Let the wedding bells ring out

 Hello Hello,  

Snow defrosted and all snowmen melted (although I think we now have to refer to them and "snow people" just in case someone gets offended, commonly known rather ironically as a snow-flake) our lives in lockdown returned to normal - Whatever the fuck that is anymore. By mid-week, it was all but a long lost daydream and with our evening occupied with plans for the first time in months, I was excited. For the first time in what seemed like forever, I was actually going to be talking wedding shit. Not "Oooh I hope it happens this year" or "Oh no COVID-safe wedding" blah blah blah. No. Certifiably exciting wedding shit.

After weeks of uncertainty and unknowing, anxious days of thinking non-stop about how our wedding might look. Will it go ahead, won't it go ahead? What are the restrictions, will we have to wear facemasks and is there any point in having all the expense? If it does go ahead how many people will we be allowed, will it be enough and who are the magic few? So many questions whirling around in my head it is no wonder I hadn't much sleep since Christmas. Because whilst everyone means well after the big man came down our chimney (socially distanced of course) the next question on everyone's lips was wedding, wedding, wedding.

As much as I knew that all our friends and family meant well by asking and only trying to maybe suck some happiness and excitement for finally a day where we could all be together again, I loathed the conversations and all that they entailed. That was until I had an honest and frank conversation with firstly my Matron of Honour - Mrs Tweedle-Dumb, and thereafter spurred on by our conversation (and the lure of a kebab) Mr Warehouse. We sat down on a Friday night to discuss and I had come up with several ideas such as a Humanist Ceremony (basically a non-religious and non-legally-binding ceremony focussing on each other as opposed to the holy one) switching up the venues to something smaller and less costly to accommodate the possibly smaller guest numbers and even the "P" word again.

As before, Mr Warehouse reassured me, if not heavily-handed due to the heated discussion (not helped by the chilli sauce laden lamb pitta). He made me more confident and happy that things are too uncertain at this moment in time to be making any rash decisions when no one knows what is happening next week let alone in four-months time. And so we took the decision that after touching on a few of the above ideas we would take them into consideration, add a pinch of salt and put it on the back burner until Easter when Government hopes to start opening life back up. Today the BBC confirms that the death toll is fading fast with only 406 being recorded today (Monday 01 February 2021), down just under a hundred on last Monday's figure. With the downturn in figures for people becoming infected as well as dying from the disease seems to suggest that the vaccines are working. What's even better news is that should the news be believed, the UK is not only on target but smashing the figures and expects that not only would we have vaccinated the top four categories of vulnerable people by mid-February, but that it is likely that this could be as soon as next week.

With all this in mind and focussing heavily the last few weeks since the kebab-convo, I have become engrossed in positivity and only accept positive vibes and attitudes. All Negative Nelly's and Grumple-Grumps need not apply. And so getting back to the beginning of this blog, our evening occupiedo. Armed with mountains of information from blogs, podcasts, news and more (Mainly from Guide For Brides and their weekly updates from the governments wedding taskforce so a big shout out to them for igniting such a firey intensity surrounding wedding planning again) Mr Warehouse and I scrabbled around for the laptop lead and the best lighting for our meet with the Reverand.

Much talking of flowers, hymns, singing (why do I hear Will Ferrell in the voice of "Elf" saying singing - Man I love that film) and readings were enough to keep me going. I had hoped Mr Warehouse would get just as excited as I was, maybe rubbing off on him a little, but I think a hard day in the pharmaceuticals industry with many more to come and the work-life causing mounting stress and frustration didn't help him to unwind or giddy about anything. And so June 12th here we come. Ideally with everyone. Even better with my Matron of Honour to be allowed to travel here from LA without visa restrictions or our nephew to wave at us from the crowded faces. The icing on the cake if we can have a dance and disco or cuddle - OMG! Dare I get too ecstatic? In any which way on the 12th of June, it will be me and Mr Warehouse and our Reverand standing up there, who else joins us along the way - Who knows?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

Finding The One

Hello, 

Sitting in my car I could hardly believe my luck. It was so beautiful, more than I remember. So sparkly and so shiny. Finally, peace and harmony were restored. 

You are probably wondering what all the fuss was and to an extent is all about. Well following the meltdown of last week's blog post detailing the absolute regret of swapping out my OG engagement ring for a new model, I spent hours hunting high and low for this damned ring. The Revere 9-carat White Gold Cubic Zirconia Oval Halo engagement ring was beautiful, classic and elegant. I should have really listened to the doubt inside my head at the time as I wrote in my blog "Rings and Tings" that week I ask myself if this new ring will have all the same significance and special feels as the OG. I thought so and yet several months down the line I can promise you that it did not. 

Silly old me thinking "of course it will look a little odd in photos and I will have to explain every time someone asks what happened to my old engagement ring, but this one is soooo sparkly and soooo beautiful it won't be hard for them to see why I fell in love with it." Oh how wrong I was. Heartbreakingly, I finally found that Argos have stopped selling it - Literally as of January 2020! 

I left my blog last week sad, for alas Revere 9-carat White Gold Cubic Zirconia Oval Halo Ring was the one and I was hasty to let you go for now I regret my decision. In the hours that followed I continued my search online for ex-models or ex-stock items, I only hoped I can find you item 724/8119! Searching the internet high and low, going into forums and eBay listings galore desperate to find it again, growing more and more needier as I trawled through pictures and listings and description's I finally found a handful that looked similar. Not 'The One' though. Amazon.com described it as a 10k Solid White Gold Oval Shape 1.0ct Halo Engagement Ring. At £140.00 it wasn't cheap and came in at more expensive than the OG and the "New and Improved" model. 

The listing went on, stating that the classic and timeless halo engagement ring was "crafted in your choice of solid 10k white or yellow gold. Stamped with authenticity and a promise of exceptional quality, this versatile design combines sophistication and effortless style". Vacation safe (whatever that means?!), the affordable alternative to a diamond engagement ring exudes grace and is a quintessential addition to a fine jewellery collection. 
Peace of mind is given when the shop states that "all jewellery undergo rigorous quality control processes to ensure that customers receive a durable and long-lasting product". 

Parade of Jewels continues to sell the product as "something that has been built to withstand the test of time with a premium, sturdy shank and a secure prong-set cuddling AAA quality Cubic Zirconia with fire and sparkle like no other". The Halo Engagement Ring collection including this ring is described as an elegant jewellery piece and the perfect gift for weddings and engagements or just to say "I love you". The reviews were good too, customers admiring the quality and style with one of them even stating that the ring was "Absolutely beautiful. Looks like the real deal." Although I couldn't pin everything on reviews as a 5/5 for only six people wasn't everything. 

All things aside, I double and triple-checked with the Argos Chatbots, only to be told that nope there was no hope. Item 724/8119, the stunning Revere 9-carat White Gold Cubic Zirconia Oval Halo Ring did not exist anywhere. And so I went to bed, defeated and flat. I would have to settle for I was too late. The following morning I continued my search, although kept coming back to the Amazon Special. I succumbed to the fact that if I wanted it I would have to order from the American eCommerce site. But maybe, just maybe my local store might have something? 

Heading out on my lunch break I whizzed on over to Argos at the Kempston Interchange, praying against all hopes that I would be in luck and, knowing it was unlikely, I walked into the store. Explaining the situation to the young women behind the sparkling glass desks, she gave me a kind smile and went into the back. She came out with a box and I thought that this couldn't be. Could it? Opening the box was like the first time all over again, right there in that gravelly car lot in Priory Country Park. 
"What size is it?" I asked anxiously awaiting a reply. Slipping it on I fell in love all over again. It fitted like a glove, perfect and dainty as I remembered. I could have cried if it weren't for being surrounded by whingey half-term kids and their exhausted and frustrated parents. Nearly biting the sales assistants hands-off I said I'll take it. And so I paid and left, costing me less this time around than it did when Mr Warehouse and I originally bought it all those many moons ago. 

Truth be told as I write to you now, distracted with the sparkles, I could need to have it resized still should I lose any more weight. I shan't at the moment, just simply because I am only a mere pound away from losing my first stone, and 1.5lbs from seeing a new stone-zone. Can hardly remember the last time I was in the 17-Stone range?! Nevertheless, I am overjoyed with the find and hopefully, the good winnings can continue tomorrow as I weigh-in!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Welcome to Slim-uary!

Hello, 

So as the chill sets in and everyone appears to be battening down the hatches in preparation for bad weather and a lack of social interaction due to the fact that nobody has any money for at least another fortnight or so. And here I am feeling like I have money to burn. The struggle is real and I am starting to wonder why I ever chose to not book a holiday early this year. You see after all my work colleagues had booked last minute holidays, all of them snatching up all the great bargains and good deals, leaving Mr Warehouse and I in a bit of a tizz as to why we have spent nearly seven-hundred quid on such a holiday that was barely worth half that. 

With this in mind, 2018 will probably be our last big holiday until we own a home. This is why I am looking to go on an all expenses extra kind of holiday. Where to you ask but the thing is nobody knows. Well that is until about six to eight weeks before we fly that is. I would like to go somewhere warm and ideally long haul. Maybe America, Mexico, Caribbean or Hawaii? Who knows I may end up in Thailand eating noodles from some back end bar and having to pull Mr. Warehouse away from the Lady-boys! I am sure that where ever and when ever we book it will be magical and something to treasure whilst we save like squirrels for our house. 

With the weather in England as unpredictable as my my hair colour (Blue, pink, orange, red - You name it we've been there) it is far too early to start thinking about summer yet. Now I am sure that you are just as eager as I am, ready and waiting to strip off, ready to hit the beach in a new bikini and have everyone turn to look at you. However the only reason that I think anybody would be looking my way on holiday is to see what a state I was or to clear the road to the buffet cart. 

OK so I may jest a little about my weight and in no uncertain terms and I taking the piss out of people that heavier or larger. You are beautiful each and everyone of you. Your bodies do fantastic things like keep you alive and bore you children. You should appreciate them and all that they do for you. So why am I hear bashing myself about my own weight you may say. Well, that is because I'm not happy with myself in the dress size I am. For what seems like year after year has now started to turn into decade after decade and despite being only in my mid-twenties, I feel like I dress like somebody ten-years older than me. I want to feel beautiful and for people to compliment me for once and actually mean it. 

Rightly or wrongly I know that people, sadly mostly my family, make passing comments about my weight and have done for many years. My family has always been big especially on my father's side and with the recent deterioration of my grandfather and his health, I can only assume that his lifestyle choices will probably be the end of him. And sadly I have no sympathy for him. Don't get me wrong I fully empathise with his situation and following retirement from what was a very active lifestyle jumping in and out of lorries all day he is now fully bed-bound and in need of round the clock care. It is sad and upsetting to see him in this way especially when he has had such a huge influence on my life. We are not very close by any means but that does not mean that I do not care for him very much and it worries me to think that this time next year he may not be with us. 

Maybe this is why I have joined a local gym and started a better and more healthier eating plan. I have signed up to you and been attending personal training sessions for the last few weeks with some astonishing figures that even I did not expect. In the last 6 weeks I have lost over ten-centimetres off my waist along with over seven-centimetres off my hips and sadly one-centimetres off my bust! Sad Face! And I don't want to be down to a size stupid, pottering around with a head bigger than my daily intake of calories and a waist the same circumference as a tangerine (Which by the way I would not able to eat since it was not vegan friendly, gluten free or multivitamin infused). I would however like to enjoy my summer prancing around in the sunshine, wearing a kitsch tea dress and looking as curvy and cute as I did back in college all whilst cramming down a hot-dog or two. 

I want to enjoy my food as well as my figure and wardrobe. I don't really think that I should have to compromise on either in order to have a good time or indeed enjoy life. I would like to say that by the time the annual family fun day at work is in full swing and Mr Warehouse and I are preparing for another year celebrating a pool and darts tournament in aid of his grandfather I would like to be at least one dress size smaller than I am now. Hopefully I can get there however it will probably be quite a lot of hard work, determination and willpower. Now where did I put my kale and avocado smoothie ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

One Size Does Not Fit All!

Afternoon All, 

So the moment has come (nearly) when the shops start blaring out Christmas hits and everyone starts barging in Tesco for the last box of mince pies! But as everyone clammers for that Gold Sequin number in Topshop, here I am wishing I could fit in to Primark sizes let alone any of the other High Street or Online party dress offerings. 

Ever since I can remember I have always been a larger size. At my High School Prom I look back on the photos of me that will take him that evening and think about how skinny and then I was. I looked a bit odd with my large head on my small underdeveloped frame. True to my Emo / Scene kids self I wore a handmade "Cold November Rain" inspired prom dress compromising of a corseted bodice and a graduated hemline skirt of black silk and pink neon chiffon. I had a collar bone and arms with shoulders to be proud of. I was a size 12. Now, a decade on, I am four dress sizes bigger and with the High street now struggling to cater to my less than agile physique, three weeks ago I decided to finally do something about it. I joined a new Gym opening for less than a tenner a month and have decided to also invest in a personal trainer to help kick start the weight loss and journey to a thinner, happier and hopefully more attractive me!

My inspiration really has to come from somewhere I have spent most of my time and that is at work. One girl there has grabbed the bull by the horns and has thrown herself into the exercise and fitness regimes like a female baaws I have never seen before. Triple-Thursdays are now a thing where three back-to-back classes are in attendance every week along with work out Wednesdays and Gym-Time-Tuesday. OK the last two I made up but Triple-Thursday is a real thing. A the beginning of the year I admired her. By the Summer I was in awe of her achievements and now, I look back as we all do on the transformation she has made and applaud her for all the hard work and effort she has put in. But in all fairness it is not you or I that see the difference or reap the benefits, nor even the lucky man she has on her arm, but her. She worked so damn hard because at some point she reached where I am now in the fact that I don't want to be that Mommy that sits on the park bench watching the kids play. I want to chase after them and run around too, not sitting reading a book I don't like because I get out of breath just looking at the roundabout. I want to be able to run round the park after my step-pooch and one day my own little fluff ball playing hide-and-seek and chase. I want to run up the stairs and not almost pass out at the top. 

After my first week I was hella nervous and on entering the new Gym complex where I was to begin my Personal Training Sessions I was a little scared. Normally friendly and bubbly to the point of being in your face I couldn't have become more opposite, now preferring to be a wallflower, fading into insignificance. Although I am a plus-size gal so that ain't happening any time soon. Starting off on the treadmill I was OK, a little breathy but OK. But that was just the warm up. Next were kettle bell swinging and steps. Again, a little more out of puff but still managing to hold a conversation. following that my PT decided to crank it up a notch by introducing me to the ropes and medicine balls. Again, looking at them I thought that they might be a little more tough but something I can handle. Yeah it was OK but I was certainly starting to feel it. Sweating in all the places I never expected to I carried on, trying to battle my way through. Finally those reps were done and I rewarded myself with some water and a moments rest. But then. Then came the dreaded box of doom. 

Twenty-inches high, the cube came up to above my knee. "I have had skirts longer than that" I thought to myself. "But you also couldn't fit into them now, could you fatty!" the devil on my shoulder said in retaliation. Spurring me on I soldiered through the gruelling task of simply stepping up onto the box and stepping back down. Sounds easy enough but by ten repetitions in I needed to stop. My vision was blurry and becoming tunnelled. I could feel waves of heat washing over me and every movement of my head or body made me want to be sick. Not wanting to Vom on my PT I took a rest and sat down for fear I might stumble. I knew my limit and I was super-unfit. Regretting the cigarettes and booze and takeaways I walked out of the venue bidding farewell to the staff thinking that I could do what I always do and just never come back. 

The question is would that really benefit me? The brutal answer is no it wouldn't and in less than six-weeks time I would be wondering why I am still the same size as I was last year and the year before and the year before that, all in the hope that somewhere does nice dresses in fat sizes for my Christmas party at work. Now I am not trying to say that all people size twenty (UK) and above need to go and join a gym and get on a strict diet of lettuce and carrot sticks, but what I am saying is that I am sick and tired of looking in every shop at beautiful dresses or outfits and all in the knowledge that they are not made for my frame or size. I have had enough of seeing stylish and sexy clothes that I cannot wear because they do not fit either on the arms, bust or waist and on the odd occasion I will hit a hat-trick of all three being completely wrong in an outfit that looks stunning on the size eight model. 

I returned last week for my first full paying session with the personal trainer. She is now costing my £45.00 for six-sessions of thirty-minutes every week and at a value of less than £7.50 per session I think that works out fantastic value and gets me exactly where I want to be. I wasn't as nervous as a first time walking through the doors, and in actual fact being greeted by people that already knew my face was quite a blessing. Oddly enough I had been looking forward to it. And whilst it was hard with more of the ropes, medicine balls and kettle bells, plus a few squats and lunges for good measure I was pleased to not feel as out of breath as I was the week before. No nausea. No blurred vision. No having to stop. Powering through it like my own female baaws. I have not quite got the Triple-Thursday crave yet, but I certainly walk out of the place now feeling more confident, achieved and even with a smile of my face looking forward to my next session. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Souvenirs D'Adolescent

Bonjour, 

Comment ca va? Ca va bien. Apologies for the French opening to this week's post but I am just sooo excited! So as if living the American dream in Las Vegas this March with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a matter of weeks ago we booked our annual Budget-Budget holiday to the once party island of Kavos in Greece. And as if that wasn't enough for one little globe-trotter I have also booked a cheeky holiday with Mr. Warehouse too. And that is where the French comes in as we are off too Lyon!

Now don't get me wrong I am stoked for lilo-ing in the swimming pool of mine, Miss Tweedle-Dee's, Miss Tweedle-Dumb's apartment and finding real life human faeces on the steps of our chalet not to mention the crazy nights out whereby a mixture of Scottish bars, Whitney Houston, meat sweats and copious amounts of foreign alcohol lead to what can only be known now as 'The Butter Floor' incident. But that frolicking is over one-hundred days away. And whilst my last  boyfriend I went on holiday with decided to dump me several months later I feel that this one is different. Maybe its the fact that I have slaved over numerous holiday, hotel and flight websites looking for a getaway that is under two-hundred quid. It proved a struggle to find something that ticked all off mine and Mr. Warehouse's boxes - Under £200.00, in August, outside of term time, in the summer holidays and over the course of a bank holiday weekend. Yes it was an absolute struggle that had brought us to tears (literally) but finally we have found somewhere. 

Booking a flight from London Luton Airport to Lyon Saint-Exupery Airport for a five-night, relatively budgeted break away was just what we both needed, Mr. Warehouse more-so I think than my passport wielding self. You see with limited money we couldn't afford to go somewhere like Barcelona, Rome or Paris as I had hoped, let alone New York or something more exotic. But my interest in France stemmed from a long childhood spending my summers there on holidays with my family have left me feeling in need of the French lifestyle over the last few years. I want something sophisticated and sexy from a holiday with a Lover. Somewhere we can throw ourselves into and immerse ourselves with good food, great scenery and a wonderful passion for each other. I know it never worked out in my last holiday with a partner but I am hoping to rectify that although it does scare me to pieces that the same thing might happen again. At least I wont be going with Mr. Workaholics overpowering mother whom acts far from the age she was.

France was somewhere my family and I used to holiday regularly, and by regularly I mean like every sodding year from the age of six or seven until my parents divorce nearly eight years ago now. At the time I was too preoccupied with boys, friends and other teenage things to really appreciate the fact that while I got to go on holiday to the French Eastern Coast and Riviera my friends got to go on seemingly lavish holidays to Florida, Greece and Spain. Secretly I was jealous but now I am thankful for the many years I spent travelling around Northern Europe with my family, exploring places such as France, Belgium, Holland and Germany as well as my native country, Britain. That aside, I am more than excited about returning to somewhere I nearly called Mon Mansion! (Yes my parents nearly bought a second home there with the intention to emigrate and have us sent to much better French schools). I have downloaded an learning languages app on my phone, ordered a tonne of Breton stripped T-shirts and am preparing myself for a whole lot of food consumption. 

However, as I write to you now I am becoming increasingly sidetracked and unfocused as I am now surrounded with my adolescent diaries from years 2006 onwards and so have now rediscovered just how hilarious I once was. The thoughts of a littler me have me in stitches and as I now conclude today's post with an extract dated Tuesday 25th March 2008 I think to myself that maybe I shall post some more extracts one day. But for now I shall share with you a little part of sixteen-year-old A.Lou:

---

"Dear Diary, 
Wow! You know if and when I find the right guy in High school, which I think I have its just amazing to find out that he just keeps surprising you with interesting facts you did not know about him. Number One - He rides a bike. One of the most sexiest, no, the most sexiest things a male can do is ride something macho. Wow! Number Two - He watches Skins which to some extent explains why we are compatible and are just meant to be together. Number Three - His hair looks so cute when its all fluffy and unbrushed like sex hair. Or Fuck hair. Yeah that sounds better, Fuck hair. Uhh Fuck Yeah Fuck hair. Anyhoo so intervention at school today was boring as hell but meh. I was interested slightly by a different reason to come into school. 
Lots of Love, Night Night :) xx"

---

Established male-enthusiast since 1991 ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Driving Me Crazy!

Morning everyone, 

Summer. It happens for roughly half a year, much less however if you live somewhere like here in England, and as the days become longer and the nights become shorter (Seems to remind me of some 'emo' lyrics I once used to probably blare out of my teenage room as I applied yet another layer of eye-liner) I finally get the sense that holidays, bikini's and BBQ's are mere moments away. But how will I get to all these places? For I, a twenty-three year old career women, has still never even sat behind a wheel of a car let alone driven one!

Yes as hard as it is to imagine I have still not even applied for my provisional licence yet let alone sat my theory test. I know, I know - I need to get onto it, but in all fairness I have had other things more important to take up my time over the past few years like failing relationships, finding a secure job and managing to keep a roof over my head and all between juggling a life of friends, partying and college education. And so now is the time. I have finally decided that whilst my finances at the moment wont quite stretch to a car I should at least get myself onto the road. And by that I don't mean just go and lye down on the rough tarmac of the lane I live. No, I am going to get my bike licence!

Ever since I was seventeen I have wanted to learn to drive and pass my test. I knew from an early age I wanted my first car to be a cute little red Nissan Micra, four doors and a cute little dashboard, complete with an array of ornaments and toys. It just seems appropriate. People have asked me why that car, and not something different and my answer is always simple - Whenever I draw a car that is the car I draw, it is usually red and always has four doors, for the principle that three doors is just inconvenient not only for the driver but also for passengers as well. Ahh, and the name would be something like 'Poppy' or 'Rosie' - because you need to name your car!? Who doesn't?!

The unfortunate thing is that 'Poppy' or 'Rosie' will never make it to existence (at least not for the near future anyway) as whilst my job pays well, it doesn't pay well enough to run a one-bedroom flat and a car. If I was living with someone else such as a friend or a partner whom was contributing then sure I might be able to afford it but I wouldn't be able to trust that other person and their financial input. I did it before and look where that got me - A whole heap of heartache that's what! Besides, if and when that person does eventually move out (or leave) then that leaves me in yet another sticky situ that I don't fancy finding myself in again. I mean I could always go back to my second job for a while, but the thing is, on-top of my £700.00 a month in household running costs including my rent at £400.00, I would have to be working at the call centre permanently in order to afford to run my little  'Poppy' or 'Rosie'. So in effect I would be working constantly and have a car, but couldn't go anywhere as I would be working all the hours god, or any other religious figure would give me. 

In a way it is frustrating that I would be able to save up the money to pay for driving lessons, buy a provisional, pass my test, purchase and insure a car - just not able to run it on a weekly basis. So if life gives you lemons, make lemonade. In turn, if my job cannot pay well enough for me to run a car then maybe something smaller and less costly would still tick my boxes without making me live in one. Which is why I have come to the conclusion of learning how to ride a motorbike. It will be cheaper, more cost effective and essentially only lasts two-years at the end of which I have the choice to learn to drive properly or to default for another couple o' years. Its the push I think I need. I have recently in the past couple of years purchased bicycles and had rode them to and from town, now I think upgrading slightly to a motor vehicle with a licence plate rather than a basket on the front will make me more road savvy, attentive and cautious. I think that when I do come to finally sit my driving test I will be both knowledgeable about the roads as well as forgiving to other road users, including motorcyclists. 

I plan to start saving soon and will start working at the call centre for a few weeks in order to fund it. Hopefully in the space of six-weeks or so I will be on the road, albeit with my 'L' plates still in tact but nevertheless free from the painful waiting at train platforms and bus stops. Ever the "Bus Wanker" ... I think not!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx