Sunning Ourselves in the City by the Sea

Morning one and all, 

Last week I explained of the issue I had with my Landlord in paying back my deposit which was rightfully owed to be following Mr Warehouse and I moving out in November 2018. No sooner had the money hit my bank account my fiance was asking what I was going to be spending my money on. Jokingly I said about going on a holiday, expecting his normal response of "No, we cant afford it". But, on this occasion there was something different. 
"If you can find a holiday for under £400.00 then we can go!" Mr Warehouse said playfully. And so, heading to my go-to websites I found a flight for under £100 for both of us. Not booking any allocated seats and only one bag between the two of us I was off to a good start. Heading over to the hotel websites I found a great little hotel, less than five minutes from the beach and with a pool and air-con. Even better was the £250-odd that I had been saving up in Tesco Clubcard vouchers paid for it entirely. Malaga here we come!

It was dark. It was fucking dark. But we were now hours away from boarding a flight to the sunshine coast of Spain. We had only been asleep for a few hours after partying with some of my work colleagues at a friends 30th birthday party so to say we were tired was an understatement. However, driving down as dusk broke and checking ourselves through security I could feel Mr Warehouse becoming more and more anxious about the baggage and seating arrangements. After a quick spot of breakfast we were on our way and stepping into the Ryanair Jet, bound for Spain. 

The flight itself was nice and mainly smooth going, helped along by the film Baywatch and a pecan plait from home. Arriving in Malaga airport I could feel the humidity hit as the doors of the plane opened. Reunited, Mr Warehouse and I headed through the airport and outside where we decided not to get a transfer or taxi and instead opted for the local bus, only three-euros and was less than forty-minutes, about the same as a cab. This saved us about twenty-euros and whilst we had not necessarily pre-planned this, I would certainly recommend. As we left the comfort of the bus, Mr Warehouse and I walked through the beautiful botanical-inspired gardens to our hotel, located as described, perfectly between the beach and harbour. 
"So is the pool on the top floor?" I asked the clerk who met us there to show us around our apartment. He looked at me confused. I repeated my question and this time he responded, telling us that there was no pool. Annoyed slightly the clerk and I both looked through the photos n the website and sure enough there was not any, however I was certain to have booked one with a pool that all the holiday apartments shared. Signing away the papers I vowed to check once settled, although after checking it seems I may have been thinking of another hotel that was in running when booking. 

And so far since then our little holiday has been great. Halfway through now and still lots left planned in. Our first few hours were spent exploring and finding the amenities such as the beach, cafes, restaurants and the Harbour before having dinner and getting an early night. Yesterday was spent again mainly exploring and having a walk around the old town of Malaga City. We have yet to go to the traditional indoor market however we have booked onto a trip to visit my fathers birthplace tomorrow - Gibraltar (hes not Spanish, just part of a travelling military family). 

Yesterday evening I think was the best so far by a mile as Mr Warehouse and I boarded a catamaran boat trip to watch the sun set over the city by the sea. Standing in line we waited patiently. Mr Warehouse had ushered that the group of Spanish teenage boys behind us a few meters away were also boarding the catamaran. 
"Oh god I hope there not a little bunch of Arseholes" Mr Warehouse stated. Agreeing with him I nodded. A few moments later the queue we were in began to move and people began to board the boat and take up their places on the netted seating/sunbathing area. 
"Excuse me you were here first," Mr Warehouse said ushering the man stood next to him to take the spot in front of him in the queue. Clear and concise came his reply. 
"No, No. I'm with the group of boys over there" the Spanish looking man said in plain English. Oh Fuck! Feeling embarrassed Mr Warehouse said nothing and turned back to face the front. Whether he heard us or not make the comments about his pose/crew, Mr Warehouse and I now had to spend the next few hours out at sea with him and his gang of 'youts'. 

Sailing away on the deep ocean with nothing but water between us and North Africa, it was nice to see my fiance fully relaxed. 
"I am really glad that you push me out of my comfort zone and to do things and go places I have never been to before" he said, quite out of the blue. Sweet and romantic, my earlier naughty dream only reinforced the fact that I knew he was the one. To think that this may be the last holiday I have with a an unmarried name! The boat trip was beautiful and I have taken many many photos which I am hoping, when I have a free moment that I can make into a little holiday montage and video, similar to what we did with our Tenerife vlog! 

Tonight I think we will head up to the old town again, hoping for some yummy Paella and fresh seafood before a spot of shopping for nic-naks and holiday crap before an early night as we have to be up and out before 7am in order to get the transportation to Gibraltar - The home of my ancestors, named after the rock itself and to be forever adorned with monkey's. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Two's Company, Six is a Gatecrash!

Hey there one and all, 

So last week I explained away my review of a little known film called 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. This week however I turned Fifty Shades of Pink when I had a Déjà vu momento in which I was whisked back to an occasion I thought could never be written let alone happen twice, That Christmas Eve in 2012 - Merry ExMas! 

Awaiting my uncle outside a familiar Italian Ristorante in Bedford I pondered as to his whereabouts. It was never like him to be late, and for that fact it was never like me to be early for something. My phone bleeped with message telling me to go inside and get a nice big glass of wine ordered, instead of standing outside freezing whilst my Uncle was stuck in rush-hour traffic. 

Seating myself at the table it crossed my mind that this restaurant held fond memories of eating dinner across from a bearded and the childlike innocence of Mr. Cheese. Ahh yes. Long gone are the days of blue eyes and goofy smiles. I waded happily in my thoughts until my dinner date arrived. We sat, ordered bread and olives and yet more wine. Happy in my Uncle's company I was glad to have seen him before I went to Las Vegas. Albeit a small holiday it was still going to be the longest I have travelled, but I felt it and will be the start of an even bigger adventure into the world, as yet unexplored by Moi. 

As our Thursday night ensued we ordered our dinner and passed the time with conversations of work and family. Until that is I saw the flashes of a bright, post-box red jacket. "Oooh that's a nice winter coat I thought" I thought to myself. But just as I wondered where the owner had bought it from my ears caught the distinct sound of a voice I knew. "Surely not! It cant be! Its a Thursday evening for crying out loud?!" I thought, beginning to internally flap. But yes, it was. And as the women turned to be shown to her table I already knew who it was. Momma Cheese! As the seconds dragged I thought, hoped even, that she would be here with friends or someone else. "Not him, please, anyone but him!" No sooner had I thought those things I was suddenly thrust into a world long forgotten. Momma Cheese embraced me, soon followed by a warming hug from Baby Cheese, Mr. Cheese's youngest Brother. Mr. Cheese himself however could only muster up a short and stout "Hi". After the introductions you could tell we all felt awkward especially given the fact my Uncle had never met any of these people. Nevertheless, my ex-boyfriend and his family, now including Pappa Cheese were sat on the table next to us, so close in fact that if I put my arm out I probably would have had it round Mr. Cheese's shoulders. 

As dinner continued I listened intently to their conversation, desperate to be in two places listening fully at once. But as with anything like this - As if I am some sort of expert, of which incidentally I probably am now this has happened a second time - It was always going to be weird. Whether we met in the cereal aisle at Waitrose doing our weekly shop or in a hot and sweaty club with sticky, vodka and Redbull laced floors it was always going to be odd to say the least. Difference in as I found myself dipping in and out of their family dinner and subsequent conversations that came with it I realised that whilst I miss the intellectual conversation surrounding politics, current affairs and other matters of topical interest I certainly do not miss the way I felt when I was with (and without) my lover, Mr. Cheese.

I struggled with my Uncle to tell of anecdotes I had endured with Mr. Cheese for he was mere centimetres from me and would probably be able to retell every accountable detail in such tale not to mention fully vouch for the moments themselves. Looking back through our year together I see it through rose-tinted spectacles; The long hot summers days, lunches out, parties and social occasions not to mention the wonderful weekends in the Capital spent parading shops and eateries in West London and exploring the Chiswick High Road together in blissful harmony together. Fond memories of naughty emails and snuggles watching animal documentaries before bed. Mmm, Sunny days were they. But once the sun was gone there were clouds and storms in the skies that whilst simple to forecast were not so easily saved with an umbrella or raincoat. 

As the Cheeses' family meal ended, my Uncle and I sipped on strong Italian Coffee. Watching them dress in coats and winter attire I stood to be greeted and was again embraced by all members of the family. All bar one. Mr. Cheese himself had sprung from the table as soon as the bill was paid and dashed straight for the exit. Anyone would have thought I had the Plague or something. Not so much as a goodbye or see you soon. Nothing. As I said farewell to his family a little part of me was saddened I could not go home with them or that Mr. Cheese would not be joining me back in my flat tonight. It was then that I realised I was much better off without Mr. Cheese. Sure he was somewhat well off and his family affluent to the highest degrees I have ever come into contact with but it was not for me. The incessant need to have a cup of tea every four hours. The compulsion of vegetables and fruit at every meal. The absoluteness of getting a good nights sleep every night. And the lack of partying like a proper posh person slowly would have ground me down. I enjoyed his company most of the time yes and in terms of friends I think we would have been great, but as more than that I doubt it. I knew from the start that Mr. Cheese wasn't 'The One' and so I didn't pin too much on him, well at least I thought I hadn't. 

I had a relationship with this man, a sexual relationship (albeit not a very good one but regardless a sex life of sorts) and yet still he could not face up to me and be gracious. Gentlemanly and courteous he was not. Ignorant and ill-mannered he was. For someone brought up well from a pleasing family background and a good moral standing I would have thought more from him. I could have understood it if I had been the one doing the dumping; But it was I whom was the Dumpee in all of this. If anyone was going to have a diva moment and walk out it should have been me. But as I conversed with my agony aunties - Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee later on after live tweeting and messaging them throughout said gatecrash; Maybe he just wasn't over me!? Maybe the sight of seeing you, so unexpectedly and so well turned out after the split made him regret his choices and wonder what life could have been like. And to an extent I probably agree, I mean come on! Maybe I am the Mount Kilimanjaro of women. Easy to climb onto, but hard to get over!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx