the second time. Driving up to the test centre I was nervous about the 'Show Me Tell Me' questions as I had not practised them much on the run up as I had before, but other than that I felt very confident about taking my test again.
Sitting in the waiting area again I was anxious to get going. Seeing my previous driving examiner readying another candidate I was saddened that my learning-to-drive journey would not end with being passed by the same examiner that failed me first time around. Nevertheless I awaited my name to be called and introduced myself when the time came. An elderly gentleman with a large mole or birth mark on his face I was ready to show him what I was made of and hopefully impress him enough to give me that coveted pink drivers licence was so desperate to have. Sitting in the car, ready to go I was determined this would be the last time I have to do this. I needed to pass. Failure was honestly not an option. Halloween was merely a few weeks away and the stingy part of me did not want to shell out in cab fares back and fourth from Bedford to Mr. Warehouse's Cousin's party in nearby Stewartby.
Heading out of the test centre we took a route unfamiliar to myself, but I carried through and before I knew it my time was almost up. Pulling up on a residential road I had already managed some tricky junctions, manoeuvres and traffic situations. Now it was time for my independent driving; A full ten-minutes of silence from everyone in the car whilst I adhered to the already pre-instructed route back to the test centre. Again I was asked to take the route that had failed me last time. Taking it away I put the motions into place and headed out towards the A421 taking directions for Cambridge and the north. Although coming up to a roundabout I was approaching with caution due to an Audi driver not signalling off. As a result I had not noticed I had been driving in the chevron area for some time and it was only now, as I mounted the curb on the island approaching the roundabout that I realised my faults.
Managing my way around the junction and out onto the cross roads that stung me last time I was sure not to make the same mistake twice, coming up to the junction to stop, look and then ace pulling out into the steadily moving traffic. Heading back to the test centre now I was confident it had been a great drive, maybe one of my best but the fact that I had mounted the curb had thrown me slightly. "If I have failed at that point again I will be really upset and angry with myself. Twelve minutes that's all it is. Twelve minutes from home at the test centre!" I said internally as I exited the slip road and headed towards Cardington. Driving up the winding lanes I was hoping for success and as I pulled my faithful Beema into the parking space I held my breath slightly in anticipation of the news.
"So I am pleased to tell you that you have passed your driving test" said the examiner, a smiling yet concerned look on his wrinkled face.
"You mounted the curb back there and in all fairness whilst it was some good driving, most of the five minors you have encountered are for steering or steering related" he continued as my mind drifted off to thoughts of buying a car and what I would tell friends, family and co-workers.
"You need to make sure you pay more attention and maybe consider taking lessons to counteract your steering issues I have highlighted" my examiner said as I beamed with excitement. Bidding farewell I exited the BMW and shaking, sat in the passengers seat as my instructor took to the wheel to drive me to work.
The journey back to work was a quick one, passing in a blur of advice and practical knowledge from my instructor whom six-months earlier was just a stranger. Pulling into the car park I was slightly late arriving at just gone ten-in-the-morning. Seeing Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat having a cheeky mid-morning cigarette I saw them trying to read my face as I got out of the car. Thanking my instructor I collected my bag and coat, shaking with my certificate I walked over to where my work colleagues were standing. Shaking my head I heard the sympathies of failing again. That was until I pulled out my pass certificate yelling "Look what I found!?"
Screams and jeers followed in the wake of my announcement, other colleagues peering out of windows and asking if I had passed. Holding up my certificate like a scene from Lion King ("Ha-Min-Yah" and all that malarkey) I was proud as punch. Is this what becoming a parent feels like? Maybe? Who knows? Who cares? I mounted the curb during my driving test and somehow still passed?! I was buzzing. I think I spent most of the rest of the day being congratulated and asked about my test and how it all went. A part of me really started to question why I was leaving when this felt so much like home and family.
Nevertheless the week continued to drag and as the end of the week was in sight I started to scout out some cars at local reputable dealerships. Taking public transport to a dealership on Saturday I had my heart set on a little orange Ford Fiesta. It is an eleven-plate, five-door hatchback with a 1.4 engine and with its high specification including a multifunctional steering wheel, automatic headlights and rain sensors it was certainly a thing of beauty. Small enough for little old me and big enough for the Doggy and other half during road-trips I was certainly excited to test drive the autumnal-coloured runabout and even more anxious to hear about what packaged I could choose from.
I will be financing the car, and whilst I did consider a brand spanking new motor, the fact that it would depreciate by over a third just by driving it off the forecourt was a huge factor in why I chose second-hand over new. With one previous owner, no noticeable damage or scratches to her paintwork and a clean interior she was perfect. Yes my car is a she and because it is a female, my little tangerine-coloured car will be called Vivienne, after the flame-haired fashionista that is Vivienne Westwood. I think it fits and I have since found out from Mr. CWG that in actual fact the Ford Fiesta does not come as standard with that colouring and the previous owner must have paid a good deal of money for a paint job as good as what my Viv got. A special one of a kind you might say. Unique - Just like her owner! I am certainly eagar to collect her as soon as possible and it was due to be tonight after I finished work, but with the financial approver being off sick yesterday and today, it is looking like the earliest date Vivienne can come home will be Thursday at earliest. Between now and then I need to barter for a good insurance deal, buy my annual road tax and pick up some screen wash and other car bits to make her look and smell as pretty as a peach in summer.
Phhew! Some serious Adulting has been done recently; New Job, Newly aquired driving liecence and a successful application for car finance. Hopefully next week I can let you know how Vivienne is settling into her new home and how we get along as newly associated BFF's!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 12 September 2016
The Final Countdown!
Heyy,
Sitting in the car, dressed in Mr. Warehouse's tracksuit jogging bottoms, hoodie and my Bailey Button UGGs, I felt I needed an excuse for my unusually relaxed Sunday afternoon attire. 'Think women, think' I said to myself as I racked my brain trying to think of a valid excuse for being so slobby on what was a beautiful day.
"Sorry, Just got back from the Gym" I lied to my driving instructor. Don't know why I had to lie. He wouldn't have cared. I don't even own a Gym Membership let alone go to one. The closest I get to a gym is walking past on my way to a fast food outlet or another variant of a poor diet choice. Hmmm, Krispy Kreme!
Nevertheless I started my driving lesson well, pulling off and out of the residential areas surrounding my little home without a hitch. I figured that since this was going to be my last lesson I would wear my so-called 'lucky' shoes and hopefully they would give me the confidence I was so lacking in my driving lessons of late. Heading towards the test centre my instructor reminded me that I would be taking a mock examination on yesterday's bright Sunday afternoon. Starting off with the general knowledge questions I was asked about tyre pressure amongst other things and on asking how I check it my mind decided to just go blank. 'Kick them - If they spring back then their full enough? No that cannot be the right answer. Feel them with your hands? Oh god, why don't I know this?' I thought to myself. 'I know that there is that thing at the petrol stations that beeps when you have reached full capacity but surely that's not the right answer?' I again pondered. With no other option I gave it my best shot.
"Is it to feel it with your hands?" I said, knowing more so when it was said out loud was probably the worst response a testee has ever said. This was fully appreciated when my instructor repeated my ridiculous answer back to me. Expecting him to laugh out loud I waited patiently as he scribbled on the mock examination paperwork. 'Fuuuuuuuuuck'
Heart rate slightly increased, I started the engine of my dearest Beema and carried along the winding and bendy roads that ran throughout the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside. Carrying on through my mock test I managed all the roads including a busy dual carriageway, a three-point / turn in the road, a parallel park and even avoided what could have been a very serious crash. You see I was coming down a very narrow residential street that I have never encountered before and as I was approaching the end, already in first gear I slowed right down, more so for my own sake, being the first time I had taken that route before. Then, just before I was about to take the bend in question a green car came speeding round forcing me to slam on my breaks, stalling the car. Hands waving in the air and probably shouting obscenities, I ignored the arrogant driver that knew he was in the wrong and that obviously had been born without having to be a learner driver, for I cannot see any other reasoning for him acting in such an irrational and cock-chinned way to another fellow road user, especially given the speed he was going round the corner of a twenty-mile-an-hour zone.
Regardless I continued and successfully drove back to the test centre, pulling up outside and awaited the inevitable fate that would be I failed. 'This is what it is going to feel like babe. This is the blissful innocence of a naive learner driver on the bare brink of her test. Revel from it and enjoy the fact that your in the middle of the countryside and surrounded by trees to hang yourself in when you fail' I pepped myself. Just FYI though I am not a mental health risk - No matter what my close friends and family may say! I am fully sane and can assure you I would not be honestly that devastated after failing miserably. I have a job to get to and a party that weekend. I am not going to kill myself.
"So I am happy to tell you that you have passed your driving test - Albeit a mock" My driving instructor said.
"I'm sorry what?!" I exclaimed after a long silence ensued.
"You've passed. But you had some faults ... " My driving instructor said again for the second time, continuing this time to explain where I went wrong. I was sort of listening, but sort of not. I knew where I had fucked up on. A roundabout I had messed up my signalling on and a tad lack of lane discipline on roundabouts but other than that I had passed. I was happy. Very happy. Beaming with pride I drove the circuit once more and prayed I would have it again for my actual test, although with more than eleven more test routes the examiner could take me I am not holding my hopes too high. Ending my final lesson I took a moment to think if there was anything I wanted to ask my driving instructor. 'To think that the next time you sit in this car it will be for your actual fo' sho' driving test with a real examiner and a real outcome that will literally change my entire life as I know it.' I thought, and as surreal as that was I bid my driving instructor a farewell as hoped I would not have to see him after Thursday.
As I walked home from where I had parked at the end of my street, I could feel my face cracking in half with the strain of my mock-passed-driving-test induced smile. I showed Mr. Warehouse and he jumped up with joy, giving me a big cuddle all in the knowledge that he knew just how anxious and unprepared I felt less than a few hours before. But as I sit here today now, with less than two days, eleven hours and thirty-something minutes before I take my actual real life driving test I feel lots more confident and gladly it is confidence and not my normal cockiness or arrogance that usually surrounds anything else I do. Hopefully I pass first time as I did on my mock, but as ever I am knowledgable that I am a human and I cannot predict what will happen on the day. Hopefully I have a nice examiner and he is in a good mood, or she, and is laid the night before so they are nice and relaxed and like to pass little girls who are somewhat OK at driving.
Hopefully this time next week I can not only report on my passing but also on my party and all the birthday fun I have been up to. Ahh yes, next week will be very busy indeed.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Sitting in the car, dressed in Mr. Warehouse's tracksuit jogging bottoms, hoodie and my Bailey Button UGGs, I felt I needed an excuse for my unusually relaxed Sunday afternoon attire. 'Think women, think' I said to myself as I racked my brain trying to think of a valid excuse for being so slobby on what was a beautiful day.
"Sorry, Just got back from the Gym" I lied to my driving instructor. Don't know why I had to lie. He wouldn't have cared. I don't even own a Gym Membership let alone go to one. The closest I get to a gym is walking past on my way to a fast food outlet or another variant of a poor diet choice. Hmmm, Krispy Kreme!
Nevertheless I started my driving lesson well, pulling off and out of the residential areas surrounding my little home without a hitch. I figured that since this was going to be my last lesson I would wear my so-called 'lucky' shoes and hopefully they would give me the confidence I was so lacking in my driving lessons of late. Heading towards the test centre my instructor reminded me that I would be taking a mock examination on yesterday's bright Sunday afternoon. Starting off with the general knowledge questions I was asked about tyre pressure amongst other things and on asking how I check it my mind decided to just go blank. 'Kick them - If they spring back then their full enough? No that cannot be the right answer. Feel them with your hands? Oh god, why don't I know this?' I thought to myself. 'I know that there is that thing at the petrol stations that beeps when you have reached full capacity but surely that's not the right answer?' I again pondered. With no other option I gave it my best shot.
"Is it to feel it with your hands?" I said, knowing more so when it was said out loud was probably the worst response a testee has ever said. This was fully appreciated when my instructor repeated my ridiculous answer back to me. Expecting him to laugh out loud I waited patiently as he scribbled on the mock examination paperwork. 'Fuuuuuuuuuck'
Heart rate slightly increased, I started the engine of my dearest Beema and carried along the winding and bendy roads that ran throughout the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside. Carrying on through my mock test I managed all the roads including a busy dual carriageway, a three-point / turn in the road, a parallel park and even avoided what could have been a very serious crash. You see I was coming down a very narrow residential street that I have never encountered before and as I was approaching the end, already in first gear I slowed right down, more so for my own sake, being the first time I had taken that route before. Then, just before I was about to take the bend in question a green car came speeding round forcing me to slam on my breaks, stalling the car. Hands waving in the air and probably shouting obscenities, I ignored the arrogant driver that knew he was in the wrong and that obviously had been born without having to be a learner driver, for I cannot see any other reasoning for him acting in such an irrational and cock-chinned way to another fellow road user, especially given the speed he was going round the corner of a twenty-mile-an-hour zone.
Regardless I continued and successfully drove back to the test centre, pulling up outside and awaited the inevitable fate that would be I failed. 'This is what it is going to feel like babe. This is the blissful innocence of a naive learner driver on the bare brink of her test. Revel from it and enjoy the fact that your in the middle of the countryside and surrounded by trees to hang yourself in when you fail' I pepped myself. Just FYI though I am not a mental health risk - No matter what my close friends and family may say! I am fully sane and can assure you I would not be honestly that devastated after failing miserably. I have a job to get to and a party that weekend. I am not going to kill myself.
"So I am happy to tell you that you have passed your driving test - Albeit a mock" My driving instructor said.
"I'm sorry what?!" I exclaimed after a long silence ensued.
"You've passed. But you had some faults ... " My driving instructor said again for the second time, continuing this time to explain where I went wrong. I was sort of listening, but sort of not. I knew where I had fucked up on. A roundabout I had messed up my signalling on and a tad lack of lane discipline on roundabouts but other than that I had passed. I was happy. Very happy. Beaming with pride I drove the circuit once more and prayed I would have it again for my actual test, although with more than eleven more test routes the examiner could take me I am not holding my hopes too high. Ending my final lesson I took a moment to think if there was anything I wanted to ask my driving instructor. 'To think that the next time you sit in this car it will be for your actual fo' sho' driving test with a real examiner and a real outcome that will literally change my entire life as I know it.' I thought, and as surreal as that was I bid my driving instructor a farewell as hoped I would not have to see him after Thursday.
As I walked home from where I had parked at the end of my street, I could feel my face cracking in half with the strain of my mock-passed-driving-test induced smile. I showed Mr. Warehouse and he jumped up with joy, giving me a big cuddle all in the knowledge that he knew just how anxious and unprepared I felt less than a few hours before. But as I sit here today now, with less than two days, eleven hours and thirty-something minutes before I take my actual real life driving test I feel lots more confident and gladly it is confidence and not my normal cockiness or arrogance that usually surrounds anything else I do. Hopefully I pass first time as I did on my mock, but as ever I am knowledgable that I am a human and I cannot predict what will happen on the day. Hopefully I have a nice examiner and he is in a good mood, or she, and is laid the night before so they are nice and relaxed and like to pass little girls who are somewhat OK at driving.
Hopefully this time next week I can not only report on my passing but also on my party and all the birthday fun I have been up to. Ahh yes, next week will be very busy indeed.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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