Father's Day Fail

Afternoon Everyone, 

This weekend we celebrate in style Dads of all shapes and sizes. Some people have Dad's. Some people have Fathers. Some people have Daddy's. Some people have Sugar-Daddy's. Some people have no Dad. Some people have two Dad's. Some people have Step Dad's. I just had a Dad. He is not the best or the most amazing, but he tries and that is all I can ask. Over the last few years, we have had our difficulties and troubles, but I am proud to say we have worked through them. 

To celebrate I booked a table yesterday at the Beefeater at Priory Country Park in Bedford for a nice meal. It was anything but. Arriving, My Dad, his wife, Mr Warehouse and I all waited the nearly twenty-minute wait patiently just get into the pub. The problems began almost immediately. It took 20-minutes for someone to come and take our drinks order. After the drinks arrived, it was a further 45-minutes before we had to physically ask someone to come and take our food order. We did this twice as we were told that “someone would be with you soon” however of course, "no one was with us soon". 

Laughing and chatting it became a little more pressing considering we only had the table for an hour and a half so after another 10-minutes and with most of the staff now actively avoiding walking past our table and our gazes, we had to stop another waitress and ask them to please come and take our food order. All was not over then as once we placed our food order it was another 40-minutes before the food finally arrived and even then, it was far below the bare basic of expectations. 

Dad’s wife had a beef roast dinner and the beef was very thickly cut and had scorch marks on it from a griddle. WHY?! Surely. as roast beef, it should be carved off the main joint and served not griddled to the point of it being so thick and chewy she had to leave most of it as it was quote “like eating corrugated cardboard”. 

It didn’t get much better with Dad’s meal. Ordering the ribs he expected, as written on the menu, to have an accompaniment of coleslaw which was not on the plate when it arrived. We had to collar a waiter and asked if we can have this brought out. He explained that the meal doesn’t come with it and left. Feeling stupid, we all then relooked at the menu, just to check we were correct and, sure enough, it confirmed that yes, the rib's did come with a side of coleslaw. Yet again, we called over another member of the waiting staff and explained that our meal was missing the coleslaw. They too questioned it and said we would be charged for the side of coleslaw and we yet again for a third time had to explain the menu to your members of staff. 

"Oh my god, Honestly what is wrong with this place," I thought to myself as the coleslaw was soon delivered to the table. "Surely it can't get worse than this" were my famous last words it seems as I unwrapped my knife and fork. 

Mr Warehouse and I ordered the same meal, the “our best” mixed grill which was far from the best and if that really is their “best” then as a company I think they may need to reword it to “we-don’t-give-a-shit-too-much”-Mixed Grill. as our meal's arrived with no way of telling which was which. I had ordered a rare steak and yet mine was medium-rare. Mr Warehouse ordered medium and yet his steak was well-done to the point of being charred. 

Unfortunately, I cannot say that this is the end of our issues as there are sadly still more, we had to endure. Yet again as with Dad’s meal, Mr Warehouse and I also had items missing including, our poached eggs which, when asked, we received very quickly. It was obvious they were not cooked fresh to order and instead of the soft, runny yolks we had asked for we were instead presented with poached eggs slopped onto a plate with little care or thought and with yolks on par with a fucking golf ball, cooked right the way through and had clearly been sat for a while under the hot plate.

In all honesty, it was getting beyond a joke now. With the exception of my Dad's ribs, all of our meals were burnt so much so I could not finish mine for tasting like coal. If I wanted to taste ash and char I would have gone outside and licked an ashtray. At this point we were all in two minds as to even order pudding due to the absolutely abysmally poor service, however we took a chance that there may be some reclaim, considering most desserts are quite quick and easy so mistakes should be pretty much non-existent. Not the case. 

We waited again quite some time for desserts to arrive and even then, the time we had to wait had clearly not been used on presentation as my dessert fell apart instantly before the “chocolate melting bomb surprise” could be revealed. Dad’s wife had her coffee arrive before her dessert when they were meant to arrive together. By the time her dessert arrived, a small and poorly cut slice of chocolate mousse cake, the coffee was almost gone. This should, as detailed in the menu be brought out together and not separate.

It had truthfully got to the point of laughable now as we sat for a further 30-40 mins before we had to again ask a server to pay our bill. Honestly, they were lucky that we even paid for our meal as I was fuming to the point of which I was about to say let's just get up and walk out, without paying. After getting our second bill as the first one was incorrect (I mean you literally can't even make this shit up at this point) I set aside my card and awaited the card machine in order to pay our £73-odd bill. AGAIN we had to wait a long while with no one checking in on us before we had to ask more waiting staff to come with the card machine so we could pay and finally leave.

On arrival with the card machine came another bill, this time showing the “correct” figure as the waitress had said that the second calculated bill did not include drinks or dessert?! The bill was incorrect again! She asked me to check the new £90+ bill to make sure it was correct – Despite it being HER JOB! Furious I paid and left immediately. I prayed that they would ask me how my day had been or how was the meal so I could let rip and crumble from my calm and polite demeanour. 

Now I get that COVID has had a huge impact on the hospitality industry with monies lost every single day the doors have been shut, but there is no excusing this level of shocking service. It could have been excused if maybe it was one or two things that had slipped up, but at every point in our experience, it was atrocious. At no point were we checked in on. At no point were we asked if everything was OK. At no point were we asked if we needed anything else. We literally had to ask for everything from the moment we stepped inside to the moment we left. 

Now I get that it wasn't that poor girl's fault necessarily for all of the failings, but Jesus come on! I just felt like saying "GET IT TOGETHER PEOPLE"! It could have been excused if maybe it was the first opening weekend or even the first few weeks, but places like this have been open for some time now. Things like this should not be happening. I mean it's not as if these places haven’t had a year to prepare for Father’s Day 2021?! 

I was honestly so embarrassed. I get that I am eating in a family-friendly chain restaurant and not The Ritz, but this was meant to be, as for a lot of people, a very special Father’s Day meal out with my Dad whom I had not seen in some time and yet it was an absolute shambles. It was nice seeing them but I can truthfully say hand on heart that there was nothing, absolutely nothing at all, that I enjoyed about yesterday’s meal and I know that my Dad, his wife and my fiancé all feel exactly the same.

This morning I tried calling through to the 0333 number online, however, after nearly an hour on hold I gave up and instead wrote a disgruntled letter in less time it took for them to answer my call. I hope that the Beefeater we went to were just on a bum day and that this was just a one-off (despite getting it wrong, on many levels, over seventeen times) and that other people had a lovely day with their Dad, or Dads, or Step-Dad's or Daddy's or even more so to those lucky fuckers with Sugar-Daddy's. Happy Fathers Day to one and all. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

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Family Is Everything And Without It We Have Nothing

Hello, 

"The stressing was over and I could finally try and look forward to the weekend," I thought to myself as I left work for the day heading into Bedford town centre. I still had so much to do before the family wedding I was attending the following morning, including collecting my dress from the seamstress for the second time after they messed it up the first time, creating capped sleeves that look as though they were hemmed by a 2-year-old. Nevertheless, as I hopped in the car I took a call from Mr Warehouse to say that he was with my Aunt and Uncle from southern Ireland in the bar of the hotel around the corner from where we live and I should hurry over for a quick one before heading home. 

Dashing from one venue to another I headed into the somewhat elegant looking hotel and conference centre the wedding was being held at and where some of the guests were staying. Sure enough, as I pulled up in my car and got out my Auntie came out to greet me, something I was glad of. After the last week I had, I was more than relieved to see her and hear her comforting words. 

Sitting at the bar it was getting darker outside as afternoon sun turned to night skies it wasn't long before Mr Warehouse said about heading home for some dinner and an early night, after all, it was now a matter of hours since we all needed to be at the church on time. Leaving me at the bar with my Auntie and now my Uncle, we were soon joined by my Father and some of his friends, also staying at the hotel. My Auntie continued to explain to me her day and how fumbled it was in trying to get her nails done for tomorrows festivities and failed, to which she had asked if I was any good. I obviously said yes as whilst I have been having my nails done for the last few years I was still a dab hand at coating my talons with a lick of paint or two and so I said that I wouldn't mind helping her out. 

Leaving the rest of them in the bar area, my Auntie and I grabbed some pizza's and a bucket of ice and headed to her room. Settling in I was fucking starving after not eating anything since lunch and with it being gone 7pm, I felt as though I was wasting away and every effort to stick with my new diet and the healthy eating plan was fading by the scent of melted cheese and pepperoni on a thin stonebaked crust. Getting comfy on the bed she started to ask me about how things had been since we last saw each other in the spring when we were scattering my Grandfathers ashes. A lot had changed really. I was many more months closer to Mr Warehouse and I getting married ourselves and our tiny puppy Frankenstein was all grown up, well several months older. 

Chatting away over pizza and many drinks of Martini (I was on damage limitation drinking water, but I was also driving) my Uncle soon arrived, explaining in no uncertain terms that the conversation in the bar had dried up and he had very little in common with the revellers and so had come back to the room to (as I should have been doing) get an early night. As I sat in the room, chatting and laughing away with my Aunt and Uncle, I knew that it would be these moments I would cherish, both now and later on when maybe they are no longer able to sit down and talk. 

I have been ever so lucky that since my parent's divorce and the whole being kicked out debacle back when I was seventeen, I have remained in contact with my families, both mother and fathers side, and as I get older the more and more I seem to become closer to them. They well and truly have my back and with all the love and support in the world I know I can do anything with these people behind me. I suppose you would expect any family to do all of that, however, this is something I have come to realise that not everyone gets the memo in some families. I think that out of everyone they would be the ones I turn to if I needed anything, positive or negative. Need some help gardening, I have an uncle for that! Need some advice on boyfriends, I have an Auntie for that! Need to learn some DIY skills, I have an Uncle for that! Need a good drink and to feel better about yourself, I have an Auntie for that! I think that sometimes you don't realise until certain things in life happen that those closest to you will fight the hardest for you. 

It's funny, as a kid I look back on my Aunties and Uncles and still see them in the same ways as I always have done, the joker, the clown, the tough cookie and the no-nonsense. And yet as I sat on that bed and spent time with them all over the weekends wedding, I noticed a little more grey in their hair, or maybe a few more wrinkles that weren't there before. Truth is that when all is said and done, it will be myself left, with only memories of how we laughed and giggled and gossiped and bantered. Just me and my cousins, and somewhere else, my brother too. 

The following day went well, although could have done without some of the hiccups along the way, but if it taught me anything is that who is really there for you and when in times of uncertainty and emotional war. I honestly never thought I would have a relationship that I do with my Aunties and Uncles as I do to this day, and for all their flaws and mine, were family and that is honestly all the fucking matters now!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wooded Car Park and A BIG Surprise!

Evening, 

Locking my car in an area of Bedford which is renowned for its poor reputation, I walked past and tried to hide the fact that I was anxious about leaving my beloved Vivienne in front of a gang of "Youts". My therapy Sessions were actually going really well at The Amicus Trust. Meeting my psychologist again I realised that I was quite comfortable in his presence with his friendly and easy nature. As before I was immediately relaxed and he offering me a cup of coffee which he always did now we sat down at the large wooden table next to the large window, hidden by the blinds, I could still hear the busy street outside. As we began to dive into my complex tale I watched as something sparkly caught my eye. 
"I suppose it all started yesterday morning really" I opened up. 

Sunday morning started like like any other as Mr Warehouse got up and ready to go and watch his nephew play football. Rolling over I admired my other half's bottom, clad in tight boxers and not much else. Those were the moments I enjoyed in the morning, well that and the next couple of hours of uninterrupted TV crap to watch with the dog and a cup of coffee. Settling in for another episode of Teen Mom UK, I heard the familiar rumble of a motorbike as it zoomed up the side gate. Assuming my morning binge was over I got dressed and ready to go and start our day. Walking Pooch was first on the agenda and we decided that since it was a little chilly we would take her to her favourite spot around by a local lake in a local country park. 

Pulling into the parking lot we saw a sign for a fun charity dog show and after begging Mr Warehouse we went to have a little look around. After further persuasion we decided to get her to do some agility which she loved. Walking around some of the stalls I passed one of the announcers and asked about some of the shows and contests that they were hosting. The organiser explained that this was the last segment of the show and that it was "The dog that the judges would most like to take home". Throwing caution to the wind and not even asking my Beau if I could borrow his dog for my own self gratification, Pooch and I headed for the ring and trotted round as though we will Pro's at Crufts. As I looked around at the rest of the competition I thought that it would be very unlikely we would win, especially when we were up against fluffy dogs and cute puppies that were less than a few weeks old. 

As they counted down the numbers from fifth, fourth, third and second it did not cross my mind that we could be next and yet there was the judge calling out my name and the Pooch to come and collect our prize for coming first as "The dog that the judges would most like to take home". Winning an adorable rosette I proudly pinned it to our fur-babies collar and walked around proud as punch. After all of that excitement, Mr Warehouse, the Pooch and I decided to take a walk in some woodland near to the car and enjoy the autumnal weather before the rain hammered it down. 

Walking on ahead with my little winner I didn't notice as Mr Warehouse came up alongside me. Almost in slow motion, my boyfriend of nearly four-years knelt down on one knee and pulled out a grey box from his pocket. As my mind attempting to buffer and load what my eyes were seeing, he opened the box only to reveal a beautiful White Gold Diamond ring. A part of me had not quite realised that this was it and instead was just thinking how nice it was that he had bought me a nice gift. Then I think everything caught up with me and as my gorgeously handsome, cute bottomed Mr Warehouse asked "Will You Marry Me?" 

Silence ensued as I took in everything that was happening around me and soaked up every moment that this was. It was not in front of the Disneyland Castle and it certainly was not in the airport surrounded by unfamiliar faces and people I have never met or will ever meet, and yet it was in the most special place I think I probably would have never picked. There we all were, our little family on a woodland walk in a country park where we spent most of our weekend walking our beloved dog. Welling up, I expleted several times before asking if this was for real and moments later after understanding that this definitely was for real and not just a bad-tasting joke I of course said yes!

Since that moment yesterday afternoon in a wooded car park, I have gotten over the shock slightly and that I will one day be a bride and whilst it still hasn't quite settled in that I now have a fiance, since Mr Warehouse said those four little words I finally feel complete. No longer do I need to question if this is it or if there is something else better out there. I already know that this is as good as it gets. Turns out that Pooch wasn't the only one who won a prize that Autumn Sunday Afternoon, I won the best prize of all ... A Husband-to-be!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

And So The Healing Begins

Heyy, 

So last Tuesday was my birthday and whilst I did not mention this in last week's blog post, I thought that I would mention it now! Happy Birthday to me! It is always awkward when you have a birthday in the middle of the week. Everyone is working or have other commitments and dinner out was an expensive luxury to do twice. Instead I settled for my Birthday Eve when Mr. Warehouse and Miss Tweedle-Dee joined me to indulge in my favourite thing eating out and sushi. And although my best friend and boyfriend were not fully enjoying themselves - Miss Tweedle-Dee felt poorly and Mr. Warehouse was still unsure on the concept of raw fish - But I certainly wasn't and gorged on many dishes of salmon and sticky rice. 

Afterwards Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I took an after dinner stroll and I was giving my birthday present from my bestie. Opening the different envelope they all contained information about a wonderful idea and something that was just otherworldly. With the run-up to Halloween coming quickly I am so excited for Autumn and Spookies to come, so with all of this in mind Miss Tweedle-Dee paid for us to both encounter the paranormal inside one of Britain's Most Haunted prisons - HMP Gloucester. 

The website states that HMP Gloucester has a long and chilling history with many of the executed criminals remain buried in the grounds of the prison. Some of the most infamous serial killers have been incarcerated within the walls of Gloucester Prison. The prison formally closed on 31 March 2013 but the suffering and torment is deeply etched within the fabric of this foreboding location. Originally built as the County Gaol in 1700s at a cost of £34,000 with a capacity of 350 prisoners each in separate cells, there were also separate cells for debtors of both sexes.Between 1792 and 1864 at least 102 executions took place using the considered more humane 'New Drop' style gallows with many of the executed being buried in unmarked graves where they still remain today. Join the team as we spend the night at the terrifying HMP Gloucester with the tormented souls that remain.

Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will start our overnight ghost hunt at HMP Gloucester in the afternoon of Saturday 20th October 2018 when my Besitie and I will drive, in her new car, down to Gloucestershire and check into the hotel to try and get some rest. Our experience will start at 9pm that night and will be sure to really test our nerve. An experience that we are sure will not forget and with suffering torment and death deeply etched into the very fabric of this imposing prison we may meet more than just the guide. Gloucester Prison was home to the notorious serial killer Fred West so during the night we might be in contact with him and all those who remain as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I join in carrying out seances, vigils and experiments in the most active areas of the imposing location. At 3am all is well as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will return to the hotel, hopefully not possessed or contaminated by demonic spirits to sleep and the following day maybe some nice relaxing shopping ... Or maybe a trip to Church?!

One present that I did not expect to receive was an email in my inbox from a charitable organisation in the heart of Bedford called the Amicus Trust. In the email they detailed about how I had reached out to someone that could help me with my mental state and said that they were able to give me counselling sessions in order to work through my problems as quickly as possible so that life can get back on track. I am still on my medication but I  now feel quite pressured from loved ones to get things sorted and frankly it is becoming a little too much to bear. I know that people mean well and that in reality I am of the knowledge that I need to sort out these issues but first and foremost, I need to sort myself out.Trust me when I say that it is simply a long story that I may share with you another time.

Leaving the house with plenty of time on Friday morning just in case parking was a bitch, I was anxious as I always am at my first meeting with my current therapist. I found a parking space straight away and with that proceeded to scroll through my social media pages whilst I waited for an appropriate time when I would be able to walk through the doors without being too early. Locking my car and walking past many of the unscrupulous faces I saw on that Friday morning I realised that the the exact location of my therapy Sessions were actually in the heart of Bedford and area which is renowned for its poor reputation and well known for being a bad side of town. But with this in mind I thought that there would be no better place to have a charity or organisation such as the Amicus Trust.

Meeting the gentleman that I had been emailing for the last fortnight or so was interesting to say the least. He was extremely friendly and easy to get to know. Immediately I was relaxed and at ease with his company He offered me a cup of coffee which was nice as it was the morning and I have not eaten yet but it also helped in breaking the ice in what would otherwise be a rather emotionally fuelled situation. Sitting down at a large wooden table, the room was dimly lit and despite the large window next to the table being hidden by the blinds I could still hear the busy street outside. My Therapist was an larger framed gentleman maybe in his late fifties with long salt and pepper curly hair tied back in a ponytail. He wore a dusky purple corduroy shirt straight out of the 70s or 80s and with the skin tags littering his eyes and wrinkly face I knew that I can trust him. 

And so we began unravelling my tale. It is a complex and complicated one and something in which we only got to the bottom of this evening, however after the last two sessions I can safely say that things can be fixed and everything can be resolved one way or another. There are certainly a lot of issues that we need to work through and get to the bottom of but he assures me that it can all be mended. Its funny, walking out of my therapy session tonight has made me feel more positive and hopeful than I think I have felt in the last few months about my mental health and I am sure that I will work through it to get back to me again. It will be long and hard and difficult, but I'm ready!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

An Amicus Curiae

Hello, 

Sat waiting for my appointment at the doctors Saturday morning I was I was anxious to say the least about what the doctor's and medical professionals would say. After my most recent appointment with them they had advised to continue my medication whilst I awaited an appointment where I can be seen through the NHS for counselling but this seems to be harder than you would have initially thought. 

After a few counselling sessions earlier on in my treatment process, I was unable to continue with them due to the high cost of the sessions themselves. They certainly helped but at £70.00 for an hour long session it was certainly not something I could afford right now or keep up, although that being said I was and still am eternally grateful for the help received. During those early therapy sessions, I finally opened up to the realisation that maybe medication is just what I needed at that point and with that I went to the doctors in order to get a quick fix. 

I'm sad and almost ashamed to admit that my work was suffering  and with a House move in the works I couldn't loose this job. As my social life dwindled also because of everything that was going on, I had, stupidly really, tried for the last few months (because the weeks of cloudiness beforehand had now turned into months) to not succumb to the need for medication in order to treat my mental health issues. Truth be told is that I needed a fairly instant result in improving my mood and therefore my performance, both at and away from my desk. The tablets used to make me feel quite queasy and nauseous most of the time but I knew they were good for me and what I needed would come soon. I needed, still do really, therapy and counselling and I need to talk about it, not medicate it away.

I have spoken before about how I was shocked that the doctor handed them out so easily, asking me very little questions about what is going on in my life to make me feel like this and how I am feeling. Unlike before there were no silly questionnaire about how depressed I am or the likeliness that I might top myself on a scale of one to ten.Every other time I have been to the doctors (not that there have been many, gosh makes me sound like a right nut case, but there have been a few occasions) there has always been a lengthy conversation about how I feel and how I have become to feel this way. Strangely I feel as though there should have been at least a little bit more push and pull. Then again maybe it was obvious and looking at my medical history it seemed the best thing for me. Initially when I went to the doctors in May of this year I was told that I will be placed on a waiting list for free counselling through the NHS and was told it would be roughly a three-month time slot from when I was referred. 

Obviously I continued with my therapy sessions and when they came to an end I went back to the doctor in order to have a check-up generally on the medication that I was on and it just so happened that it was coming up close to the three-month mark in July. I was told that it would probably be better if I went to speak to the Bedfordshire Well-Being team which were based outside of the doctors surgery and whilst part of the NHS were a different entity that could help. It was here that I learnt that it can be anywhere between eighteen-months and two-years. Certainly not the three-month time slot I was given when I first started back in April / May. 

After a meeting with a lady at the Bedfordshire Well-Being team, it was suggested by several mental health practitioners that I undertake what I thought was going to be a group therapy counselling session lasting 5 weeks. I thought that we all walk into the room sit down in a circle and say "Hi, my name is blah blah blah and I have a problem with abandonment issues particularly to do with my parents". Unfortunately this was far from the case and in actual fact it was a rather patronising lesson in what depression is and how it will make you feel. 
"No surprised that I have found it completely unhelpful as I am here because I have relapsed" I thought during my first two sessions. I am already my own well-being expert. I know the issues I have and ways I can slip back under the darkness. I already know how it feels to be depressed and I know what I need to do in order to get out. As narcissistic as it sounds I know what I am on about as I am already, at the grand old age of nearly 27, an expert of my own mental health issues.  

It was at this point that I spoke with the doctor and she confirmed that it would not be wise to stop medication and advised that in most circumstances medication is taken for a minimum of six-months, however with everything still quite unstable in my life in terms of my housing situation as well as my issues with family members, by the time the six-month anniversary comes around in October I probably will not be cured. I know that this is something I need to continue in order to build up it's effect, regardless of how I felt much better. I know that coupled with counselling and therapy I will get better it will just maybe take a little bit longer. 

Struggling I took the decision after talking with the Bedfordshire Well-Being team and several of the staff there I ended the patronising group lessons and have since then been in vainly trying to find anywhere locally that will be able to see me at such a short period of time that are not grossly expensive is almost nigh on Impossible. After a long sit in the doctors waiting room last Saturday morning, I saw the doctor (a different one every time I have been I must admit) I expressed my concerns to the them who promptly told me that it was a difficult position to be in for everyone involved. On the one hand going to my GP and seeking medical attention for my mental health was and continually is a great step in making myself better. As a result of that directly I have been put on medication to treat and improve my "chemical mood", something in which I feel is benefiting me greatly. Whilst awaiting it be one-to-one counselling via the NHS, there is very little that anyone can actually offer that will be of any use or help. 

Whilst I appreciate that the NHS in England is definitely under a huge strain, it is fundamentally wrong and critically important to increase the waiting times to a better standard.The thing is, if I broke my leg on the other hand they would try to operate as soon as immediately possible, having me in and out of that specific treatment quickly and efficiently so as to move on to the next patient. And yet for mental health it appears as though there is a lack of understanding in terms of how life threatening and dangerous it is for patients to wait to seek treatment. As with a broken leg mental health can become infected very quickly and easily causing more and more damage, and yet despite all of this the waiting list in the UK, at least for England anyway, is minimum of eighteen months and two years. 

Whilst the medicine I am on made me feel queasy and nauseous in the beginning, that has now subsided and I am now left feeling quite positive and happy in myself and my life generally although this doesn't stop the pressure that I feel from loved ones and frankly it is becoming a little too much to bear sometimes. I know that people mean well and that in reality I am of the knowledge that I need to sort out these issues but first and foremost, I need to sort myself out. Trust me when I say that it is simply a long story that I may share with you another time, but for the meantime I am doing as well as can be and battling it through to make the best out of what I have. I have been in touch recently with a couple of charities local to Bedford, one of them called the Amicus Trust which have said that they are able to give me some help with free counselling sessions in order to work through my problems as quickly as possible so that life can get back on track. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Overcast With a Chance of Sun

Heyy All, 

Another Bank Holiday in the UK rules around and yet more of our DIY and general redecoration of our small flat gets postponed. I swear that by the time that we end up getting around to doing something it will probably be time to move into our own home. Finger Crossed 'eh?! As last week I explained that our Landlord, whilst slightly slow at getting anything of necessity done quickly is now in the process of remodelling a kitchen and bathroom so that we have brand new tiles and flooring. With the renovation works due to start next week I am slightly putting off our plans to paint, decorate and generally get on with our own little projects. It seems as though I endlessly talked about the fact that I am nowhere near owning my own home anytime soon and it is a subject matter that most of my friends outside of work also are struggling with due to the fact that there is very little affordable housing being built and what is in existence is very far and few between and hardly affordable when the average wage is in the region of £22,500 per annum. Whilst I spoke of last week about our fifty-something-year-old parents reaping the benefits of having plentiful and affordable housing, a lower cost of living and stable employment with good earning potential I can become frustrated and angry at my situation as I know that there is absolutely no way that I know anyone around me or in fact that of government or higher powers can change anything and the latter to have at the very least made the situation worse. 

This coupled with how low and upset I have been feeling over the last few weeks I have sought to find some help in the form of a therapist or counselling. In general my mood has not been great and if anything I have felt extremely cloudy probably since the funeral or maybe even beforehand, what with stress masking my true feelings. I really have not been feeling myself at all lately. I don't feel as sunshine-y anymore and instead I find myself a bit lost all round. I am worried about how quickly this has all come about and as a result I am not waiting for doctor's for a appointment in order to diagnose me with what I think I already have. Depression. Not going to lie I am able to fully function with this going on in the background and I know that there will be the light at the end of the tunnel soon, but Depression is taking away every little bit of happiness or joy that I have left in my life I feel at the moment and I know that it is me and only me that can help get out of the Black Hole I find myself in. 

On it's own any of the issues that I spoke about last week would be probably something I could handle fairly well normally, however, I don't suppose that having several massive life-changing events happening all within a couple of months is ever going to be easy to both process and deal with on top of normal day to day life. I know what it feels like and I have been here before, a few times at least. I don't want to seem so blase, but  I know that this is just a phase of sorts and that the clouds will soon pass making way for my true self to blossom once again, brightening your days, making you laugh and even cracking a joke or two. 

I know not to throw the word depression around like it is nothing. It is. Somehow breaking your leg and clearly having it in plaster makes it easier for people to talk about a illness or injury, but with disorders such as anxiety, depression and other mentally debilitating conditions it is not so easy. You have those that care and ask how you are everyday obviously wanting to hear that you are doing well. But then there are others that don't quite understand just how difficult it is. These types of people will not understand and simply asked you to pull yourself together or to pick yourself up and get on with it. Phrases like this anger me no end as if that was as easy as you are saying then I would simply not be where I am now and comments like this to people suffering from mental illness are detrimentally dangerous to their recovery, infecting the brain with all sorts of thoughts that are unnecessary and unwanted for someone that simply needs your love and support in what can be a very scary and lonely time in their life. 

I really think that therapy and counselling will help me as it did last time. I just need to really try and immerse myself in things that made me happy before. Spending time with friends and with family always help improve my mood and lift my spirit when I am down. Talking to someone about the grief and hurt that I have been through the last few weeks and months especially can only help. And who knows what's around the corner maybe I'll have a big Lotto win and be able to have the cars, holidays and house I have always dreamt of. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

This is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon ...

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I take half day I usually feel very stressed and under a huge amount of pressure to get everything finished and Thursday as lunchtime approached I did not feel like this. In a weird way I felt a odd sense of calm wash over me. I knew that I would be rushed off my feet in the few hours before I relaxed into the salon chair to have my hair done before meeting my family for dinner and reminiscing about some of the the times we had with Grandad and with each other. 

Unfortunately for me this would not be the case. Sweating in the sweltering heat of my Orange Vivienne that in ASDA car park, Mr. Warehouse and I called my Nanny Pumpkin to find out what time she was due to be at the restaurant this evening. After ringing through a few times she finally answered flustered and in a bit of a flap. On enquiring what was wrong I was told that after my Uncle and Auntie had landed from Ireland they had going to visit my grandfather in the funeral parlour at Nevilles. Following this harsh reality my Uncle hit the bottle. In all honesty I am still pretty impressed that he was able to do a whole bottle of brandy in the space of about fifteen-minutes. 

in a way it is quite easy for myself and the rest of the family to maybe forget just how how hard that kick from reality must have been. Both my Auntie and my Uncle live abroad and as a result there is an almost inability to connect with what is happening back home sometimes I think that some members of my family would be worth noting that whilst others have had time to process the news, others have not. Whilst I acknowledge that Granddad's death was certainly not out of the blue or something quick, the luxury almost of being away from constant conversation or updates about his progress or not at the case may be almost lends itself to the fact that they were sheltered almost from the reality until they landed on Thursday Afternoon. 

And so it was with a heavy heart that I gave up my mojito in a nice restaurant and instead opted for a healthy salad whilst everybody else in on Indian or Chinese takeaway. But I missed out on all the drama when I went to collect the food with my other uncle and Mr Warehouse. So the story goes that my father turned up and when he confronted my uncle in the kitchen of my Nanny Pumpkins house it all went to pot and my family started a slanging match. Now don't get me wrong, all families argue, but I just hoped that given the circumstances at the time that things would have been left and not acted upon or challenged at all in one way or another one for each and every one of us were in some sort of shock, upset or grief including hurting and anger. No matter which way you look at it that was not the moment to pick an argument for have a fight. After my father left and my other uncle, Mr Warehouse and I arrived back home with dinner everything was tense. Here's hoping that everything would be OK tomorrow for that was the last thing that we needed another point for argument. 

Waking up on the morning of the funeral with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all. Hiding my head under the covers, Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass. Getting ready and heading down to my grandparents home, it's strangely had an almost wedding day like feel. With everything organised and things in place there was nothing left to do but turn up and hopefully try and enjoy what we could offer day whilst we remembered a great man. Throughout the morning as I helped people get ready and dressed, fed and watered, I can tell that Mr Warehouse was watching to see if and when I would crack. Truth be told I was fine and I had grieved for my grandfather many years ago. In a morbid sort of way I just wanted to get today over and done with so we could all start to move on. 

Arriving outside the church it was getting hotter and hotter. As the sun shone down on us standing there in our black glory I looked over to see my uncle crying which made me feel quite uncomfortable, all in the knowledge that there was simply nothing I could do to make his pain go away or for the feeling to get any better. I looked over to Mr Warehouse and he gave me a sweet smile. Soon it was time to go in and with this I stepped forward after my Grandma and my youngest cousins at just twelve and eight. I walked into the church alone and with nobody by my side. This was not how it was supposed to be. My brother should have been here by my side, and yet after all the trying and attempts made to get him to reply to my messages or even acknowledge what had happened, I walked alone. In away as I saw everybody look in our direction I realised that they were not looking at me or even my Nanna, but at the military draped coffin. I felt the lump in my throat get larger as I watched The Pine coffin being carried along the aisle the brass cross emblazoned on the back of the coffin was all I could focus my attention on and hope that I did not trip in this god awful heels. 

Sitting down on the second row on the right hand side of the church, I familiarise myself with the pictures and images I had seen as a child of Jesus Christ and other holy sentiments. It certainly was a blast from the past as I remember the times from my childhood where things were a lot less stressful and there was a lot less drama. Things were simpler back then but I was also a child and this is what happens when you grow up. People die. After listening to my father's eulogy it made me feel so proud as he stood along his two brothers, telling Granddad's life story and explaining some of the myths and legends that surrounded the man himself. Listening to that piece about my grandfather and looking around at the people that the Sat listening to only made me appreciate him more for everything that he had achieved in life and even opened my eyes to a few things I did not know about him. 

As the service came to a close I stepped out from the church into the bright sparkling sunshine. Seeing some of my mother's side of the family come to pay their respects warmed my heart and made me feel as close to crying as I possibly came throughout the day. Everyone complimented me and my family on how beautiful and personal the service was. But it was not over yet so I had to say my bit too at the crematorium. Bundling back into my Viv, I raced across town in order to try and beat the traffic in order to get to the venue first. I wanted to make sure that I was not going to be late and that I had plenty of time to maybe rehearse or even look over my notes. I could not get this wrong. I had one job and this was it. With my grandfather yet again being carried into the crematorium for the very last time again I walked in alone after my grandmother and cousins. This is not the last few weeks have been leading up to. As I was 'introduced' and took the stand I knew that this was the moment everybody had been waiting for. What was she going to say and was it going to be appropriate?

Song Lyrics? Nah. A Poem? Nope. An extract from a book? No. I have wondered for weeks what would be a good way to start this off but somehow ripping off someone else’s writing, no matter how good it is just simply isn’t my style - Is it granddad?

What do I say? Truth be told, what does anyone say? Sorry just seems a bit bland. Your not sorry. Neither am I. I had some wonderful memories with my grandfather. I don't have anything to be apologetic for yet everything to be grateful, thankful and appreciative of.

   

We had some great memories though didn’t we. Like that time after your eye operation that you had to wear an eye patch. I told everyone at school that your fought off a bear or that you are secretly a pirate. I remember when, after a few weeks of being a one-eyed bandit, Me and Sean thought it would be a good idea to cut out pictures of eyes from the magazines and stick them on your patch. The real fun though came when we figured out that heavily made up ladies eyes were much funnier!

Or how about the time that time when we had a birthday party and I thought it would be really funny to throw marbles out the window with my friends to spook people. The frustrating thing is that it never worked as they would always bounce off your soft grey afro hair!

Do you recall that moment when we were on holiday? The towels we soaked from a day at the beach or the pool and we hung them on the back of the sun-loungers to dry off. But it was all too much for the white plastic frame for when you came along to take a seat the whole thing just gave way leaving you mangled in a heap of plastic and soggy towels.

There was that moment that we went out for dinner at a quiet French village. Dusk settling in and with the hilltop vineyards as our view it was perfect. That was until the young waitress came along with our drinks, tripped, and showered you with a mix of wine and fizzy pop. Oh lord your were so mad, but I think looking back on it the faces you pulled and some of the choice English phrases you told the poor lass only makes for a funnier memoir.

One of my favourite tales, and I am sure that this will become one of yours too when I tell it is the time you visited Uncle Dave and Auntie Bernie at their Irish country cottage. From all accounts Granddad was outside coming in and on a stone floor with crutches and the dogs at his feet it was difficult keeping his balance. I suppose in a way a big slobbery dog is the last thing you want when trying to negotiate your way to the sofa and yet there she was. But before my grandfather knew it the floor seemed to give way under his crutches after placing them on what we thought was doggy dribble. In a spectacular style and yelling to my Nanna all the way he fell over. For years Granddad you thought it was dog slobber you slipped on. I am sorry to tell you that it was not. It was a puddle of wee.  

Over the years as I got older and grew from a sweet child into an independent women we shared in a stories and anecdotes about travelling the world or my sometimes eclectic dating life. I always loved hearing tales of the good old days where my grandparents were young and walking on the moon was a myth thought up by dreamers. I myself hoped that someday I would have something as special as what my grandparents had. A love to surpass all others, born out of a pure organic romance that all started because my Nanny Pumpkin was paid to come on a double date with a friend! What I want to know was how much were you paid, because you had something with granddad that is priceless and eternally lasting. All I can pray for is that one day I can reach your level of marriage where playful bickering and comedic arguments only ended when one of you laughed it off. Or muttered under your breath, which ever the other one couldn’t hear.

But for me personally my fondest memory was the arduous task of him teaching me how to ride a bike. All the cuts and the grazes, all the tears and tantrums. I cant remember how many times I stomped my feet in a grump or walked off in a huff but my goodness there was many. I hated him for it but Granddad would always make sure I came back to my little pink bike with a basket up front, shiny new white tyres and frilly tassels billowing out of the handlebars. He taught me the surest life lesson that would see me through many a problem or difficulty, probably making me the person that I am today. When you fall off your bike you should always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the worse it becomes when you do. And that is what we have to remember here today is that whilst it is hard and horrible to say goodbye, we need to pick ourselves up and get peddling again. For this is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

An Olive Branch?

Evening, 

Following my visit last week to the wonderful island of Ireland after my grandfather's departure, it was certainly a visit to see family and recuperate that I think both Mr Warehouse and I definitely needed. But back home in the struggling spring of Mainland UK and with most things organised for the funeral including piecing together an all black outfit that would be appropriate for a funeral whilst still maintaining at some class and decorum about me, there was very little left to do. 

And yet I had to still try and get a hold of my brother. When it first happened, my granddad's death that is, I hoped he has some sense in trying to get in contact with the family, including both my mother or fathers sides. But what with Mr Warehouse and I travelling to Ireland, contacting my brother had slipped my mind in all fairness but as I said last week, in a funny sort of way I had made my peace with my Granddad and his demise, all I wanted is for my brother to have the opportunity do the same and make an informed choice. Last week I supposed that only time will tell. I didn't have to wait long. 

Following my return from County Kilkenny, I called round all family members, hoping to get an update or to find out that maybe given the circumstances my brother had contacted anyone, even just to send a card or to call and give his condolences and sympathies. Nothing. At the very least I thought he might reach out after all these years to our grandmother who had lost not only the love of her life but also the father to their children who eventually grew into the family she now has. But no. 

After speaking with my mother's brother, my Uncle Golf, I was informed that he to had not had any communication from my brother at all since the beginning of the month. I was disappointed to say the least. This was certainly not how our parents raised us and far from what I would expect my brother to act as an bow fully grown man. Talking more my Uncle Golf decided that my brother and I needed to talk and would be most unfortunate circumstances needed to talk and at the very least discuss the details for the funeral and what we both might like to say about our memory of our time with him. And so with this information and coupled with my brothers mobile number, on a evening after a heavy gym session I decided to give him a call. 

Was I nervous? Yes! Was I Anxious? Definitely!  Was I scared? No, he was my little bro! OK well I was a little bit but I think that all of those feelings are fairly normal when you have not spoken to someone who is meant to be one of the closest people in your life in the last four years. I suppose it is kind of morbid in a way that the last time we spoke it was at another funeral. honestly speaking I hope that it was not going to be add another but here I was. In my kitchen. In my flat. Dialling his number Mr. Warehouse stood by me stirring the pot of risotto watching it boil and bubble. It began to ring. With the dialling tone continuing I expected a voicemail to hit soon. 'Maybe he was just like his big sister putting his phone on charge and ignoring it for the whole evening?' I thought. But I barely had a moment to think about that before a deep manly voice answered the phone in a jovial tone. 

"Hiya" The young man said. Shocked, I had not expected my brother to be so receiving and happy about me calling. But oh how wrong I was! On hearing my voice my baby brother proceeded to tell me to "Fuck Off"! Stunned by his outrageous behaviour and inability to control himself and show a bit of respect, I had only a few seconds before he hung up the phone. Attempting quickly to return his call, it went almost straight to voicemail. Leaving him probably quite a lengthy and rambling on voicemail I followed up my communication, although brief with my brother, on a text message. 

Hi Sean it's me, your big sister. 

I know that you don't want to speak to me so I thought I would message you instead. Obviously I'm hoping that you know this already but if not our Granddad passed away recently. On behalf of myself, the family which you are apart of even after all these years but most importantly Granddad himself we would really like to see you. 

I understand if you do not want to come and see myself, dad or anyone else in the family for reasons I can only assume, but at the very least I think you should go and say goodbye to our Granddad one last time. I have enclosed the details below that are on all of the families social media pages as I am not sure if you have seen them. If you have not then you now have all the right information in order to make an knowledgeable decision about what you would like to do for yourself and I hope you do the right thing as a lot has changed in all these years. 

I have spoken to other family members and they have all said that if you would like they are more than welcome to offer you a lift to and from the funeral, crematorium and wake and this is including myself. 

If you end up deciding that you would not like to come to the funeral for whatever reason, personal or otherwise, then at the very least call the funeral directors and they will be able to organise a time for a personal viewing of the body so it is just you and Granddad where no one else will be allowed in. 

It's up to you at the end of the day but I would like to hope that you would still go and pay your respects to our grandfather who loved us unconditionally and irrespective of our parents and what they did or did not do. 

When everything is said and done, I just wanted to make sure that you had a chance to make an informed decision for yourself as an adult. I love you and if there is anything else I can do or that you would like to discuss them please call me. My number hasn't changed. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx