Age Is But A Number ...

Evening Everyone, 

So I hope you have all had a good week. I know I certainly have, well at least the weekend anyhow. After finally being reunited with my office and working all week at my desk through the mountainous region of papers and fresh leads I eventually made it to the weekend. With nothing much planned other than catching up on sleep, watching trash TV, and my last supper with Mr. Cheese before he ventures into Africa. Oh yeah, and a little thing called a first date!

So I met Mr. ToyBoy on a dating website called Plenty Of Fish several weeks ago and have been chatting ever since. We swapped numbers a few weeks ago before I went to Reading Festival and arranged for our First Date once I was back. So Saturday soon rolled round and I was shit hot as I walked out into the cool and still undecided English weather. Making my way into town I didn't feel nervous at all and was at ease with yet again another First Date that could go hideously wrong. "Can you even top a date with a clown and someone who is possibly still married to a Thai prostitute?" I thought to myself as I bumbled along the bus route. Arriving at the specified destination I waited patiently. At twenty-minutes too early I was beginning to get anxious. Would he even arrive? Has he already arrived, took one look and legged it? Will he look like him? Was it really a good idea to wear a faux leather shirt to a First Date? Nerves getting the better of me I messaged him, letting him know I had arrived. Seconds later I heard a ping. 

"I thought we were meeting at half-one? :) xxx" The message read. Checking my calender I felt like the biggest penis in the universe. Making up some excuse and face-palming myself I wandered into the town centre for some window-retail therapy to compose myself, laughing all the way. "How stupid of yourself. Gosh Abbey you are such a tool sometimes!" I silently scolded as I looked at Blanket Capes of the new Autumn/Winter 2014 collections in the high street stores. Returning to the meeting spot I anticipated the arrival of my date. At just twenty I was sceptical on his idea of what this encounter may lead to and at nearly three-years his senior (God I am so old) I worried about the compatibility. As his waltzed round the corner I swooned as his arms pulled me into his tall frame. A quick cuddle was quickly followed by a brisk walk in hunt of the coffee shop I had already picked out on my walk to work the morning before. Conversation was electric right from the get go and he was more attractive than he was on his dating profiles or his social media pages. A good and proper TDH - Tall, Dark and Handsome.  

Seating ourselves in the middle of the coffee house we sipped on hot chocolates topped with marshmallows and cream. I couldn't help but notice flecks of amber in his already deep brown eyes. "Best put on my water-wings I might fall in" I chuckled to myself. Giddy with excitement we chatted away about all manner of things from usual things like films and music to festivals and holidays. No subject I think was left untouched as we skipped from tale to tale involving everyone from family members and friends to the latest headlines. Before we knew it I felt as though I had known Mr. ToyBoy for years and with my initial concerns that my young date was not what I was looking for in this whole world of dating I soon noticed that I was having more laughs with him than I think I had in a long, long time. He was young and fresh and new and exciting. Something my life had been lacking for a few months now. Parts of my date intrigued me. Like why would he want to go on a date with me first of all? Although I may party like I was born in 1994 sometimes I am still a respectable twenty-something with a fast approaching birthday which will then leave myself and my date exactly three years, eleven months and several days difference in age. The fact that in conversation Mr. ToyBoy explained that I was only a few months younger than one of his sisters made me question why I had even said yes. But then I realised that there was a massive grin splitting my face in two and I was having the time of my life. Ahh yes, that's why!

As the Date continued I thought that it might be a good idea to take a walk along the river and since Mr. ToyBoy had not really been to Bedford before I thought I would highlight the good bits of the City. Walking along the edge of the river bank we stopped at the foot of a familiar bridge. Pushing aside memoirs of Mr. Cheese and butterflies I was ushered to take the first steps onto it. Almost as a right of passage I did so knowing that barely twelve months ago I was doing the same thing with a different face. Upon reaching the other side we continued our conversations, well, that was until we saw the cutest little ball of fur bundling along the gravel path winding round the river. Simultaneously we whispered about how sweet it looked and our fury at not having a puppy like that. I turned and looked at my date as he did to me. A mutual love for dogs! Bliss. As we unintentionally followed the canine and its owners we kept brushing hands. As wonderful as it was I wondered about when the first move would be made if ever. Just then as we overtook the fluff-pup and after giving it a little pat on its soft head, Mr. ToyBoy gently and sweetly took ahold of my hand. Heart skipping slightly I felt my face crack once more. Trying to hide my excitement, head-thoughts turned to Mr. Cheese and how much effort and courage it took for me to build up and ask him to hold my had as we waltzed the hot streets of Kensington and Chelsea back in the summer of last year. 

Settling down on a bench I could tell what was coming next. Nervousness racked his Rugby-playing body as he obviously pondered on how to approach my lips. Secretly knowing what my Date was planning I pouted and made my face look as cute as I could. More chatter took over though and before long we were deep in conversation about my inability as a graduated Media Studies student to have gone through my course not watching classics like Lord of The Rings and Disney's Frozen. I think I may have even had a solo performance of Let It Go?! Laughing along he asked if I was cold. I said yes. Without another word I was forced into a cuddle. Snuggling into his chest I mentioned about my furnace-like heat that I seemed to give off. Mr. ToyBoy agreed and followed up with a comment that made me think that maybe age didn't matter so much. 

"I wish I had met you sooner Abbey. You make me feel really at ease and have made getting better easier." (He was poorly with a case of probable man-flu earlier in the week) Mr. ToyBoy said in a deep whisper. Turning my head up to face him I saw his brown eyes gaze into mine. As the curtains fell over our peepers and our heads turned I knew it wouldn't be long before I got to know just how mature he was. Locking lips I could feel the delightfully light but intense pressure on the nape of my neck as we kissed passionately in the increasingly chillier weather. Gently teasing each other we got into a rhythm and continued for what was only mere seconds but in which I wished could never end. Breaking from the lustful make-out sesh I returned my head to Mr. ToyBoy's shoulder and looked out to the still water of the river. I smiled at the tactical positioning of where we had chose to indulge in our first kiss. On the left was the wrong bridge. On the right was the right bridge. Somehow I felt at ease with my decision to move on from Monsieur Cheese. I was happy and smiling and potentially had someone here with me holding me in his arms that wanted me. Just as I took reflection on how at ease I was and to the last person I shared with part of the world with I felt a little peck on my hairline. Sweet as it was I think I knew then that I really liked my Date. 

After getting caught in a rain storm and nearly catching Hypothermia we called it a day and headed back to town so we could make our own ways home. Unfortunately due to the rain (and not the fact that we were stopping every few steps to have a cheeky kiss in said rain) Mr. ToyBoy had missed his connection home. So before calling a cab we headed into a Caffe to get warm and dry as well as indulge in a little sweetness in the form of two more hot chocolates and a white-chocolate Blondie to share. "He can share this Blondie any day!" I pondered arrogantly to myself as I took a lady-like gulp from my creamy concoction. Sharing out the treats of yet more marshmallows, crumbly chocolate and nutty brownies conversation ebbed. I didn't really know what to say, although I knew the Date itself would have to end at some point. Rising from the table we stepped into the fresh outside and dialled for a driver. As we said our goodbyes we both agreed on having a wonderful afternoon in each other's company. Another smooch before I dragged myself away, struggling not to skip all the way home. 

Mr. ToyBoy. The one to bring about the question of age-difference. The one who makes me feel like I am fifteen again. The one who makes me quander what I am really looking for in 2014. In all honesty I don't know. But I know one thing for certain and that is that if the first Date is anything to go by, the second Date will be just as electric. Date number two - Bring it on Mr. ToyBoy!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Circus Acts!

Hello Everybody, 

So after last week's date on Sunday I began dating in the modern world. Would 2014 be the year I finally met Mr. Right? Who knows yet, maybe I have already met them or maybe it could be a Mister from my past. All I know is that dating right now has gone from optimistic fun meeting new people and being 'story-up-staged' as I now like to call it, to the drastically different end of the spectrum in which makes me ponder exactly what I even want from my love life right now. And the fact that a certain Monsieur Cheese is never far from the forefront of my mind is never easy. 

Tuesday night I decided to spend some time with the Tweedles and we were met also with the company of Miss Stuu as well. Thankful for a good old trip to the cinema I was glad that whilst conversation was (obviously) about me and my subsequent dates, there was not too much probing. Tindering whilst on the move, I have found, has made me somewhat an addict. Swiping left and swiping right, whether it be on the bus to work, in the pub with friends or even waiting for a Tinder Date to arrive I confess I am a little hooked. I keep thinking to myself that I need a hobby, and meeting up with my Dad at the weekend only confirmed this. I have even thought about getting a bar job or scarier - Joining a gym! Either way I am going to need to occupy myself in the coming Winter months and the best use of my time I think is working towards that holiday fund. Where am I jetting off to I hear you holla? Well its not Costa Del Sol or even Faliraki. Nope. Come March 2015 I shall be hitting up the slots and shops of Vegas baby! Accompanied by Miss Tweedle Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dee's family we shall be jetting off in the spring to have a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a little bit of America! And whilst I am excited about all them burgers, sausage-legs-by-the-pool-bikini photos and bottomless all-night Starbucks, I cant help think about all them American men just ready for a bit of British Blonde! Urgh, roll on 2015! Of course this needs to pay for itself and has only really been made possible with the fact that my job at the company has now gone perm so I no longer have to worry about finances. 

But of course, you guys don't want to hear all about my boring job or even about my super-amazing-awesome trip to Vegas. You wanna hear about the dating scene and how it is all going since my Date with Mr. Moustache, the Thai-Prostitute-Marrying extraordinaire. Well as if things couldn't get worse I went on a date that would leave me wish I could run away to the circus ... NOT!

Standing outside the dodgy pub looking like one of the 'Lost and Founds' inside I started to wonder if my date would even turn up. Had I, Abbey-Louise, been stood up again? Panicking slightly I text friends to put my mind at ease. Worrying that my top was too low I shuffled from foot to foot getting agitated by the waiting game. Everyone that knows me will say that I am always late and never, ever early. I hate it. I hate the early arrival to something, not knowing if guests or other people will arrive and just generally standing around like a Lemon even though you know that they are only parking the car. It just makes me anxious and Wednesday night was no different. Spying everyone walking in or out of the Public House I couldn't clock the guy I had been messaging all week. But then, all of a sudden there he was in front of me and grinning like a Cheshire Cat, me the unbeknownst Alice. Glancing up from my phone and tucking it into my satchel I noticed one thing and one thing only - The hair! Long and curly it was tightly curled coming out from the sides and top of his head. This, coupled with the receding hairline itself and freckled cheeks resembled what can only be described as something from Stephen King's IT. OK, slight over kill there (no pun intended given the novel) but he honestly did look like a clown you would book for a seven-year-old's birthday party. Swallowing every bit of my self in one swift gulp I took the plunge and entered the pub with Mr. Krusty. Although consequentially, after my date with Mr. Krusty there has been many a banter thrown about amongst friends and family how the lack of water-squirting flowers, the colourful honking car and large footwear were all amiss from the date itself. 

Noticing a commotion I made a swift move to cover Mr. Krusty's gaze towards the drunk man being held down by four punters on the sticky bar floor. Too late. My date has noticed and whilst I try to keep the conversation going with the man behind the bar and my Date he is clearly watching the brawl now happening metres away from us. Hoping to uphold Bedford as more than just a booze-bin for the old and unemployed I mentioned the beer garden. Bad Move! After being seated I was told wondrous stories of far off lands that Mr. Krusty had performed in, sorry, visited. 'Gaap yaaar' didn't even come close to some of the things he was telling me. Stories from his time in Indian, America, China, Africa, Australia, Italy and all manner of other place teamed with adventures such bungee-jumping off rickety old rope bridges naked, skiing in the Alps and even cuddling lion cubs. I think that it was safe to say that by the time my Cider was warm, myself and Mr. Krusty would not be riding off into the sunset together. Disappointed slightly that my tales would never compare to his, I resigned myself to the fact that personality and conversational raconteur were far too established and well-travelled for me. 

As I genuinely struggled to concentrate on the fabulous adventures of my date with a circus act, I noted that a rather hairy bearded man had seated himself at a table opposite us. Clearly listening into our conversation for once I tried to blend into the background. Unfortunately being on a first date we stuck out like a sore thumb. This was not however a problem until his friend turned up. Now I would like to think I am far from naive (I'm not) but suddenly outside of the table containing two pints and a dithering will to live was a far greater story unfolding. A handful of purple twenty pound notes were exchanged for a hidden hand shake. I knew what it was but the drug dealers were not satisfied with giving away kicks, they wanted to get some of their own and so pulled up a chair or two to listen into a Date with Mr. Krusty and I. Laughing and snickering at the company I was in the coked-up criminals started to mock my Date and as a result we both took note. Ears becoming pricked we heard a slur referring Mr. Krusty's look to a TV character. Now I know that throughout this experience so far I have spoke of my drink-date with Mr. Krusty, the clown look-a-like, as something from a cartoon for kids, but that is my prerogative. I had to endure that date so I should be able to speak of it as I will without the input from smacked-up weasels looking for there next fix in the back end of a local pub. Regardless of this though I continued conversation, trying to ignore the glares from our onlookers and upon explaining that a ''Friend'' of mine (actually Mr. Cheese but somehow I realised I spoke too much of him and should now refer to him as a friend instead of The Ex) was studying Classics our audience of one spoke up whilst his friends were at the bar. 

"Classics!" The bearded man bellowed in an friendly, enquiring manner. I replied with a simple yes and attempted to continue. My Date had other ideas! 
"Are you a teacher?" Mr. Krusty asked politely. Snapping back the sunken eyed man quipped "Do I look like a teacher of Classics to you, Mate?". Trying to calm the gentleman rudely interrupting my hilarious date by clarifying his studies, rolling off terms I had investigated with my dear Mr. Cheese on lazy Sunday's only weeks ago. Sophocles and Euripides were amongst those discussed with works such as Antigone and Oedipus. For a split second I felt as though I had a little part of my Cheese back, but then I was thrown back into the moment only to realise my Date was going from bad to worse by the minute. Finishing off my pint I decided it was home time and getting up from my metal framed chair I felt wavy from the alcohol. "Am I drunk? No, I cant be ... " I thought. Walking through the hot pub and out into the cooler evening air I prepared myself for a walk home and maybe even another Tinder sesh. My date had other ideas though. 

"Do you want a lift home?" Mr. Krusty kindly asked. Mentioning how close it is to town I declined. 
"Well at least let me walk you home?" Mr. Krusty insisted. After mentioning that it was a good half hour walk to mine and that it was getting dark he still kept at it. Finally giving in I accepted his offer to walk me home. As we chatted of politics and current affairs on the way home conversation turned towards the weekend and our plans. Mr. Krusty headed up the argument for a second date with a trip to Woburn Safari Park and Zoo. Slightly sick to my stomach, I couldn't bear the thought of going to a place so special and close to my heart without Mr. Cheese. I mean that was one of the burning images and memories of a time much better and easier than the end. I declined the offer stating that the new systems coming into work would have me tied up most of Saturday and Sunday anyhow. Turning into my street I motioned for him to let me finish my journey to my door alone. The hint was not taken and thus here I was standing outside my flat making an awkward goodbye to a curly-haired ginge. 

"Can I have a kiss?" Blurted out my date as I was mid-sentence about something clearly not as important. Trying to pretend I did not hear I continued with the importance of my sentence. He said it again. I couldn't escape it this time. I had finished what I had to say and couldn't think of anything to change the subject too. I hesitated for a few minutes trying to think of a way out. Panic set in. "Who even asks for a kiss nower days? Mr. Cheese didn't ask for a kiss, he just went for it. Why are men so British!" I thought as I tried to think of a nicer way to say no. I couldn't and before the poor mite asked again I just said yes and prayed to a god that doesn't exist that it would all be over soon and I would be hopelessly laughing and crying about it to the Tweedles. Following up what was honestly a pleasant smooch with the casual and somewhat now awkward farewells I turned and walked inside my front door. Collapsing on my couch I surrendered myself to yet another unsuccessful date. After a optimistic outlook from Miss Tweedle-Dee over the phone I made some dinner and then proceeded to my covers to sleep off the Scrumpy before work tomorrow. Rule number four about dating and life in general: Never drink on a school night. 

As the end of the working week approached I rounded off my week with some casual drinks with a male colleague from work on Friday night. Leaving the office I was told by the Office-Bods to play nice and not to bite too hard - whatever that meant. I knew since that first initial meeting on our works night out that Mr. Warehouse was clearly infatuated with me. God knows why. But somehow he had plucked up all his courage to ask me on a date. Throwing caution to the wind and knowing that no matter what happens at least it is an experience that can later be reflected on in writing to the world in my weekly blogg, I said yes. Truth be told it had been set up as a cosmopolitan date, playing pool and drinking pints in a quiet local pub near where we both worked, although my initial throughout the date I felt more and more that it was just another after work drink with friends. There was some mild flirting and I definitely did not hold back on my story telling, bedroom adventures included! We spoke at length about stuff that was irrelevant in retrospect but also about work and our interests. All in all it was probably the best date I have been on so far this year (excluding the dates including Mr. Cheese, they don't count). I suppose as I waited in the beer garden for Mr. Warehouse to arrive I was calmer and more relaxed than before, maybe in the knowledge that after Date Number One turning out to be possibly still married to a Asian Prostitute and Date Number Two being an extra from Zippo's Circus, Date Number Three couldn't get much worse. I enjoyed myself and there was even a bashful period of constant laughter, something I can not remember ever doing with Mr. Cheese. 

Whether a second date is on the cards for Mr. Warehouse and I, I don't know. Second date is a big thing, I suppose it means that you find them at least in some way boyfriend material. But I am just not sure if I want that right now. I think I am far more bruised than I thought about Mr. Cheese's departure and sites of Bedford bridges in the summer sun at the Bedford River Festival at the weekend, teamed with photo's of Darlington Station don't help. I suppose in a way I have to accept, whether I like it or not, that despite our tracks crossing, the train has now left. 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

Let The Dating Game Commence!

Evening everyone, 

Slowly drifting I peeked through my eyelashes into the bright sunshine. Mmm, the heat was wonderful and I had forgotten how I had missed snuggling up after a long, tiring day at work. With a low hum in the background I closed my eyes again as we swayed together, the heat between us making me evermore happier. And whilst it was a comforting bus journey home this evening, cuddled up at the back of the bus, being driven home by the warmth of the engine and hugging onto the inner wheel arches, it was another thing I had tried in order to replace a man in my life. Note to self: Buses whilst are able to get me to work and back are unreliable, unappreciative and most of all I can't hug them without looking like a lunatic. Nevertheless this week has been a success after the feminist movement of last week the 'Vagina Crusade' is still on and the hunt for a mate continues. 

After talking with several gentlemen on a little known dating application called Tinder I was asked out on a date. After speaking for a few days and swapping all social media platforms we agreed to meet for a drink in a local bar. Something casual with not much behind it will be perfect for a first date, nothing to hard or effort educing. A few days later I was on my journey home from work and messaged him about meeting. Cancelled! Apparently work had called him in to do a shift early the next day somewhere in Hertfordshire and so date night was postponed until the following evening. Friday rolled around and not making much effort with the outfit to work I had a funny feeling something would go Pete Tong tonight too. And what an intuition I have. After trying to message my potential date all evening he replied with the lame excuse that his friend had been moved to Singlesville too and needed cheering up. Suggesting a later time to meet was met with no response at all and with twenty minutes to go until we were due to meet I called it off assuming that nothing was going to come to fruition. As it turns out I got blow off for a lads night in drinking and popping moves like they think they're Jason Derulo. Sorry boys but your not. Your just not!

Feeling deflated after being stood-up I needed some comfort and a confidence boost. Since there was no chocolate to be had in my flat other than on a digestive I decided to look elsewhere. Knowing in my heart I shouldn't seek comfort in the shallowness of swiping left or right I ignored all that and did it anyway, continuing to Tinder for the rest of the night, humming and harrahing as to whether or not a first date round a guys 'free house' is such a good idea. I have always said to myself that I will never venture into dangerous waters such as that until at least the third or fourth date. Some of the lads I have spoken to have been dicks and some have seemed quite genuine. I just hope that maybe I can get my head around not looking at everyone of them in comparison to Mr. Cheese. On which note, I had a message from him the other day. Quite unexpected. 

After hearing the sad news on Thursday that an elderly family friend whom I haven't seen in year had passed away I was shocked. Stunned into my office chair. At first I got ready to breath a sigh of relief thinking it was something much less morbid in nature, but as it turned out I was really affected. I had to steal a moment to myself in the kitchen under the pretence of making tea just to let my brain process the fact that not only had someone close to me passed away, but that within the next fortnight perhaps I shall be forced to share the same personal space as the very women I despise - My Mother. Sounds awful but I honestly don't know which one is worse. The family friend was what I referred to as an Auntie in my younger years and whilst part of the family she was a strong women whom held her ground and stood up and by what she believed in, including me. I was only seventeen but she knew that I was telling her the truth when I told her the tale of being thrown out by my mother. Shocked and appalled like most she offered me sympathy and a ear when I needed it most and for that I am grateful. A few days later I received a personal message from Mr. Cheese offering support and a shoulder to cry on. It was sweet what he had said and nice to know that he was thinking about me, but all I really wanted wasn't just a shoulder to cry on. 

I wasn't to be sad for too long as midday on Saturday soon arrived and as the warm summer called my Nan and I outside we sat in a quaint little cafe sipping on tea and coffee chatting about all life's problems although mainly boys and how I should deal with life now as a bachelorette. Much advice was given and it was needed for I had already lined myself up another date with a new man for Sunday afternoon. But before all of that could happen I had an even more important date to keep to. Reading Festival Run-Thru - Mark Two!

Discussions took place between myself and the Tweedles via email about the pro's and con's of having a camp out in Miss Tweedle-Dumb's garden when there was due to be a torrential down pour that evening. My case was a valid one and that no matter what the weather come the Bank Holiday Weekend at the end of August we would have to put up and sleep in a tent for several nights. I feel that whilst my friends would much rather snuggle with the dogs on the sofa, they couldn't deny that as normal, I was right! And setting up this time was not nearly half as bad or strenuous as first thought. The tent was up within half hour and by the time we had pumped up our air-beds and secured the guide-ropes Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were being egged on by a mischievous Miss Tweedle-Dee to have a dance off on the patio. Suffice to say that after several cocktails and a cider I was very much a drunken mess. Attempts to play swing-ball was next on our list of fun things to do whilst drunk. Between pants and gasps I felt as if I was either in the finals of Wimbledon or doing the voice over for a OTT porno, although by that point in the evening it was most likely to be the latter one. And so the night was rounded off once and for all with being chased by imaginary scary noises whilst trying to Alfresco Pee and having potatoes thrown at our tent by Miss Tweedle-Dumb's sister. 

Bleary eyed we awoke the next morning, my tent pals had slept better than I had but only for fear of being rained on. Nevertheless a morning brew and ashtray were brought to our makeshift bedsides by an attentive Miss Tweedle-Dumb and thus commenced our Sunday. Packing the tent away was not hard either, and within the space of fifteen minutes out pop-up home had been wiped down from the rain drops and packaged away inside its little bag until the next time we need him. Changing and having a quick wash we all headed back to our own homes, but for me it was home to prepare for my first date of the year. And so, strolling down the street I definitely had my swag on. I felt amazing and with my new found favourite band (5SOS) playing in my ears I knew I was shit hot. Or at least I would have liked to think so anyway. As I turned into the street and saw the signed swinging in the cool afternoon air I told myself that I could still turn around and go home if I didn't want too. Grappling with nerves I approached the coffee house. I knew it well. It was the last stop on mine and Mr. Cheese's journey before heading to Darlington over Christmas and more recently the place I had purchased ground coffee for Pappa Cheese's birthday present, much to his delight. Indeed this little coffee shop on the High Street held very fond but bitter memories for me. I wished they could be different but they are not, and that is why I am here. Walking into Caffe Crema to meet a man I barely know. Strutting to the back of the establishment in no less than a pair of heels, pleated PVC skirt and sweatshirt I felt the nerves subside as I greeted my date; The ironically named - Mr. Moustache. 

Mr. Moustache was a tall and stocky blonde with blue eyes, not quite what I expected but then can you ever trust Internet dating? As soon as I walked in I stole his attention from his phone, a luxury Mr. Cheese rarely paid me. As I approached the little table I glanced to where ghosts of days gone by had excitedly chattered amongst wrapped up presents and about the coming days of yule-tide festivities that were to come. Shaking them off I was greeted and then seated. Parched I offered to buy Mr. Moustache another drink, despite seeing that he had only just arrived himself. Declining, I went to the counter to order a coffee frappachino. Starbucks it was not but better than something hot. Seating myself once more, Mr. Moustache commented on how surreal it all was. Was I that fabulous? Is it now an honour to be in my company? Apparently so! Quick someone call the Queen I need to be knighted!

Conversation flowing we questioned each others lives and hobbies. I found out that he works in health care and lives alone too which was a relief as you tend to go a bit nuts when you live alone as a Singleton! We posed questions about our favourite biscuits and what we like to watch on TV. He seemed to be on same shelf as me but I'm not so sure about the same book or page however. Desperately trying not to judge or compare, Mr. Moustache had the long run-your-fingers-through hair I always want. Teeth were fairly good too and his eyes were wide and full of wonder at our conversions. Noticing the sandals I was immediately turned off anything romantic, although oddly in a way the slogan Tee and bright Hawaiian shirt may have made up in part for one of the Big Four being let down. Mr. Moustache was funny and made me laugh with hilarious stories from his travels around the world. He had ventured to Asia on a gap year from life and whilst there had experienced nude bathing with friends and lots of Chinese Mafia, being asked to have his photo taken just because he was a tall white male from the West and even accidentally marrying a Japanese prostitute. And to think that I would never meet my match in terms of being a raconteur! I too pulled out all my best stories - That time Miss Tweedle-Dumb made a Aloe Vera butter angel on the floor of our holiday apartment whilst very drunk from an evening at a Scottish bar in Fuerteventura, Miss Tweedle-Dee and her blister bags as a result of getting badly sun burnt, also in Fuerteventura; And who can forget that ever-lasting tale of Mr. Workaholic and his 'bearded' experience.  

As the afternoon turned into early evening I decided to call it a day and head home - Alone! The exit was odd as we ended up walking the same way and when we did come to the departure I felt an uneasy as Mr. Moustache leaned in for a hug goodbye and maybe something more. Unfortunately it was a first date and I didn't really fancy him that much. I mean he was attractive don't get me wrong, but I was still airing on the side of caution. I wasn't sure about this one yet and didn't want to jump before I knew what into. Mr. Moustache was lovely though and despite us not talking since I feel that as far as first dates go, it went well. With a few more lined up for the coming weeks I am sure we I will have plenty more tales to tell you all, I just need to be sure that I don't fall as hard as I did last time ... 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

How It Can All Change

Morning All, 

What a difference a week can make and how things can change in a matter of moments. I have realised this many times within the last week and more specifically within the past seventy-two hours! And whilst fresh in my mind I shall divulge my week. So Wednesday I finished work only to be greeted with an email when I got home from the agency. Panicking I thought that the last thing I needed was a P45. Cautiously I opened the email to my surprise and great relief it was something of an opposite nature! My place of work had renewed my contract until spring and as a result I could rest a little easier with knowing I had my job until the end of March, assuming I don't fuck it all up. And the celebrations weren't to stop there as Friday approached and the weekend was on the horizon I planned for a weekend of socialising, mingling and meeting new faces. 

Friday night my father, his girlfriend and I attended the surprise 21st birthday party of an old family friend who is due to be married in the summer (I am the photographer and am extremely excited). Upon arrival we didn't know very many people but I mingled with the faces I knew better than others and made small talk with guests. As the birthday girl herself arrived, shocked and surprised as anticipated I gave her a big hug and wished her a happy birthday. After talking to the future bride and groom I was introduced to a strapping young chap whom looked familiar. The face I knew as an old school friend of the Tweedles, but I was playing coy to the party guests as to how I knew him. That is until the groom introduced us to one another across the bar but before the introductions were even started the good-looking male stated that he already knew me. We were given space and started making conversation about Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and the few memoirs we had of each other from days gone by. As I was sucked in by the Casanova's boyish charm he told me of his hobby as a radio presenter on a local station. And so Mr. DJ was born. Paha. Turns out he will also be disc-jockeying at the wedding of our introducers in a few months time!

We talked for ages about our jobs; himself being a pre-school teacher and myself in the wonderful world of finance. Conversation was fun and flirty but I made sure to keep it as light as possible trying hard not to engage in the classic game of cat and mouse. Oh how I do enjoy a good chase! As the evening continued I socialised more, meeting more people I knew from my educational years in school and college. Soon I had a whisper in my ear that my Dad and his girlfriend were leaving and so I made the decision to stay and pursue more conversation with Mr. DJ. Dancing away the night and enjoying the company I was in myself and Mr. DJ spent more time together, tackling the likes of the Macarena and even the unfortunate event of accidentally kicking a small child in the face whilst pretending to be Wigfield! As the night drew to a close we decided to get in a few drinks and help wind down the party. Staying behind once the lights came on we helped pack away tables, food and lights. As I helped Mr. DJ cornered me and asked how I was getting home. I said that I would probably get a cab to the station and then the train to Flitwick where I was staying the night at my Dad's. It was then that he suggested quiet out of the blue that he didn't mind taking me back to Flitwick since he only lived in the next town along. Flattered at the offer I took it, wondering where my mind had gone as I anticipated a flirty drive home with a hot stranger. 

As I said my goodbyes Mr. DJ and I made our exit and headed out to his car. He mentioned something about it being parked a few roads back from the venue and to apologise in advance for making me wet. I took the comment at face value as I knew full well what he meant by it. Jumping into the modern, little car and in typical DJ fashion he instantly asked what music I liked. I told him I didn't mind and was easy with whatever, apologising again for not having a filter on my runaway mouth. Giggling like a school girl we set off into the darkness, only the street lamps to guide us. I as we approached the outskirts of town I was informed that Mr. DJ was single and I admitted for the first time this year that I was too. And so the seduction commenced and in between embarrassed but flattered giggles I flirted back heavily making sure he knew where I was. As if that wasn't enough, the bluntest and crudest questions came out from our filthy minds polluting the car with a thick aroma of lust and greed. 

Pulling into the driveway of the house my Dad shares with his girlfriend the car ground to a steady halt. As the lights dimmed in the desolate, midnight streets I wondered what I would do now. I didn't have to worry for long! "So am I allowed in for a coffee? Even though I don't drink coffee?" Mr. DJ said. And with that I knew exactly where it was going. Could I get away with this? Surely not! After a brief moment I invited Mr. DJ in and made our way to the kitchen thinking that maybe we could just whisper, naively thinking that we could have a cheeky snog and a fumble in the kitchen and still leave the evening nicely rounded off. Although as time passed I knew that it was a death wish to even bring a boy into the house let alone anything else. I suggested heading back out to the car for a chat and as the glass was left on the side and my hand firmly taken I was lead back to the still warm car. As we drove round the corner so as not to be spotted I jumped in the back seats so as to get comfier whilst getting to know Mr. DJ a bit better now the thumping music and dazzling lights had gone. 

Sobering up in the backseats of the little sports car we instantly hit it off. As our need for something more than subtle flirts increased so did the tension. I tried hard to keep control but the fact that I had been waiting months for someone to take the lead made me succumb to Mr. DJ's domineering ways. Frantic and impatient we tugged at each others clothes as I silently begged him to take me hard like I have craved for so long. I couldn't hold back any longer and before I knew it I was screaming his name as he made my hard, erotic, controlling fantasies come true. As the car stilled we held one another as Mr. DJ climaxed hard. Panting we stayed like that for a while, in an unplanned embrace that neither of us expected a few hours ago. Smiling as Mr. DJ drove me a few meters up the road we made already broken promises to stay in touch. We both knew it was just a fling but the naughty liaison left me quivering all the way to my bed that night. Lord only knows I can't wait for the wedding. Who knows what will happen?!

The following evening was much the same as how Friday had started as it was my Grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary. Sadly the only attractive and available men were behind the bar, the rest of the party consisted of people practically awaiting the Grim Reaper. Nevertheless a good evening and no body argued so all was well. Old family and friends gathered round to make the evening a special one and something that hopefully I shall encounter with someone special too. But all this goodness couldn't last for long and as morning broke on Sunday I was awakened with a banging head ache and a somewhat delayed half-hangover. Two nights of drinking and running around like a headless chicken had taken its toll and I was fragile to say the least. Although as my eyes opened for the first time I heard the ping of a text message. Reading I saw it was from Mr. Cheese whom I hadn't heard form in a few days. Conversation flowed into the state I was in and our plans for the day. I explained that I had a date as did Mr. Cheese. Coincidence?

As we messaged each other about our weekend and the anticipated date's I learnt that Mr. Cheese had secured an all important second date with a blonde from South Africa now living in London somewhere. As Mr. Cheese continued I slowly felt the same sickening feeling as I had before when I was with Mr. Workaholic. Imagining a tall, slim city-blonde with a alluring foreign accent and the sex appeal to match I struggled to see why my beloved Mr. Cheese would ever come back to me after something as I was creating in my head. As hard as I tried I knew that a second date would mean there was obviously a spark. Trying not to be a hypocrite, especially after Friday nights antics I kept an open mind, thinking that this may just be a make-or-break date. Keeping an upbeat mindset I made my way to Milton Keynes to embark on my own date. 

Within minutes after locking eyes with my already nerve-shredded date I knew this would not be the man I had hoped for. As we wandered around the city centre hopping from one coffee shop to another I realised that the needy, clingy and awkwardness of this young man was something I was not used to. And so after enduring some mild rudeness, unapologetic bluntness and incapacity to people watch quietly I ended the date. Safe to say that I don't think I will be seeing him again. Although as I settled down in my seat my phone pinged again. This time it was someone I wanted to speak to. So whilst I was sat in excruciatingly awful awkward silences and constantly trying to keep the conversation from drying up; Mr. Cheese was struggling to keep his hands off his date.

Yep that's right everyone. As I had kept my Friday night frolics to a bare minimum in detail to Mr. Cheese he had no such boundaries as he carried on into deep conversation about "how incredibly hard it was not to be that couple over in the corner of the pub". Jealousy erupted and I messaged him angrily back saying that he should just fuck the Zebra-headed bimbo. Mr. Cheese's reply about things going so well with the South African blonde made me realise that it was just too late and that instead of making his feelings stronger for me that they had simply vanished. All in the space of twelve, short days. Truth be told I'm devastated. Knowing that this is what I wanted him to go and do only makes things worse. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it. I have lost my appetite and still have not had a proper nights sleep since the ultimatum at New Year. On the one hand I want(ed) him to get out there, explore the world  and what it had to offer before jumping into another relationship that two years down the line could end up in tears again. But then on the other hand I enjoy being single myself; partying and not worrying about who I share the back of a car with. I cant be too hard on him as it is me whom is wearing the same shoes. Difference is that whilst I have tried to hide and tone down my male encounters, Mr. Cheese seems to be rubbing my nose it it only making the feeling that he is slipping through my fingers ever faster. It seems that the rule of 'what they don't know wont hurt them' has been thrown well and truly out the window.

I am trying hard not to let it get to me and think positive thoughts about finally securing the flat of my dreams and moving in within the next few weeks. Mr. Cheese and I haven't spoken since his comments about the blossoming relationship not going sour as I quite simply don't know what to say. I suppose I will just have to get used to the fact that maybe Mr. Cheese just doesn't want me any more.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Carrot's Can Help You See In The Dark

Evening everybody, 

Now after last week's entry I have been made aware that my twenty-second birthday is nearly upon me. Oh what an age but so far I don't think I have much to show for it apart from some very good stories and a few not so good. Haha. One story in which I have yet to share with you all. 

Now before Mr. Cheese walked onto the scene (or galloped on, with his tin-foil suit and Zebra steed intact) I was just starting out, dabbling my feet in the cold waters of dating. This was when I met Mr. Carrots. We were introduced through friends after Miss Chocolate had been befriended by him on a social networking site some months earlier. She had no qualms with me and Mr. Carrots meeting for a casual date after she said that he was far too clingy and 'try-hard'. Should have known from the beginning really?

After a few weeks of mindless chit-chat we decided to meet up in person. Mr. Carrots lived on the outskirts of Luton and I in Flitwick with Daddy and his girlfriend at the time. We agreed to meet in the town centre and to go for a couple of drinks before I continued my evening with Miss Chocolate and some old college friends. I knew that Mr. Carrots wasn't a looker but when you are single and someone shows you interest you don't turn it away, besides - Maybe it would be a grower, like mold? Thus said, this was not the case. He was not my type at all but I thought he deserved at least a chance. 

Walking up to the court-yard where we had planned to meet there was only one lone figure standing out. It was him. Mr. Carrots. Whilst on the phone to Miss Chocolate I thought that maybe I could just ditch it and do a runner. Then I got a text. He had seen me. As I hung up and nervously walked over to where he was standing there was defiantly no turning back. Mr. Carrots wasted no time in pulling me in for a bear hug and awkwardly I went in for the french double-cheek kiss which he didn't get at all and we ended up in an head-swaying competition in which we both didn't want to be entered in. Eventually we started to walk further into the town and began the small talk. Obviously forgetting the fact that I had told Mr. Carrots previously I had lived and still visited regularly Luton he began to point out buildings of significance and explain their purpose. I didn't have the heart to tell him again and so just let him waffle on.

After a short walk we arrived outside a pub I knew well. Taking me inside I watched as Mr. Carrot's face dropped to the floor and with everyone in the bar looking at us like we just kicked a cat, typical me I made a chirpy comment about getting us a table whilst he grabbed up some drinks. As I approached the table I took a moment to look around. Two women in the corner of foreign origin whom I am almost positive were waiting for the streets of the town to get dark enough so they could go out to work. The rest of the locals were men, all of them above the age of forty with a taste for beer and possibly the odd scrap. Yes. I knew this bar well, but not for the right reasons. 

It was at this point that a drunken resident stood in front of the table I had chosen and proclaimed his love for me in an heavy northern Irish accent. Still to this day my friends are amazed at how well I can pull it off. Whilst he adorned me with praise for my beauty I silently begged him to leave before Mr. Carrots arrived through an awkward smile. Finally he left and soon Mr. Carrots took his place and we proceeded with the conversation. By this point I had already felt that there was not spark, not even a click of a lighter and that sweet as he was, Mr. Carrots was not a future Beau. 

As the conversation progressed it finally was spun round to football. After about ten minutes of awkward and ideal conversing about football and the weather I was praying for a ice-breaker but I knew that even a Blue Whale couldn't break this iceberg! Then out of the corner of my eye and almost like a message from the man upstairs himself was a pint of beer placed calmly on our table. The Irish drunk was back. Secretly laughing to myself I knew form that moment this was going to be a date to remember and for the remainder of our time in that pub we were bombarded with stories of this man's childhood. In fact I found out more about this man than I did about Mr. Carrots! We learnt that this drunk had a very, very large crush on me and kept telling me how beautiful I was - But before you all start asking me out, just remember he was drunk! He explained how his father was of Scottish descendants and owed a travelling funfair that him and his twin sister (who would 'beat the crap outta ya if ya tried anything') travelled around in as children. More detail was given about his twin sibling when he described in detail their ability to know what the other is speaking and communicate telepathically. 

during the conversation with our new found friend the drunk would look into the blue eyes of Mr. Carrots and ask if he was 'starting' on him and if he 'had a problem' to which Mr. Carrots responded simply but nervously with no each and every time he was asked. Suddenly from no where he bellows out ''Carrots'' and me and my date look at each other in horror as we await an explanation. The residing drunk then argued with himself about why he kept thinking of carrots? ''Maybe I need to buy some?'' he said, to which the best reply in history came from my hum-drum date. "Maybe your twin sister is thinking of buying carrots and that is why you are thinking of carrots?!" He said jovially to our intoxicated third wheel. And there erupted my laughter for no longer could I hold it in; a mixture of pure and simple awkwardness with added dating failure made me burst out in a fit of chuckles. 

It was just after this that I realised that me and Mr. Carrots were in a battle of who-will-finish-their-drink-first. I knew that if I didn't drink the last dreg's of my wine, we would both be forced to endure the constant back and fourth of conversation between a drunken old man and an already floundering first date. As soon as I put my glass down after gulping down the warming Rose, Mr. Carrots finished his and the Irish bum asked us if we wanted a fresh one. I didn't even give Mr. Carrots a chance to answer as I chipped in and mentioned that we had places to be and had to leave. Quicker than a Cheetah on speed we both left and headed to another bar on the other side of town where we sat for a short while continuing the in-and-out conversation. After that he constantly text me asking to meet up. He even gave me the pet name 'Carrot' - Not exactly come to bed is it? 

I couldn't do it. I couldn't go on a second date with someone if it there was nothing there. So safe to say that life has somewhat mellowed out a bit since my encounter with Mr. Carrots but that doesn't mean it is no longer exciting. My date with Mr. Carrots, whilst not the best, was sadly not to be anything more than just a foot in the door. I am sure though that some day he will make some girl very happy and I genuinely wish him all the best, but unfortunately that girl is not me. Maybe I shall find someone soon? Maybe? But for now I am just enjoying life as it is; friends, family, work, social life and best of all I'm not lactose-intolerant!


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

And So The Battle Commences ...

Morning All,

So I am writing this earlier than usually. Quite simply two reasons. One - I am convinced that my neighbours are having sex which depresses me in so many ways as I feel that I have been now celibate for at least eight months now and that I could practically join a nunnery and become god's 'Lady in Waiting'. And number two is a dilemma which I can only see getting more and more difficult as time progresses. Firstly though before I go on I should probably start from the beginning. Yes. That would help ...

So last week was all about getting settled in and preparing for the enormous weekend ahead. Unfortunately Miss Chocolate was ill so all Friday frolics were postponed until further notice. I did however end up spending the night with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in her room watching an old comedy film. It was suggested that after we would play a game of 'gay chicken' although I am still unsure fully of what it is all about I am pretty adamant I would win! Saturday afternoon was spent trawling round  a shopping mall darting from store to store praying that Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I would find something suitable and in our size for the Wrap Party in London later on in the evening. It had been decided early on in the week that we would just get the train home after the party. I mean its not like anything fun would happen right? Wrong ...

After frantically spending more time than originally thought getting ready and as usual I was running late, both me and Miss Tweedle-Dumb made it to the station just in time to catch the fast train. Sipping on cocktails on the way down I knew that it was going to be good night. I was looking forward to seeing all the fresh faces and enjoying the atmosphere of a high-end City bar. Upon arrival, Me and the lone Tweedle wandered to the starting Piccadilly nightclub swishing past all the people queued up and stating that my name was on the guest list I felt like a star - Even if it was for lemons, milk and mould! Shyly climbing the stairs in my sparkly golden heels I reached the top and saw it was packed out. I noticed a few faces at the bar and after having to take out a mortgage and three loans to pay for my one singular drink of the evening there I headed to find the host.

A special area had been made up specifically for the shows wrap party and I began to clock more and more faces, a few in particular I took a liking too. Soon I was mingling with the best of them and some real gems as far as people go. Then the chaos began and we headed for the next club up the road in posh Mayfair, London. Off the heels came and on went the flats to make the ten-minute commute to the next venue of choice, headed up by me and only a mapping application on my phone. Once in the chic, cosmopolitan bar I wondered where the men I had my eyes on had got too. Turning my attention back to conversation with Miss Tweedle-Dumb I could tell that whilst the night was barely getting started for me, it would very shortly be over before it had even started properly.

Descending the stairs to a smokey, seedy dance floor I was excited and enthralled by the atmosphere. granted I did feel that a sardine would have more room to move than I did at that time, but I was caught in the moment and loving every moment of it; Especially since I knew we would have to leave soon, being the last trains and all. Just before I went home though something spectacular happened! So on the dance floor was I and so was the rest of the cast and plus-ones, and after being force-fed expensive Vodka by a fetching man I headed for the exit, already well aware that Miss Tweedle-Dumb would not approve of us missing our train home, nor at the fact I had left her by herself whilst I said goodbye. But as I stepped down from the stage, and before I waded through the crowd an arm stretched out in front of me. Taking the mysterious hand although knowing whom it belonged to I fell into his arms. Now I shall not kiss and tell (and you can all take that comment on complete face value as it is true, we did have a cheeky one) but what a wonderful man I met. Now, you guys all know how I feel about accent's and this one is stunning. They are so important! Enough said although I refuse to reveal anymore as this might be en-route to somewhere since we have been in contact since.

Sunday was a lazy day. The morning was spent sleeping since me and Miss Tweedle-Dumb didn't arrive back home until four-in-the-morning. Another rushed Get-out-of-bed routine though as I realized I had less than an hour to prepare for my date with the now known Mr. Cheese. The afternoon itself was laid-back and relaxed. As planned we bought some vintage cheese and ate this in a quiet beer garden with cider and conversation as fuel for our fire. We had been chatting most evenings in the week and had finally decided to meet each other at two O'clock on Sunday afternoon, although this is where I had made a slight mistake in terms of location. You see in Bedford there is a river and on this river there are many bridges one of which they call - The Butterfly Bridge. A romantic symbol some may say, especially for a man. Something that makes you wonder why would a man choose that to be the location for meeting a date. Regardless of the philosophy behind the statement that was in itself perfectly unscripted, it does still not undermine the fact that I still managed to go to the wrong bridge. In typical 'Moi' fashion I had gone to the wrong bridge. So as ten past two arrived I came to realise that not only did I research into what the romanticised Butterfly Bridge looked like, but I also had my back to it the entire time. An omen maybe for me and Mr. Cheese?

Sunday afternoon ended as my Saturday night had as well - with a kiss. So impromptu and uninhibited Mr.Cheese swooped in whilst I was explaining something probably mundane and kissed me soft on the lips. Nothing special and no full on make-out sesh here. Just simple, sweet, innocent kisses. So very awkward as this isn't something I would usually consent to on a first date but when the arm slinks around you and there isn't anyone around to see the PDA (a Public Display of Affection - not and actual PDA; That would be weird) you feel inclined to just say yes. It was the same when we departed a sweet kiss goodbye, but not before confirming next Sunday as our second 'Date'!

Oh but yes. Here I am in the reality of my now rush-hour love life. Mr. Cheese and my Mystery man. I like both.  But I also like being single. But I also would like to have something more in terms of a relationship. But I want a life outside of one too. I never do make things easy for myself. And I always did say that there will come a time when you wait and wait and wait and then suddenly your numbers are up. But which chips do I cash in? Which one should I gamble on? I know which one I want because I cant stop thinking about it and wondering -but is it the winning ticket?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Sister's Before Mister's

Heyy Guys,

And yet another roller coaster of a week draws to a close. And yet after all that, I have been able to bounce back faster than you could say 'windscreen'. I have a new job. Again. But not just that. If you look as to where this was written you can see that it was signed, sealed and delivered from my new bachelorette pad. I am so happy that it has finally got to this point and have been so busy unpacking and sorting everything out that I nearly forgot to write. Allow me to explain my week ...

So after being a bit down in the dumps about having to quit my last job just purely on the distance I thought that my dream of finally moving in was slipping through my fingers again. Then late Wednesday afternoon I went into some local recruitment agencies and spoke to them, only to walk out of one of their offices having landed a customer service role at a windscreen replacement company just outside of Bedford town centre. Now granted it is only a temporary contract for a couple of months and so is nothing permanent by a long shot, but there is always the chance they could take me on permanently. Hopefully they will so I can stop searching for job's as it is driving me crazy just looking at pages and pages of jobs that have probably been advertised for weeks and have possibly already been filled. If not then there is always something on offer. And I do have a habit of bouncing back fast ... As I am sure you are well aware!

As for my new flat well that was a bit of a surprise. Since my Dad and his girlfriend are too hung up on their own lives and personal hobbies to help me move out (despite wanting me to move out since last year and not wholly loving the fact I was living with them in the first place) I decided to get my Uncle to help move me. And so on Saturday (the only date my Uncle could do to move me) we bundled up all my belongings in his work's van and headed to my new home! Packing and unpacking was a mission and a half though, and I don't think many people will be visiting often due to the fact it has no lifts and I'm on the third floor up four flights of stairs. I like it though. It's cosy and once I get everything sorted out properly then it will be perfect!

No word of warning on the old 'Luuurve' front yet, but I have continued online dating and am enjoying the attention from prospective males; even if they are fat, balding and are sitting at a computer having a lonely handshake with ones self. OK, well maybe not that extreme, but I love the idea that I could one day be talking to someone that will play an extra special part in my life. I haven't met any yet. Although I do plan to have a date with a very nice young man whom enjoys the company of quirky girls who enjoy laughing and chatting about nonsense but also have a fondness for dairy products, cheese included. We both seem to have hit it off pretty well and I enjoy talking to him so much so that we have arranged a 'Date' for this coming Sunday! Eeek! Scary date! I mean it's not like I am terrified of the idea. Its just scary meeting someone that theoretically you know a little of and that you have spoken online to, but it is another to meet in person and spend time together outside of cyberspace. I think that maybe this is just first-timer's nerves (Naughty!), what with being the first time I have met someone from an online dating site in the flesh - It's bound to be nerve shredding. I wonder what I shall wear? Hmmm ...

In other news, I have a big weekend planned. Along with my date on Sunday with the guy I met online, I am celebrating moving in with my good pal Miss Chocolate on Friday night and then following that up with something special for Saturday's twilight hours. I have heard that this Saturday, there will be a new show in the city of London. Starring yours truly. Ha ha. The dating show I was on a couple of months ago are having the Wrap Party in the bright lights of London. Cinderella shall go to the ball - Along with her trusty partner in crime; Miss Tweedle-Dumb!

I am looking forward to it and I know it's going to be a fun night out. Bit worried though, the last time I went on a night out with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, I met a boy whom we all know as that prick. Mr Workaholic! Then again, it might not all be bad. Miss Tweedle-Dumb could be my lucky charm in finding love. I could meet a sweetheart from across the bar and we would fall in love instantly with each other. He would worship me as a fat kid worships cake and we would get married and have babies and live happily ever after. Or I could be the last hope in hell of that sweaty nerd getting laid, lurking over there in the corner of a dark, smokey club at three in the morning like a weirdo. Yep, that is probably the story of Saturday night for you. Either that or the usual happens where Miss Tweedle-Dee and myself are dropped to our hotel by a cab and end up eating chicken until we pass out from alcohol. Still Miss Tweedle-Dee is not that bad. She can be very, very funny sometimes. Both her and Miss Tweedle-Dee can be very entertaining sometimes. Besides whats that saying. Sister's before Mister's ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Boulders and Lemons ...

Afternoon Amigo's,

So after last week's hectic week I am finally relaxing on my comfy bed in my Pee-Jays! Another birthday has come and gone and at last Miss Tweedle-Dee has caught up with the rest of us girls and is now twenty-one! I feel old when I think about my last few months as a twenty-uno. Slightly depressing thought. Now aside from the manic week I have had, something more juicy ...
 
Now I am sure that if you are as addicted to television as I am then you will have watched a programme on Channel 4 in the UK called 'First Dates'. And if you watched especially carefully would would have seen a particular sexy face that was Moi! You see I have never been shy in front of the camera as when I was younger I used to be the star of all the home movies before my parents separated. As friends and family gathered around on sofa's and stool last Thursday evening we all waited in anticipation to see their loved-one on the telly. Forty minutes in I appear in a minty, white dress and black blazer with my hair tied up in a top-knot. Cringe was not the word. As I sat in front of the box, watching everyone squeal and squirm as they sat, glued to the screen. The conceited gentleman I had the pleasure of spending my evening with was a young Liverpudlian man whom some of you know as Mr. Accent. Now regardless on how I felt about Liverpudlian's in my last post (See Blind Date ...) from my perspective I felt it went well and I had a very enjoyable evening, although our date did consist of discussing for the most part food. This is one such event that you can now watch on repeat if you so wish to. So there I am on the box, with millions watching and I'm discussing on how I love to drink milk and love lemon cake ... the tarty-ier the better. It was a very minimal part of the date in which I was discussing with Mr. Accent my love of baking and in particular my lemon drizzle cake and just how many lemons I use to make it. Four, if you were wondering. I like my drizzle cakes very sour! I also discussed my love of dairy products in particular milk. This was in response to an odd but relevant question asked by Mr. Accent on what would be my favourite drink. So yes I'm sure that you can imagine the fits of giggles and spontaneous laughter that erupted when my mouth decided to talk poo.
 
After our date however we were asked our opinions and as truthfully as possible I answered that it was a really good date and an enjoyable experience. When asked if there was any spark and as to weather a second date was on the cards I replied with an honest and simple 'Dont Know' - although I did elaborate that there was no spark, but maybe it was a 'grower - like mould'! And with that comment teamed with Lemon-gate I was propelled into the social media and online forums, being hash-tagged and shared across all networks. I didn't mean it in a disgraceful of horrible way, just what was what I was trying to elude to. Unfortunately what Mr. Accent said next made sure that any relationship-mould was cleaned up with some anti-bacterial bullshit. When asked how the date went, Mr. Accent kindly expressed in an unusual way, stating that it was *pause* "very different". Mr. Accent went on to describe the encounter like being "stuck in a tunnel with a boulder at the end". Nice! Catapulted back to my sofa I noted that everyone was in discussed. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were horrified at his comments and enraged they took to the world of social media to vent their upset. I felt indifferent to it though. It was sad that it had happened as it made me out to look like I was a complete idiot who thought the date went well, whereas Mr. Accent had made it out to seem like a complete train crash. regardless of how we both felt, there was no denying that there was no spark and whilst it had been nice to meet, it wasn't a 'Grower'.
 
Completely unphased by his comments I ended the night by bidding a fare-well to my guests as they concluded that it was him that looked bad given his two-faced attitude and not me. Just as Miss Tweedle-Dee was leaving she checked my phone and asked whose number it was. I had only just recently got a new phone so dismissed it verbally as maybe someone who I hadn't messaged in a while. Then Miss Tweedle-Dee said the name of the sender out loud and suddenly a chill ran up my spine. Feeling my stomach do somersaults I took the phone from her. It read: "Just watched you ..... You looked so pretty and came across as the lovely warm person you are. Well done you. x" I froze. My eyes transfixed on the shiny screen. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knew who it was as others started to question. The message was from Mr. Workaholic's mother whom I became very close with. Essentially I treated her like my own absent mother. A thousand questions fizzled in my head. Why would she message me? Why would she still have my number after more than a year's separation from her beloved son? Why would him and his family yet again exhume those awful memories? Dismissing it completely and brushing it off I said my goodbye's. It didn't work with the Tweedle's though, they could see right through me and my fake smiles, because they knew that deep inside it was like someone had unleashed the maggots and it would only be a matter of time before they start to rot the good memories of our relationship once more. After Dad and his girlfriend had ascended the stairs to bed I followed.
 
Sitting in bed though reflecting on the past hour I began to wander deeply about the fresh communication between me and my ex's mother. I still loved him. Nothing to deny there. As I thought about her comments and what might have been if things had been different the tears began to flow. The realisation had set in that Mr. Workaholic had more than likely watched me too. He had seen me flounder on television whilst on a date with another man. Drowning in the depths of ridiculous conversation and silly comments. I felt worthless. Why had this happened? It had been nearly eighteen months and yet here I was curled up on my soft bed, crying like a child into my duvet. Thoughts of Mr. Workaholic and his friends laughing at me, his family judging me on every aspect like they did when we separated. Maybe Mr. Workaholic had moved on and had a wonderful new girlfriend with legs up to her ears, pretty face, small waist and large asset's - All the things I lacked. Mr. Workaholic was probably laughing at what a pathetic excuse I was right then. Was I over him? No. Do I think I ever will be? No. You see my friends, heartbreak his a horrible thing and I wish none of you have to experience it but I have and it has made me who I am today - A better, stronger, harder person.
 
After pulling myself together I realised my phone was going loco. Taking a peek through blurry eyes I saw some beautiful messages. Messages of congrats and appreciation as well as the odd jibe at lemons or milk. Generally really lovely messages on how I have big balls for doing something like this and being able to stand up and get out there in terms of dating. So many wonderful supportive communications from old school friends, old work mates and people I didn't even know. I have even had a few admirers and potential next dates. So to those of you that said something nice, thank-you. You helped me to realise that despite the aftermath of my fifteen minutes of fame, I have come along way from Mr. Workaholic and the days that I was begging him to come back. As Miss Tweedle-Dumb put it, maybe this is a little push and a small nudging reminder of what he let go of. And who know's maybe he'll come begging soon?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx