The Night Of Lola The Showgirl!

Hello!

Another long week over and done with I was certainly more than happy that it was finally payday. It felt as though February had been a lot longer of a month than the payday between Christmas and the end of January. Maybe it was the fact that all of my money was ploughed into a savings account ISA in order to desperately try and save for a house in order to move out before Christmas this year. This, coupled with the fact that my weight has now started to slow down after losing so much over Christmas and New Year despite all the personal training sessions and gym visits has all in all left me feeling slightly deflated. With no holiday to look forward to this year and very little planned in the calendar I was certainly struggling with my motivation for losing weight and saving for my first home!

Deciding that I was not going to spend another month not going out and being a complete antisocial recluse, I organised a works night out. Following the works Christmas party and how much fun it was, not to mention just how messy it ended up, I was certain that a good old-fashioned night out to paint the town red! On sending the email out to my colleague I eagerly awaited their response. But nothing came, only a few replies on how some people were not able to make it. There were a few suggestions that involved team activities that were not alcohol related but on trying to obtain numbers no one seemed to care. So it seemed up until last minute it was just me and a couple of the girls going out for a quiet drink and maybe a dance. 

Heading for some pre-drinks round one of the girls house's, gossipping away about music and the likes, trying to decided on what pair of shoes goes with what dress and whether anyone can see our VPL - Visible Panty Line. Frosty air nipping at our legs we were finally in a pub keeping warm and refreshed with some Prosecco or two. Later on the music started to pump and in between scrolling though social media and nattering over the tunes there would be a Selfie or two. Unfortunately none of us out saw the arrogant twat walking towards us like some sort of Andy Warhol. Dressed in an overly tight top that saw the blood supply cut off to his exterior limbs, he waltzed over to our table and failing to introduce himself like a true gent (or to be honest anyone with any ounce of dignity or respect) and practically snatched my Smart phone out of my hand in order to "help" us clearly failing and weak women take a Selfie. 

Five minutes he was still there and despite our efforts to move him along politely we had given up and lost our patience with him and his poxy photography skills fast. Insulting him as only women know how to by emasculating the little toe-rag he eventually got the picture and pissed off, leaving my phone back in my safe hands and with a dozen or so badly taken and blurred images of three women on the Razz. 

Carrying on throughout the night we were joined by some other work colleagues whom were also on a night out with some of their friends, joining together in a drunken stupor I felt like the fifth wheel in all of this. Not wanting to interrupt anyone's conversation and boring of looking at my phone I went off in search of some company. Male was my choice preferably as they were normally more friendly and usually happy to see anyone of the female variety taking an interest, even a Hepher like me! Or so I thought. The first lad I made conversation with was tall with light brown curly hair in what the kids on the street call a "Meet Me At McDonalds" Haircut. Wearing a dusty blue grey jumper and being typically British I mentioned how cold it was and we struck up a chat which eventually lead to him asking for my number. Before I even had a chance to turn around and run back to my friends or tell him I had a boyfriend I was thrust a phone and asked to put in my number. When I handed it back and said I had done it, I was promptly told that this was not true as Mr. Meet-Me-At-McDonalds-Haircut had been watching me the whole time and I had not given my number. "Persistent I'll give him that" I thought as I typed a random number into my phone and saved it under 'Lola' - And yes she was a showgirl! 

Heading off from one public house to the next I found myself in the wallet-sucking auction room and whilst its nice atmosphere, relatively good music and nice cocktails are always welcome in my books, the price you pay for a dribble of Blossom Hill White Zinfandel (my fave) you could walk up the road to the corner shop and buy a whole bottle and still have change. Separated from my work buds I made some new ones with a guy who was sat alone and looking melancholy. Striking up conversation in probably the most intoxicated way possible whereby I thrust my hand out and introduced myself. The gentleman obliged and we got chatting, later on his friends joined and I got talking to some more guys and they asked if I was single. "Wow two lots of guys in one night?! Surely this cant be happening? They must all have that 'Shallow Hal' thing going on!" I pondered. Laughing it off I found my friends and I danced the rest of the night away without many cares in the world apart from having a good time. 

I never knew that I would have been so popular with the lads. I mean granted I did make the first move in terms of walking over for a chat and introducing myself in a proper way as opposed to our All-Muscle-No-Brains "Photographer" earlier in the evening. Being the size I am (UK Size 18/20) I would have thought that men would have turned the other way, ignored me or worse made a joke but in actual fact I think they were just pleased for the attention and the fact that someone was maybe interested in talking to them for a change and not them having to do all the chasing, not that that was what I was after. I kinda feel sorry for lads sometimes as they are damned if they do and damned if they don't in many a moral dilemma, especially when it comes to dating and anything concerned with the opposite sex. 

Now I know some people may criticise me and ask why I did all those things on Friday night when I had a perfectly good-to-me boyfriend sat at home. The thing is that I did not intend to go out with the intention of pulling, cheating or handing out myself like sweeties. I have respect for myself regardless of when I am in or out of a relationship. I know how to conduct myself and am confident in the situations I put myself in. If I wanted to cheat I could and would have done it months if not years ago. But I didn't and don't. Why? Because Mr. Warehouse and I have a strong relationship which means he can go out, chat with other girls, dance with other girls and even mildly flirt with them if he so wishes just as I can and did on Friday night, but the difference between us and other couples is that we trust each other and that each night one or both of us goes out on the piss, we know we're coming home to something much, much more special, meaningful and precious than some twenty-something in "Da Club"!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Hiya!

Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking. 

Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor. 

After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway. 

As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart. 

Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?

Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?

I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!

I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Bibbidi Bobbidi Boo!

Morning there one and all, 

Still the saga continues with my energy company, British Gas (See post - 'An Electrifying Discovery'), but after a very much exhausting but mildly luxurious mini-break and wedding weekend away in Wisbech, it was time to leave behind the peace and tranquillity of the green and rather flat countryside of Cambridgeshire for it was finally time for the Annual Awards Ceremony with work ... And boy was it about to get messy!

Dressed in a long gown, lace gloves and perspex shoes in tacked and with my hair primped and preened within an inch of its life I was finally ready for the ball and ready to make my entrance as Cinderella . But as I approached the venue, noticing poodle skirt after poodle skirt with the odd tuxedo mixed in for good measure too I wondered to myself secretly, as I always do when I make a big effort in my outfit, as to whether this was A - Appropriate and B - If it was wholly relevant to the 1950's theme we had been tasked with. Asking myself these questions my cocky-self butted in and said to stop being ridiculous I looked fabulous and should not care for others opinions. Cinderella was created and born in the 1950's by Walt Disney himself and so I should be thrilled to be one of the most memorable characters from that decade. 

I certainly looked the part and as I sashed past the vintage bright pink cars and Teddy Boys I was greeted by my fellow colleagues, consisting of two Woody Woodpeckers, A Bowling Alley Guy, Cat in the Hat, a Geek, a Prep and some sort of Elvis. Ahh yes we were all ready to get funky and down to some Rat Pack beats, but not before we sat down to our three course meal and sat through the awards ceremony. As I chopped and changed between whether to continue drinking the god awful White wine that was on the table or the nicer bottle of Red I caught the rambling of my Big-Big Boss. 

Scheduler? Significant impact to the company? Help in the start up and running of the business over the past year? Suddenly my name was called out. I had won an award. Me! Abbey Louise in receipt of an acknowledgement for hard work! An award! I was chuffed and as I made my way through the crowded tables; cheers, whoops and holla's all the way and high-fiving my sales rep on the way passed I knew that I had finally found somewhere to belong. A company that treasured its employees and rewarded hard work and growth. I was also awarded with a substantial sum of high street vouchers and look forward to utilising them very, very soon. 

Making my way back to my table, slightly bewildered and a little shocked I had won something after only being with the company just over a year I saw some familiar faces that I would speak to regularly but never saw face to face. They all congratulated me on my award and cooed over my dress, although I think one women got confused as she kept singing "Let it go" to me from Disneys Frozen. Elsa. Cinderella . Well I suppose they both wore a blue dress and were somewhere along the line princesses so I can see the correlation, especially for the drunken sole that she was. 

As the night continued Mr. Warehouse and company joined me on the dance-floor where some serious shapes were being thrown, especially from that nice, award-giving man, my Big-Big Boss. And when it all got a little too hot and steamy, which for some guests it obviously did, there was the patio areas in the surrounding grounds that we were able to smoke and catch our breath. In between mingling, dancing, spilling red wine down everyone I was impressed that there was so many attractive young men in the company, many of whom seemed single and up for more than a mingle. A couple of sweet lads in particular I had a chat with and they had complimented my outfit of choice as I did theirs (a smashingly dashing suit to be visual to you all). Tall, dark and handsome I soon was at ease with the attractive man, although I knew that eyes were burning at me from across the room so tamed my flirting and took it down a notch or two from my usual. 

But that didn't stop a second bachelorette trying his luck. Slightly shorter than I was, probably would have been equal if I had taken off my two-inch jelly shoes, he approached me from across the floor and as we said our initial greetings I revelled in the fact that there was a common ground already in the sense that we were all from the same company just different sections of the UK. I could see now why there was such an appeal at these kinds of events just to cop=off with someone and know that certainly for a year at least you wont have to see them or even speak to them, by which point they might forget what a horrible snorer you are and sleep with you a second time. Nevertheless we chatted for a bit before I went in search for more Red wine, which for those that know me personally, know I most certainly never, ever drink Red but for some odd reason, maybe it was free I don't know, it tasted much better than the White and so down the hatch it went! 

As the night drew to a close and the party goers slipped off to their bedrooms, some revellers still going headed to the second hotel bar but instead I decided to call it a night, put the glass of Merlot down and hit the sack, Mr Warehouse not far behind me. 

Abruptly awoken the next morning by the fucking bin lorries for the wanking rubbish I finally knew a little bit what everyone kept saying about a wine headache! Yes I think I had a slight hangover and as my phone bleeped full from messages from drunken colleague the night before and requests to meet downstairs for breakfast I rolled over and prodded my very, very grumpy boyfriend. With a few grunts and grumbles we finally made it to reception where we found a few stragglers from the night before, but from under my sunglasses I could see they were still just as pissed as I was. Like a bear with a sore head Mr. Warehouse and I made our way to breakfast and after stomaching a few items and a whole lot of juice we awaited our car-sharers to drive us all back home. 

Pulling out the Sofa-bed it didn't take me long to fall asleep and in the comfort of my own home dreamt of the next Annual Awards Ceremony with work in 2016 - Bring. It. On!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Work Hard, Play Hard!

Afternoon All, 

I hope you are all well and toasty where you are currently as here in Britain we are in a teeth-chatteringly cold snap to which I hope ends soon. I wish that I could just make like a door-mouse sometimes and just hibernate until spring arrives. Safe to say that in the first week of February, winter now officially sucks!

What doesn't suck though is working at a call centre with no rewards for nearly half a year. Of course I am joking with this one. Working at the call centre day in, day out, week after week with nothing to show for my hard work is taking its toll. So far I have saved up a fair chunk and am now not only hitting triple figures but very nearly quadruple digits in my 'Vegas Fund' bank balance. I am sure that with now less that six-weeks to go before I board my British Airways flight bound for Sin City (Floppy fedora and oversized sunglasses accompanying me) and with even less weeks worth of working I am sure looking forward to getting back to a normal life of coming home after work and still seeing the sun. 

In all honesty working at the call centre isn't all horrific crackly lines and being hung up on. In several instances it has been a very enjoyable time and one of which my day has been made between the hours of 5.30pm and 9pm. I am grateful of course to whomever decides that they would like to complete a call with me but even more so if they can have a laugh and maybe a cheeky flirt with me too. 

On one occasion, only a few weeks into my job I called a business address by mistake and upon answering a gruff Scottish voice answered in testosterone tones. After sadly confirming it was a business line I was asked a question that took me by such surprise I ended up fabricating a complete lie and feeling chuffed about the response. 
"Ohh, Waait. Before yee goh Miss can I ask yeez a question?" The manly Scot asked (Spelt as said in his thick northern accent). Humouring him I agreed to answer, praying it wasn't something lude or vulgar. 
"Aare yuh maarried? Cas tha' vooice o' yours is prrroper seexy. I'd marry yuh ... " My masculine caller purred down the phone. Trying my best to answer in a polite and professional manner I thanked the gentleman and swiftly put down the phone before having to take a moment to compose myself and gather my scatty thoughts. I had never, nor have I ever been someone to fall for a Scotsman before, but I could somehow imagine him beefed up slightly only wearing jeans a size too small and a hard hat in some sort of hot, sweaty, oily construction site, surrounded by his equally hot and seductive friends. 

Another call I took once was from a man who played with me throughout the call and answered my questions promptly and productively only for me to get to the end of the call and I then had to take his email address for contact purposes. Jotting it down the now familiar voice asked down the phone for me to read it - but only in my head. I read it back to him phonetically as I clocked what was happening - 'sean sports therapist' was part of his email address (obviously would not disclose all of it ... you might all email him) but when written down correctly and as I had taken it it looked like a very VERY different sentence (Take out the spaces in 'sports therapist' and you'll see what I mean). Shocked and at a loss for words my caller immediately realised what had just happened and apologised profusely throughout the rest of the conversation and explaining many, many times that he was not what it looked like. All in all he calmly, although sheepishly finishing off by letting me know that I had his email address and that I could contact him any time. Although it probably breached some sort of data protection I did email him and to my surprise he seemed like a very nice lovely man in his mid-late twenties, clearly buff from all the 'sports therapist' work he had been doing. 

I think it is those sorts of calls that make the shifts go faster. I mean sure I will have days where I want to hang myself with the phone line because some grandma has a problem with me calling at 5.43pm because Countdown is on or that a Londoner "just simply does not have time" but there are also the funny people that make my adrenaline run sky high when they are yelling, quite literally, down the line before I have even introduced myself. One women thought that my questions (I work in Market Research call centre if you hadn't already guessed) were far too personal - I had asked her whether Boris Johnson was a good mayor of London - And so proceeded to interview me asking if I was a lesbian and if I fancied having sex with a girl. Another women wailed down the phone that her dog had died because the phone rang and he had a heart attack and she was just too distressed to talk to me right now. 

Some of them are hilarious. Including the ones where the person on the other end of the phone is doing something completely unorthodox whilst you twitter on about lifestyle choices and the war in Syria. I have spoken to several people on the toilet who have either half way through or ended the call by allowing me to hear them flush, or worse, deposit their contents. One man was even in the bath and after openly telling me it was a good time to call he continued to splish and splash about and make me fully aware that he was in the tub. The funny thing is, as when someone is on hands-free whilst driving, you can hear the echoey sounds of the water closet. You may think it a secret and nobody knows, but we know alright when your taking a dump and answering some questions on your poor customer service of late. 

And that is the joy of working in a call centre. Asking the questions and getting the answers that everyone wants to know. On the front-line of hard hitting studies and surveying I class myself as a fully equipped and well trained soldier, fighting the war on hanging up the phone and lies of being too busy. I am the Queen when it comes to Telephone work. That is all I have for you today, thank you and goodbye ... *Booooooooop* <--- Call ending tone.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Head to Head!

Evening All, 

As the sun slipped away into the shadows it began to pour with rain on a dreary Wednesday night. Pacing the canteen, I didn't need to be told twice. I already knew my plans were a bad idea but still I grappled with the thoughts and wonders of 'What If'? I knew he was right, I just didn't want to admit it. I was meant to be awaiting a connection in Bedford for a bus to a little village I knew well. I was meant to be on my way to an audition. I was meant to keep my foot in the door. Tonight was the night I was going to start my Quest in attempting to win back my Ex - Mr. Cheese. And whilst The Cheese may be over four-thousand miles away in Ghana on a *insert posh voice* "Gaaap Yaar" I still thought that auditioning for the part of Dorothy in his eldest brother's rewritten adaptation of The Wizard of Oz would maybe somehow make him realise just how fricken' amazing I am. But as I began talking to Mr. Warehouse on what seemed to be a now regular occurrence of us meeting as I finished work and he started a night shift, he silenced himself as I rambled on about the Pro's and Con's of attending tonight's social activities. It was as he gazed into my eyes with his goofy hippo-grin that I realised it was time to let go. And as simple as that, it was gone. Deleted. Erased. Forgotten. If he hasn't realised I am mind-blowingly incredible by now then he never will. Why would I ever want to go back to someone who didn't please me in the way I needed? Why an earth would I want to endure any more torment or hell that is Mr. Cheese and I. Yes he was lovely and romantic and wonderful at times but at twenty-three I have needs and have to have them attended to as regularly as possible. He was never 'The One' so I should take myself off the hook and move the fuck on! I know right - Hallelujah!

Changing the tune from Cheese (finally) and after last weeks post I gathered that maybe I needed to distance myself from Mr. Warehouse. Although this proved harder than expected and before I knew it I was finding excuses to see him; making everyone in the office tea at precisely ten-to-three in the afternoon and staying later in the canteen after work just to steal some moments alone in his company without the beady eyes of gossip-queen's about. Even not texting back was a struggle. But I needn't be so cautious as Mr. Warehouse and I were just reaching the peak of the roller-coaster. So after having no entertainment for Friday night and feeling reluctant to work it at my second job in the call-centre, I messaged Mr. Warehouse to enquire of his plans for the hours that followed home-time on a Friday. Other than looking after a Nephew there was no other plans but to hit the pub with Mr. CWG and within a split second I knew that some dodgy village pub would be better than my plans of a my sofa and surfing YouTube for Pugs making noises. Hitching a ride into the small village just outside of where we all work I knocked on his door with anticipation and a slightly nervous stomach. '"Mr. Warehouse is in there alone" I thought to myself as I waited patiently for the door to open. "What happens if he tries to kiss me? What happens if something happens? We have a work's night out tomorrow! They will ask lots of questions!" My head began to lose sight of what this was. Just two friends from the opposite sex hanging out on a Friday night. 

Snapped back into reality the door clunked open. Standing before me was the giant that was Mr. Warehouse. Towering over me he welcomed me in and ushered me through the small porch to the cosy sitting room. Commencing a tour I was showed every nook, cranny, cupboard and crevice. Once that was done Mr. Warehouse and I slumped into the soft sofa, Relaxing after what had been a long week at work I let the sofa swallow me in its plumpness as I rested my head on Mr. Warehouse's shoulder. And so commenced the flirty games once more. In a mixture of flirting, play fighting and serious talk about academics and how he failed most things at school there was a heady tension that was nearing breaking point. Just as we encountered one of these moments the baby Nephew arrived and so the roles changed. Whilst my body went ridged with tension and anxiety at the presence of the child that may at any moment start crying and howling, Mr. Warehouse became a completely different person, playing the doting Uncle, making giggles and soothing screams even feeding. As surreal as it all was I took a look at the situation from my minds-eye. There I was looking as uncomfortable as hell for the fear that 'Baby' would cry and I would not know what to do with him! I was a female. I am meant to be maternal and child-friendly. It was as if our roles had been switched and as I watched Mr. Warehouse play with the most recent edition to the family unit, my thoughts turned to the inevitable when in that situation. Shaking them off and telling myself not to go there I tried desperately to think of something else to distract my mind from blissful fantasies I hoped one day would be reality. 

Soon enough though it was time to head to the pub and with the baby gone my body was relaxed once more into the plush settee. Heavily flirting again this time there was no getting away from the fact that every time Mr. Warehouse brushed my face with his palms I felt my heart melt a little more. Was I slowly falling? But my mind had no time for questions as the tension reached a new height. Stubbornly arguing over something petty we reached a nose-touching, head-turning, mouth opening conclusion and after donning our coats and jackets we headed out to Mr. Warehouse's local to meet Mr. CWG and company. After a leisurely twilight walk we arrived at a small quaint pub that was about the same size as a family home. Cosy and busy with regulars including an old blind man and his dog that looked very similar, we joined in with the rest of them and before we knew what had happened we were all celebrating pay-day with Jagerbombs. Several hours later and with the alcohol flowing, Mr. Warehouse and I began to loosen-up even more and with a cheeky spank here and a naughty look there we were glad to share at least one secret between us. At least for now anyway!

As the hours flew by in a slur of posh accents and bad jokes about a poorly phrased raffle, I decided it was time for the last cigarette of the night before I called a cab home. Whilst perched on a bench I revelled in the attention as a couple of old men complimented on my drunkenly posh accent telling me that I "obviously went to private school somewhere in Berkshire" and that I probably worked in finance somewhere in London. Taking humour in this I then attended to a conversation with Mr. CWG but from the corner of my eye I watched the night unravel quickly. As I noted the dry heaving I could tell that any moment now Mr. Warehouse was going to chunk-up. Thinking fast and being an expert when it comes to a tactical chunder I moved an empty pint glass towards him. My fast-thinking went unnoticed and within minutes of us sitting down I had sick on both my shoes and my handbag. Without a care in the world Mr. Warehouse continued his decent into the sweetcorn-pit-of-doom, proceeding to barf everywhere. As the bell was rung for last orders and the Landlady arrived it was apparent she was not happy and asked us to leave. 

Staggering outside I took ahold of Mr. Warehouse; With his arm slung around my shoulder and struggling to keep him up we stumbled to the front of the public house. Making it only just to the drainpipe I began my mother-hen duties and started to rub Mr. Warehouse's back and help him to be sick. As gross as this all sounds I am well equipped to deal with pukey pals. Many a night out has ended and indeed some cases began with a little vomit between friends. This was no different, except its alot easier as Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hair always had some renascence of spew tangled in it the next morning from me not being able to hold it all back. Sobering up quickly, we stumbled along the path where I was joined by Mr. CWG and the others, although unsympathetic to Mr. Warehouse's self-made situation I was worried. Struggling to walk I turned round to find my date for the evening was passed out cold on the grass verge by the road. Someone called an ambulance stupidly and I concluded that we just simply needed to get Mr. Warehouse back home to bed. After much heaving and attempting to lift his heavy and by this point limp body off the pavement I made Mr. CWG call a friend to help ferry the Drunken Mess back to his Mom's house. 

I couldn't just ship him off without a word and so as we watched the black estate speed off into the night Mr. CWG and I made our way too. Arriving at Mr. Warehouse's door for the second time that evening I suddenly became very aware of myself once more. "Inside these brick walls is Mr. Warehouse and his life with his mom! Oh dear lord his mom! I will have to meet her! She will want to know all about me and Mr. Warehouse. I will be asked questions about whether we are an item or not! She may fall in love with me and think I am the next bearer of grandchildren!" I panicked. But before I even had a chance to think about anything the door was opened and we were ushered in. Without thinking about anything else I quickly attached myself to Mr. Warehouse's sickly side, positioned on the arm of the couch and stroking his head as he continued to throw-up I laughed along with his mother about the predicament he was in. Sympathy lacking Mr. CWG, Momma Warehouse and I listened to the wonderful words of a more than tipsy gent. I think the penny finally dropped. 

"I'm sorry you had to meet my mommy under these circumstances!" A weary Mr. Warehouse slurred in between burps and dry retching. Glancing shyly over to Momma Warehouse I smiled as she said "So you must be Abbey?" Agreeing and introducing myself we resumed listening in to the ramblings. I was asked yet again for my hand in marriage and, after declining the woozy proposal with an awkward look shared at Momma Warehouse I continued to care for him, making sure his airways were clear enough to be sick so he could heave into my towel covered hands. 

After hours of apologies, drunken rants and targeted abuse at Mr. CWG, I mentioned about getting Mr. Warehouse into bed. This kindly gesture was only to be followed by a sweet but slightly embarrassing request for me to join him. Looking at his Mother in shock she made me feel at ease with her sniggers. However I would have to endure many a more moment before we eventually called it a night. As I stroked his head and patted his back down I felt a familiar hand on my thigh but before I even had a chance to swat it away a bark from Mommy Warehouse made his hand retract quicker than a turtle on a BBQ. After saying goodnight to Mr. CWG I asked for a cab number. Being told that I was not getting into a cab this late at night (but by this point it was morning, 4:34am to be precise) I was offered Mr. Warehouse's bed since he was not moving from the lounge. Graciously accepting I ascended the stairs in consideration for the day that would follow. So many questions will be asked and to think that we both will have to do another night out all over again. Only this time I don't think Mr. Warehouse will be drinking anything but Coke. Waking in the morning and with traces of Mr. Warehouse's sick on me, I reluctantly left and went to work but not before I said good morning to a rather sore-headed bear still lying where I left him. Telling him the tales of the night before I bid farewell and thanked Momma Warehouse for what was a really, really comfy bed for the night. Just a shame I suppose that the only spooning happening was between me and the wall. 

Nevertheless the weekend as a whole was more dabaucherous and messy than expected. And as Mr. Warehouse and I joined the rest of our work colleagues at a local Tavern we could help but smile in the knowledge that still our little secret was safe. As we partied the night away in a cycle of betting, winning and losing I soon made the grave discovery that I had lost my mobile phone. Mourning its loss and with the lads from work checking all the bars, toilets and ballot booths I concluded I had left it somewhere. Saddened and upset at the fact I had lost my life (pretty much) I headed to the dance-floor and in turn ended up having a cracking time with the lads, dancing and flirting outrageously with them all in the knowledge that even though we were playing it made Mr. Warehouse squirm with jealousy. Feeling sorry for myself at loosing my phone I decided to head back with Mr. Warehouse so I could use his phone in the morning to call my network and cancel my contract. That was until we arrived back to the car and realised that the flashing object on the back seat was just my mobile, complete with forty-two missed calls from an gentlemanly Mr. Warehouse who had been constantly calling it all night from the moment the news broke. 

And so with that I declare this weekend as over. Tired and developing somewhat of a flu I am really feeling the effects of two-nights out in a row. How do students do this I have no idea but all I do know is that I need my bed. But I am sure as I lay my head on my silken pillows tonight I shall cast my mind back to the little moments stolen when no-one was looking!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Rediscovery Of A Broken Fairytale ...

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx

Evening to you, 

Throughout this journey I lost myself but in the space of a few days since last week and with a few tiny changes I am beginning to find myself again. Happy and content. Young and free. After downloading a few apps and being invited out on a work's night out I felt a little piece of me return every morning I opened my eyes. I anticipated that the work's 'do' would just be some quiet drinks down a local bar in the Town Centre, little did I know how much of an impact I could have. Even as I walked into the office this morning I was inundated with questions about who I left the bar with and what happened when I got home in the early hours of Saturday morning. Yes, everyone in the office seems to have me on their lips! But nothing happened as I was not in search of a lay that night, but simply the knowledge that I am not wholly repugnant and distasteful to all of the male population! I think I succeeded. 

Deciding that that my confidence needed boosting after recent events I donned a floaty skirt and heels to join my office bod's for a night on the tiles. And boy was it! Not having been out since Halloween last year (dressed as a Little Dead Riding Hood no less) I figured that I would go easy. That was until I joined those pesky lads from the warehouse downstairs from my office! Cute but not quite my type we began the evenings debauchery by knocking back an old favourite of mine - Sambuca shots! After perching myself on a bar stool, skirt billowing over my smooth legs, the conversation progressed fast and soon the boys and I were discussing sexual habits like how to go down on a girl, porn, bedroom activities and chat-up lines. The cheesiest of lines were put upon me Friday night and in all honesty I was outwardly and outrageously flirting, but with all this male attention and after recent events of the male variety, who could blame me ... 

---

Stairs. Something about them isn't there that is slightly foreboding. Sometimes good, sometimes bad, but always foreboding. And so as I stood at the bottom of a narrow, brown stairwell in the centre of The Big Smoke I wondered how I would feel coming down them in a few hours time. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to step onto them but I just couldn't. All around me I must have looked like an idiot just stood there having a face-off with some simple steps. Part of me wanted to climb - Climb up there to a better life in the clouds from one down here. But the reality in my heart told me that what I could face could be down yet another very dark and lonely staircase. Breaking through the barrier of my bodies unwillingness to make the first steps, and pulling my thoughts together I finally made my ascend. Stomach flipping and body beginning to shake I told myself to stay calm and collected. Reaching the last step my shoe slipped off. Like a child I saw it as an omen from a fairytale, but alas there was to be no Prince Charming to make me Happily Ever After. I knew how this story ends, I had read it before. I had to be the knight in shining armour and save myself from tragedy yet again. 

After speaking to the waiter I was being escorted to my table where my dinner date was already seated. Winding through tables and past massive gaping windows looking out to the city beneath me I knew in my heart that this was it. Once seated and reintroduced to my company for the evening I took charge immediately of the situation in hand for failure of being made a fool which was at this point inevitable. Not saying a word to my date and disregarding everything I ordered a bottle of the rose. A scene played out in my head that at some point this evening I would rise from the table and scream "Champagne! Champagne for everyone" and the whole restaurant would too join me in a celebration. This was to stay as a fantasy for this evening was one of a melancholy mood. Ordering from a menu I had been scanning all week not knowing if I would even attend this event I made a choice and stuck by it, something that is rare in my world. Making idle small talk we danced around the real reasons we were both in the beautiful surroundings of Covent Garden. Staring into my dates eyes, bright and shiny as they had ever been I wondered which one of us would bring up the question. It had taken a while to get that moment but soon enough it was upon us. With the staff being overtly attentive and the beating evening sun glaring down on us as glanced at our surroundings on the terraced restaurant in the West End of London, I knew it would be me to break the ice once more. Becoming agitated by the lack of urgency in the debate I started. Mr. Cheese in the dock first please!

"So ... As beautiful as a surrounding this all is and as wonderful as to the views; Why are we here?" I beckoned. Heart breaking, I knew the answer before I had even asked the question. A solemn look had replaced an otherwise forced smile and so the evening commenced. Conversation spilling we yet again trudged the same old muddy ground covered like so many times before and one that I refused to put myself through any more. I had enough of going round in circles. It wasn't fun any more. But then again was it ever fun in comparison to the happiness experienced? The lack of passion and fight and energy all lost to somewhere I could not find any more. I was with a man who had no want to carry on trying. Mr. Cheese had lied to me, promising that everything would get better and that he too like me wanted to make it work. Yet again the promise along with a piece of my heart was shattered. I couldn't believe that given the opportunity to make things better and faced with loosing me all together that my boyfriend failed to take such simple steps to make it better. Affection. That's all I wanted. Not just an increase in sex drive on his part but more of the little things. Flowers, presents, cuddles, kisses and anything lovely. I want to be kissed in the pouring rain and surprised at work with a visitor. I want to be swept off my feet and feel butterflies in my belly. I want to have a smile on my face seeing his caller ID and to know that I am the only one my boyfriend needs; Maybe not forever but just to live and feel right in the moment with him. I don't think it is something that I should have to even think about asking from someone that says they love you. But even that I am failing to believe any more. 

During this past year, as most of you know, I have experienced everything a human being could ever experience. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. I was tired and exhausted. Unloved and unappreciated. I wanted to get off this ride now. I wanted to go home. As sad as it was I knew that this was the best thing for us. Things were so easy in the beginning. And then I fell. I fell before him and didn't stop until I hit the ground. Hard. I hated how I fell in love with him. His smile. His eyes. His kooky little ways. I hate how I fell for him and despite everything, he never truly fell for me. I wanted to believe anything other than what Mr. Cheese was telling me over that dinner table in London on Wednesday. Anything. I thought up scenario's of him not being happy and wanting to call Ghana off just to make things better between us. Of being gay - which wouldn't have been the first time something has happened like that. Or worst, cheating on me with someone who is much prettier and slimmer and hotter than me, which in all honesty with the way I had felt of late, would not be entirely untrue. But no, none of those things happened. It was simply the end. 

And so this concludes the chapter. A tale of wrong bridges and of falling in love. A story I hoped might never end no matter how much I told myself it would. Maybe somewhere beyond Ghana we can rekindle our infatuation with each other, making sure that we spend the time to nurture what we have together. After all, we did have a love story to rival Disney. But alas, the story of Cheese and I must come to an end, at least for now ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx