Pacing Prague And Other Tales!

Ahoj!

Racing around like a blue-arse-fly I was now stuck in a serious traffic jam on the A421. Stand still. Not. Moving. Anywhere. Frustratingly I spent over double the amount of time it would normally take me to get to Miss Tweedle-Dee's house for our Pre-Holiday sleepover. After a spot of telly and a night time snack of coffee and Jaffa Cakes we headed to bed for an early night. Waking the next morning the staples of toast and more coffee ensued and afterward it was time to head to the airport. Thanks to Pappa Tweedle-Dee we arrived in good time and after changing up more money (to think I was worried about not having enough) we headed shopping and for a bite to eat. 

Boarding the plane Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were excited and just over ninety-minutes later, with a rather uneventful flight in general that had passed really quickly we had arrived. Touching down we collected our bags and headed through nothing to declare and awaited our driver. And waited. And waited. Went outside into the cold early evening air for a quick Vape Sesh and then back in. Still no driver and it was now I started to panic. Was this a scam? Have I made a grave mistake in booking a hotel and not looking at the reviews? I had been talking to the receptionist for the last few days as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had many questions but maybe it was all a set up and now I am in a foreign land where I know virtually no Czech and am struggling to call their offices! Help! Just then, as if by magic a pink-shirted gentleman approached us as if from no where and asked us if it was us he was looking for. We must have looked lost! He took my bag (Miss Tweedle-Dee carried her own) and we headed to the car. Driving through the streets of Prague we swapped small talk and asked advice on where is best to eat and visit in the city, but more-so where not to go. 

Finally arriving at the apartment and figuring out our own way on how we get in after being abruptly told by a moody jobs-worth of a receptionist, we settled into what I can only describe as a very white, clean and well equipped studio apartment. Small for the two of us it certainly ticked all the boxes and provided us with everything we could have wanted or needed in our time here including a super comfy memory-foam double bed, small dining table and chairs, wardrobe, safe and small kitchenette consisting of the microwave, kettle, under-the-counter fridge and sink. There is / was a hob however we did not use it. In the hallway was a coat-rack and areas to put boots and other outdoor wears and opposite was a toilet and separate bathroom complete with a very small shower, washing machine and sink. Cosy to say the least, but in all fairness it was a place we would spend the next few nights in bed, scrolling through social media and sleeping before heading out again. That being said the stairs are and have been an issue. Three flights that curve round and are usually shrouded in darkness have certainly been the bain of our lives. 

For our first night in Prague, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I hadn't made any real plans in terms of dinner and neither of us had actually reviewed or researched any where near our apartment for some dinner and therefore we wandered rather aimlessly towards what looked like the Christmas Market set-up. Around there we found what looked like a rather neglected from the outside restaurant, but to be fair it looked warm and I was getting cold so I persuaded Miss Tweedle -Dee to come inside with me. And oh boy was it the best choice we made, I think probably all holiday. Since we had both eaten lunch pretty late neither Miss Tweedle-Dee or I were that hungry so opted just for a single main course from the French Restaurant menu. I ordered a roasted Guinea Fowl and the Bestie ordered a Pork Belly with Potato Puree. This was all washed down with a couple of beers. Such a stunning meal and honest to god I would definitely recommend it so if you are heading to Prague you need to go to La Gare just round the corner from the main Palladium shopping center (which is deceivingly huge by the way, like some sort of shopping tardis!)

Waking up in the city the next morning I was glad for being here and on holiday once again. Heading out into the fresh chilly air we looked round the Christmas Market Areas round the areas surrounding our hotel and found ourselves moving over to the Old Town Square area. We watched the Astronomical Clock and pottered around some of the churches and architectural landscapes surrounding the infamous area. Wandering then took us over the Charles Bridge, and sauntering across the river Vltava and finding ourselves in a small cafe, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I ordered a traditional goulash and some Camembert, accompanied with some tasty raspberry infused beer! Delish! The following days were spent very similarly, touring round Prague, taking photos, filming filler for my holiday Vlog and visiting the many Christmas Markets around the city. 

A visit to several of the most popular tourist hot-spots were also frequented by Miss Tweedle-Dee and I including the Prague Castle which is the largest Castle in the world sprawling out over eighteen acres. Me and the Bestie also visited the Sex Machine Museum which I will be honest was a slight let down, although the Creepy Bear (picture uploaded to my Facebook page if you really need an example) and other apparatus were certainly interesting but possibly not worth the nearly ten-quid entry fee?! Another maybe more worth while waste of money being a tourist in Prague was with our visit to the Chocolate Museum / factory just off The Old Town Square. Other than this simply wandering round the shops and Christmas Markets and stalls have occupied both Miss Tweedle-Dee and I throughout our stay here. 

Eating out in Prague has certainly been an experience which in my opinion was miles and miles ahead of my experiences in Tenerife with Mr. Warehouse in the Summer. Our first night I have already touched on and whilst I was given loads of advise from tonnes of people I knew who had visited Prague before as well as some helpful vloggers and bloggers who live in Prague and the Czech Republic, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I hit up some really, really good restaurants. Firstly there is the cafe round the corner from our accommodation called Cafe Apetit. Whilst I am almost certain that all that occupied at the time we visited on Sunday Morning / Afternoon were all local, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I struggled through our broken Czech to order a delicious open sandwich, coffee and a large slice of cake which all came to under two-hundred Czech Koruna, equal roughly to under a fiver in British money, something which we were both stunned by given if the same was bought in London it would have easily been double if not triple the price and so much lacking in quality. 

Another place you need to hit up when in Prague are Brasilerio where you can have as much meat as you can handle and an unlimited salad and other specials bar. Very similar to the steak all-you-can-eat buffet Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had with the rest of her family and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in Las Vegas you use your coaster to show green in order to tell the meat-staff and servers when you are ready for the BBQ goodness or switch it over to red when you just want to tap-out for a little bit. Regardless of the hefty price tag (well only hefty in comparison to the other eateries we visited which came in well under the four-hundred Czech Koruna I was expecting to spend each night) I still think that for the price it was certainly worth it and would certainly encourage you to visit if here. 

My only let downs about Prague as a whole I feel (apart from going home tomorrow) is that the majority of the city, its sights, tastes, smells and feels could easily be done in half the time we have spent here. I would suggest if you are planning your trip that two or three days would be sufficient and if the Christmas Market is in town, maybe four but I probably wouldn't plan another city break for as long as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I have come for. Whilst it has been relaxing we have done a lot of the same thing. Long lazy mornings lying in bed till noon an staying up late scrolling through news feeds have kept us occupied though and I honestly cant think of many other people I would want to spend my time exploring a European Christmas Market with that my bestie, Miss Tweedle-Dee. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

No Pain, No Gain!

Hey Ya'll, 

Ever wondered what its like to be a lady who lunches all the time. An unemployed busy-body whose husband is always working away, you probably have children in private school, and a friend circle which including the names Pippa, Harriet and Felicity. A wonderfully luxurious cocktail of Pilate's, Champagne afternoon tea and sneaky Tuesday afternoons stolen with a gardener whom tends to not only your roses but you as well, right after Murder She Wrote. Ahh yes, and the husband doesn't even know a thing! 

One thing that posh ladies who are unemployed do is go for spa days and massages on a regular basis, and as a wanna-be-posho, I try to keep up with this trend by booking in a massage every couple of months or so to relieve all the tension that builds up through people generally just getting on my fucking wick! However, my normal salon, which is college based training new, upcoming college-grad's on the best techniques and methods, was closed for the summer break and so I booked in with somewhere new. And so, walking into the new Chiropractic Surgery and taking a seat I glanced round the converted 19th Century waiting room. As the pre-twenty-something receptionist handed me a clipboard I read through the registration form before filling it out as best I could. After a quick pop to the little girls room I was ready to be rubbed down and have all the tension of the past few weeks eased away. 

Soon I was greeted by a tall gentleman, softly spoken with a wonderfully smooth and relaxing voice, possibly even sexy to an extent. He welcomed me into the small but airy consulting room and ushered me to sit on the massage table. Seating myself we talked for a few minute about my specific areas of tension and 'tight areas'. But with such a chocolatey-velvet voice I struggled not to imagine this as a weird porno whereby I would have added extras to complete my "treatment". To look at the poor man he wasn't that much of a painting, or at least not for me. He was no Mr. Warehouse put it that way. But Mr. Masseuse was very calming and relaxed in his attitude, especially given the fact he was sat bouncing softly on a Pregnancy Ball. Fairly young, probably no older than early-thirties, blonde hair - short but messy and with a twang in his husky voice that seemed European, or at the very least well travelled I listened carefully as he grilled me on not drinking enough water. 

As he got up and left the room, I undressed down to my panties as I usually would and did that odd shuffle you do when trying to get onto the massage table whilst attempting to keep my dignity and not look like a dead seal by the time the Masseuse comes back, which is always milliseconds after they initially leave. Placing my head in the doughnut I saw two feet appear, clad in a socks and sandals combo. 
"Yes, that's defiantly got 'home-schooled in Prague' written all over it!" I thought to myself as he lubed - I mean oiled up! Getting cringier by the minute he awkwardly asked if he could undo my bra and after saying yes politely it was unclasped quicker than you could say 'Playaaa'. 

As he started to work on my shoulders I winced at the pain. 
"This is meant to be relaxing not punishing?!" I pondered, gritting my teeth through the searing sting. "Or maybe that's what he wanted?!" my mind said, altering what was a normal visit to the Chiropractors into something much seedier. 
"Wouldn't it be hilarious if there was a mirror on the floor so you can see your face crumple when you are kneaded within an inch of your life by a smooth talking, beardy European man with no clear sense of sandal-etiquette" I chuckled to myself as I braced once more for his powerful push. 

As time went on I wondered if it would ever end and I will just get a nice smooth caress. No. The pain and struggle continued as Mr. Masseuse stretched, pulled and pushed my back like he was making a loaf of bread. 
"I will pay for my kindness and inability to saying ease up on the pressure tomorrow" I thought to myself wrenching once more as he Mr. Masseuse bore into my spine once more with his knuckles. It was almost laughable in some instances, especially when he went up round the back of my neck, a sensitive, sweet-spot anyway. I think the fact that he was discussing a "friend" of his whom enjoyed the feel of ladies walking on his back didn't help to stifle the sniggers and in all fairness I was just waiting to feel something oddly shaped and sticky on my back. 

But again and again I watched those socked-up, granddad-trainer-sandals pace in front and to the sides of me ready to deliver the sharp pinch of back-fat. Suddenly, as if the pain in my shoulders and spinal column wasn't enough to leave me paralysed, I felt a sharp jab on my Love-handle. And again, this time rolling the burn from my tail-bone to my hip. This had gone from what I envisaged as an oddly erotic, 1980's style porno, to a full blown BDSM, bondage sesh with zero safe-word. No longer could I contain my torture and out escaped a little "Eeeep"!

"What was that?!" I scolded myself, wondering if Mr. Masseuse though he may have stepped on a mouse. But alas, the agony had somewhat eased. I was tender in a spot I never even knew was tender! I was more sore their than anywhere else on my body. But after a few more 'oohs', 'ahhs' and "Eeeeps", the agonising manoeuvres were met with some reassuring 'hmms' from Mr. Masseuse. Kindly he said that my sides and the bottom of my back was seized up and needed to be released. Listening to his creamy tones I soaked up the moments of painlessness. But then a jab. Right to the buttocks. And then the other. Right in the middle of each Arse-cheek. Under my bum. On the sides of my bum  and back to the middle of each cheek again. "That hurt. That really hurt!" I squealed in my head. Agreeing with my pain he pokes some more along my thighs and concludes that whilst they are not the problem, my derrière, love-handles and calves were all seized up and needed to be "worked on". 

Facial distortion over with I was finished off (No Pun Intended!) with a firm rub to the nape of my neck to which made me squirm with a cold mixture of delight, tickles and the gratefulness that my hour-long ordeal with Mr. Masseuse was nearly over with. But then, just as I had contained my giggles so far he came out with the phrase "Mmm, yes. Your neck is spasticated." And oh dear. It had slipped out in a pure gaffeur of excitement and hilarity. Laughing and chuckling away to myself, imagining partly the look on my Mr. Masseuse's face and also reliving those words in my head I tried to excuse my behaviour by stating that I was ticklish their. I mean how old was I - Four!? 

With a buttery-smooth response, slightly sexy in a way from Mr. Masseuse saying that "it's be its OK to be ticklish" I was brought back into the room, in my imagination now with red and black walls, dimly lit and smelling of candle wax; When in reality it was still light outside and with a cool but warm breeze through the third floor sash window. Slowly and rather gently wiping off the excess oils Mr. Masseuse exited the room and I swiftly shot up and snatched at my clothes, shoving them on as quickly as I could, knowing Mr. Masseuse was waiting behind the frosted glass door. After I was dressed I invited him back into his room and listened to all the things he had to say about my body and how to try and alleviate some of the stresses in it. 

Granted I have probably over-exaggerated the whole BDSM, rough and ready, porno vibe but in my mind it sounds better than a whitewashed Chiropractic Surgery in which a Professional well-educated man with a slight accent massages the aches and pains of an overly excited twenty-three-year-old. Nevertheless I left the Treatment room, glad to be home safe in the knowledge that I will not be signing up to a life-time of luxurious mani's, pedi's and massages any time soon, and certainly not to the sado-masochistic Mr. Masseuse with his dulcet tones, heavy handed nature and odd footwear choices

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx