Size Does Matter!

Hello one and all, 

Standing in front of my wardrobe I looked back at myself. I was fat. I mean saying this now sounds like nothing new to me, I have always been a larger lady, even in my teens and during my school years I was always bigger than other girls, but as I graduated High School and things in my life started to take a downward turn my diet was one of the last things on my mind. Living with my Uncle and Auntie for a while was easy, as was living with my dad and even Mr. Workaholic and his Dad. Everything pretty much was cooked and dished out to me, all I had to do was eat it. I would walk most if not everywhere and totted up a good few miles everyday by simply getting to and from work, college and socialising. 

But when I moved up to Northampton in order to start my new life with Mr. Workaholic I ballooned to my biggest weight so far. At over nineteen stone and a size twenty/twenty-two I was far from happy, at least in my body. Living off of beige food groups and turkey dinosaurs was not ideal either and since Mr. Workaholic refused to eat any sort of vegetable and saw bananas as the only fruit he would stomach (What a surprise that they were also beige in colour) it was very difficult to cook for someone so fussy. Towards the end of my relationship with Mr. Workaholic's things started to get mean and nasty and I suppose if I was really honest it would have been not that long after we moved to Northampton. The name calling and lack of compliments drove me from being a confident and cocky tween to a shy and anxious girl, always worried about her weight and that one day her boyfriend would feel repulsed enough by her that he would leave. And one day he did. I mean granted he didn't leave on the basis that I was larger than when we first met but I could tell that he had not felt attracted to me in sometime, or at least that is how it felt. 

Separating from Mr. Workaholic was hellish and a time that I can rarely recall anything happening at all, but I do remember my weekly meetings at WeightWatchers and how shocked the lady was when I made yet another big loss on the scales. When I was asked what my secret was or how I had lost all the weight I joked with my fellow fat fighters that in a dark way when the love of your life just up's and leaves you with no real reason or explanation, leaving behind just a whole lot of heartache and mess to clear up it soon puts you off food. And just as I started consuming more than caffeine and water on a daily basis I was hit with another bomb shell. Mr. Workaholic was seeing someone else, and it had been less than a fortnight. Not only that but whilst I was recovering from shock in Southern Ireland with my Aunt and Uncle, Mr. Workaholic was swanning round Newcastle, jumping from bed to bed I heard. 

After my weight plummeted to nearly what I was before I met Mr. Workaholic, I started feeling better about myself. I had new love interests, a new outlook on life and I was twenty-one. The perfect mix of young and throwaway yet knowing what I was doing. The next few years I fluctuated but always stayed around the fifteen stone mark, always being able to comfortably fit into a size fourteen/sixteen. But as the years went by and I finally got my very own flat in Bedford I got into bad habits and poor diet choices, although still walking most places I would always keep the belly off a little. 

Since meeting Mr. Warehouse though and especially over the last year since we moved in together I have only felt and seen my size increase. I can now only dream of fitting into a size eighteen let alone a size fourteen or sixteen. I am now so unhappy with my weight that I honestly need to start doing something about it. My clothes don't fit properly and I have a wardrobe full of lovely jumpers, jeans and tops that I just look like a sack of potatoes in. My arms are too fat and my belly is protruding more than my tits at present. Although I joke about it with friends and family, it starts to become a real concern when the arms of your office chair start to get tighter and tighter. 

So after I get paid on Wednesday (Thank fuck, it seems like an age since I last got paid) I will be hitting the classes hard. Sod Gyms and their expensive memberships, I am going to start getting into classes and swimming. FitSteps, Zumba, Clubbercise and Aquarobics; I'm trying them all! Healthy eating too, I have started thinking even before I go shopping now what sort of food will be better for me and for my darling Mr. Warehouse. More Veg, more moving and less beige. Before I know it I will be looking better than I ever have before and feel much more happier that I don't have to shop only in the plus size range. Besides, I can't be looking like a blob on the beach with Mr. Warehouse in August can I ... ?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Big JCB in the Sky ...

Hi There, 

So after weeks of dread and anxiety on not making Mr Warehouse look like a complete fool in front of his entire family by wearing something wholly inappropriate for a funeral, the day was finally upon us to lay to rest Mr. Warehouse's Second Cousin. An untimely death and gone all far too soon for my liking, I donned a black jumper, tights and skirt complete with heels and a grey waterfall jacket to complete the look I waited patiently for Mr. Warehouse to get ready, looking ever so smart in his black suit and tie. If it had not have been a funeral I could have been happy. It was not even one of my own and already getting in the car and ready to go I was welling up with sadness. God only knows what sadness I had to endure yet ... 

After leaving in plenty enough time to get a drive-thru breakfast, manage the Black Cat Roundabout and have a pit-stop for a toilet break we arrived at the address I had been Google-Mapping and researching for weeks. After confirming and doublely-doubley confirming with Momma Warehouse in the few weeks leading up to the sombre occasion over Christmas and New Year I had made sure we were going to the right place and with plenty of time to allow for mingling an getting a seat, especially since he was a well-known and well-loved character who would easily pack out any church in the area. Pulling into the car park however I did not recognise or see any number plates or cars I knew of. Putting my doubts aside, I got out and shoved on my heels before having a cheeky cigarette whilst Mr. Warehouse went to look for the rest of the mourners whom seemed in short supply. 

Returning in a flap I knew what Mr. Warehouse was about to say, 
"Where is it?" I asked, anxious of the response. 
"Its the wrong fucking Church!" Mr. Warehouse fumed. And so, flipping my heels off we headed to the second postal code Momma Warehouse had given us. In search for St Paul's or Peter's Church we headed fifteen minutes down the road, still arriving, but just in the nick of time. The only problem was that there was no parking, and the Church appeared to be locked up for the day. 'This can not be the right Church' I thought to myself, knowing from my days as a Sunday-School-Sucker that a vicar would never leave it this late at less than forty-five minutes before the service began. Pacing round the small chapel we headed back to the car, again frantically calling around to see where we actually needed to be. 

Becoming frustrated I put my foot down as Mr. Warehouse and I headed back to the first Church we went to all in good faith that Momma Warehouse had it right this time. Fifteen minutes later we arrive back in the first car park we encountered in Wisbech. No familiar cars. No mourners. No Hurst. it is now midday and with less than quarter-of-an-hour until the service starts we finally have a phone call from Mr. Warehouse brother. Finally someone who knows what they are talking about! Message pinging through on a text I punch it into my phone, SatNav now draining my battery so much so I wonder if I can find my way home that day. Jumping back into Vivienne again I race through the streets of Wisbech and finally pull up at a small village church, parking up and wiggling through grave plots in order to reach the church steps on time. With seconds to spare we heard the procession music slow and the service begin. 

Myself and Mr. Warehouse were standing outside and after all the fuck ups and screwing around of this morning I wasn't going to have him stand out here when he was a deserved family member of at least a standing space inside the holy building, let alone a seat. Gently taking his hand I guided him through the mourners and bystanders to the back of the Church. There I found Momma Warehouse, obviously too late for a seat herself. What I felt as an undignified service followed with mistakes being made on names of relevant people, the Lords Prayer being recited incorrectly and even messing up the Hymns, I felt the vicar was unprofessional and it thoroughly grated on me that in someones final moments they did not even have the respect or grace to practice some of the readings and scriptures in advance. Obviously there may have been a reason why she was so poor at leading the proceedings however in my eyes you should be professional in all aspects, and even more-so at a funeral, but of course, that's just my opinion and otherwise it was a beautiful send-off. 

As the ceremony came to an end, I left with Mr. Warehouse, holding his hand and trying where possible to be helpful. Tissues, cuddles and gentle hand holding, but nothing would appease the tears rolling over my beloved boyfriends cheeks. Sharp slices hit my heart as I genuinely looked around for someone to help. But no-one did. We were all mourning and I honestly have never felt so out of place or at a loss on what to do or how to help. Truth be told though there was nothing I could do. I was not a miracle worker and I had no powers to take away Mr. Warehouse's nor his families pain and grief. All I could hope and wish for is that it would be all over soon enough and that they could all learn to live with what has happened. 

What I experienced that day has left me with thoughts of my own mortality and what I will do if anyone close to me should pass. What would I do? The thing is I don't know. I suppose no-body does, but one thing I can tell you is that I have told everyone I love them and when I do it is with utter truth and meaningfulness, as though it may be the last time I speak to them, for we know not how long we have left, but definitely on how we should use the time we are given.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

"We'll Have Time" They Said ...

Hello, 

When I was younger and my grandparents had just retired I asked them about what wonderful things they were going to do now they were officially old. Fart in public and not give a toss? Snoozing whilst watching Countdown? Drinking copious amounts of wine until you get so hammered you start to talk like Danny 'fucking' Dyer. It in all fairness was a mixture of all of the above but when I grew up and asked them what the worst thing about getting old was my Nanny Pumpkin replied this ... 

"When your young you don't think fashion it too much; A pair of comfy jeans here, cosy jumper there, maybe even a stunning ballgown once or twice in a lifetime. But the older you get the more and more you seem to have no choice but to reach into the wardrobe and bring out that same black dress you wore last time you went to say goodbye to someone you knew who is no longer there,"

In all fairness at the tender age of about fourteen I didn't full understand what she meant by that but as I have got a little older, and maybe a little wiser too, I have learnt that it is truest thing and as sure as anything it is what I will be doing tomorrow for a character no one will forget. 

Phone ringing again for the third time I wondered why, after all this time of being in a new job, Mr. Warehouse still insists to call me about three-in-the-afternoon once he has finished work. Ignoring it previously thinking it was simply about dinner or where I have hidden something of his, this time I dashed to the toilet in order to take the call. 

"Whats up you know I cant answer at work?" I asked, concerned yet anxious I had a lot of work to get back to. 

"Its my Mom's Cousin. He's been in a car accident, Its really bad. He's Dead!" I heard sheepishly down the phone. Thinking it was a joke I called my boyfriend sick and told him to stop messing around tempting fate and all. But he said it again and this time it was deeper and more choked than the last. 

For legal reasons we cant state too much but what we do know is that it was a collision involving a lorry and several cars, one of which we are under the impression that the driver was over the drink drive limit (as if there should even fucking be one that is). I will never understand sometimes why people still to this day continue to put other peoples lives at risk, and I say other peoples for a reason and that is in most cases the drink driver is so floppy and intoxicated that their bodies do not tense and seize up as a normal person would when bracing for a car crash. 

But unlike most families (Or maybe not as my family is quite small) Mr. Warehouse and his family on both his mothers and fathers sides like to breed and with this comes children who will be brothers, sisters, cousins, second cousins, aunts and uncles, all very close in both age and as a group. Cousins and second cousins are more like extensions of brothers and sisters or aunts and uncles for Mr. Warehouse and his family and what with them being so close they experience everything from celebrating the good times to mourning the bad ones too, everybody as one riding out the roller-coaster together. 

Standing there in the bathroom at work, my thoughts immediately turned to his wife and children, grown up now but forever his babies. It had only been eighteen-months or so ago that the deceased and his wife had got married. It was one of the first family events I ever went too as Mr. Warehouse's girlfriend and it was the very first wedding I had been invited to. Nervous after reading the invite I shook it off and said it was silly we had only been dating a few months, I couldn't be invited to such a thing and be in all the photos, What if Mr. Warehouse and I were to break up? That would be awful then, you have some random in all your snaps. No thanks?! But nevertheless I came round to the idea and even was asked up to be in the photographs, albeit I was approached as Mr. Warehouse's Wife, something we all still laugh about today. I will never forget both the Bride and the recently departed Groom's hospitality, making me fell welcome and loved even though I was surrounded by many I never knew. 

Mr. Warehouse's Second -Cousin was more like an Uncle to him, taking him fishing or to play pool and darts but every time I met him and his wife, they would be forever asking when mine and Mr. Warehouse's big day was and always complimenting me on how beautiful and lovely I was. I remember them saying how sad it is that they both had to go through failed marriages to meet each other and if only they had fallen in love sooner they could have had more time, but it was always ended by a notion that they have the rest of their lives with each other. And that is the truly saddest part, is that they didn't. A devastating irony. 

Sitting back at my desk trying to take it all in I was really emotional and upset by it and they weren't even my family. I had met them a handful of times but their energy and enthusiasm for everything including each other was just electric. And now that was gone. I could not think of anything more that they were the same ans Mr. Warehouse and I. Ready for Christmas (at the time less than a five-days away) with presents wrapped, stockings packed and plans all made. Plans that would never be fulfilled and with stockings and presents that were never to be emptied and unwrapped. All gone. And so tomorrow I will attend Gorfield Village Church to pay my respects for a man who could never believe I was a Luton girl through and through. Goodnight and sleep tight!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx