A Good Way To Waste Time

Afternoon All, 

I know a day early but the Arsenal game is on and better to do it now than try to find good WiFi tomorrow. 

Boarding the plane on a grey and drizzly Wednesday afternoon I was excited to be soon at our 4-star adults-only spa hotel, the most stars I think I have ever stayed in, considering normal holidays are a little more conservative and less flamboyant. Less than ninety-minutes into take-off there was trouble afoot as a girl in her early twenties (the kind that at school would bully you and make you cry for the way your face looked, only to message you a few years later after seeing you grow into an acclaimed MUA and asked for a freebie because "we were friends at school") refused to wear a face covering and started spouting off to customers. Then a Stormzy-esk Black man, built like a brick shit house stood up and proclaimed something I wish I had heard if it wasn't for my ears not popping. Things seemed to quieten down, but not for long as there was another flare-up, again between Regina George and another flyer, an older woman who seemed to disagree with Regina about the fact that her sleeping eye mask was hardly a good face covering. In her defence, however, I must admit that the thick fluff and layers of material would in actual fact be probably a darn sight better than those some others were wearing on board. 

Nevertheless, agreeing to disagree on the scientific evidence behind facemasks and the prevention of spreading Coronavirus was not on Regina's radar and instead, she proceeded to launch herself over the back of her seat and touch the disagreeing women. This was all too much for everyone and instantly there were lots of people who had needed to "use the bathroom" in order to get a better view or had put down their books or paused the movie in order to tune into what was evidently a much better episode of drama than anything by Jilly Cooper. Airhostess' calming things down it put a patch over the gaping wound until another passenger made a complaint about another for not wearing her face covering whilst drinking. This, in turn, turned into a heated debate with the airline staff about what is an acceptable amount of time to not wear a face mask if you are sipping a gin and tonic. The airline did all they can but soon the slanging match started and I really thought that at this rate the plane will be diverted and I will be called tomorrow by The Sun to see if I have any video evidence of "Karens" in action. 

On landing, it didn't get much better as waiting for mine and Mr Warehouse's luggage a fight broke out between brick-shit-house-Stormzy, someone impersonating Post Malone and another would-be rapper and a white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. And all because someone pushed in front of someone else to collect their bags. A few words were said (I think one of them had called him a paedo) and before I knew it brick-shit-house-Stormzy had Human-Centipede-2 almost flat out on the floor. I expected something racist to come out, however, Mr Warehouse, who was in the thick of it on the front line assures me nothing of the kind was uttered. Threats to "meet me outside and we will see" were shot, however, Mr Warehouse were tired and despite the extended episode of Easyjet-Oaks, we had a transfer to get to, all in the hope that neither of that episodes characters would be present on our bus. 

Arriving at our hotel it was late, past midnight and we were shattered from the nigh-on four-hour flight, Airport dramas and two-hour transfer. Our hotel was everything we expected and more. The Poseidon Hotel had even switched out our rooms for an upgraded front aspect room with a view of the sea and a balcony to enjoy the view on, albeit when it wasn't pitch black. The air conditioning was much appreciated and the complimentary fruit bowl and bottle of red wine was a sweet touch, even though we were a little confused at first if it was a gimmick in order to get us to spend more money and charge us. 

Waking in the morning, sunlight streaming in through the window I rose and looked out at probably one of the most incredible views I have had from any hotel window since Vegas back in 2015. It was just beautiful with the pointed mountains surrounding the Mediterranean resort town of Marmaris. I could certainly understand why this was labelled as the Turkish Riviera, squinting as the Turquoise Coastline glittered in the morning sunshine. Looking down from our third floor I could see the palm tree-lined sea promenade and pebbly sand beach, perfect for just getting away from it all. Heading out after breakfast Mr Warehouse went to explore, although not before the hotel had a chance to have a "meeting" with us. Basically, it was a tour operator who obviously got some sort of commission from upselling over-priced excursions and day trips to holiday-makers who are still weary from their travels and have not had a chance to explore the local area for other prices yet, ultimately taking advantage and exploiting the unaware traveller(s). 

We booked some excursions and haggled down the price, scouted out the shops and dabbled in the bargains to be had and how much you could haggle a man down by for a pair of sunglasses. Mr Warehouse had made me so proud. After all the years of knowing him and his constant shame in me asking for a discount or using money off codes and vouchers, the many Youtube videos of Asian fake markets and vlog-hagglers had paid off. Walking into the shop and watching from afar it was clear to see he was a man about to do business on his terms. Selecting a pair of sunglasses and eyeing up (pun intended) a second pair the shop keeper unveiled the price; four-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £40.00. Fake Oakley red and black wrap-around sunglasses and some classic RayBan wayfarers. Not worth it. 

Mr Warehouse laughed nervously as he said it was too much and offered half. A bold move I thought to go in at half the cost. The shop keeper seemed to think so and offered a slightly lesser amount, hoping my fiance would crumble. Nope. Sticking to his guns Mr Warehouse proceeded to tell the man what he wanted to pay and not a penny more. Walking out proved a successful ploy as immediately, almost too easy the shop keeper folded and accepted the half-price offer of two-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £20.00. I was like a mum on school photo day, so proud and urging him to do more so I can see the pro at work. 

That afternoon we went back to the hotel and after awaking from our afternoon nap Mr Warehouse had some bad news. The UK government had listed Turkey as a no-go-zone and from Saturday morning at 4am would impose a fourteen-day quarantine rule on anyone returning from the country. Annoyed and frustrated, we had a couple of options, either pack up where we were right now and try to phone the airline and travel company in order to see if we can get an alternative flight back before the cut-off time, or stick it out and suffer the cost implications. We chose the latter, although when faced with flights of £900+ each for a rescheduled flight home less than 24-hours after arriving, there wasn't much of an option. We knew that this may have been a risk when departing however with my work being possible to do from home, it wouldn't be a huge dip in income, and we could always make ends meet with savings if we really needed to. 

And so we stayed. The last few days have been wonderful; A traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (although anyone who follows me on social media will know the hilarity of the tale behind this experience as we were ambushed by the spa photographer as if that is even a thing for an impromptu photoshoot; noting in the photos posted the absolute terror in my eyes as he poked his head around the corner just as mere bubbles hide our modesty). Yesterday on our would-be wedding day (the whole reason we took this damned holiday) we also sampled some of the best Turkey has to offer with an excursion we just couldn't miss out on all aboard a boat. 

I awoke that morning and for a short while forgot what the date was and what the day should have meant. I should have been donning a white dress and marrying the man of my life but instead it was going to be very different for all sorts of reasons, but now the date had arrived there was a mixture of emotions bubbling away. I was sad for our day not being when it was meant to and upset I did not wake up with my girls and get ready together, friends and family dropping by to wish me well and tell me to "hurry the fuck up". I was disappointed I couldn't have danced the night away with loved ones and frustrated I still have yet to start the rest of my life as Mrs Barlow. But the day was not all lost as we boarded our vessel for a beautiful island tour boat trip. 

Setting sail from Marmaris harbour, we stopped for a swim break off the coast of the rocky mountain islands Mr Warehouse and I had seen from our hotel balcony. I was brave enough to take a dip, but not as brave as some people, diving in from the side of our ship. A while later we arrived just off Dalyan where lunch was served as a fish or chicken dinner and once finished we were transferred to small wooden boats to cruise on the seas surrounding the infamous Turtle Beach where three different types of turtle come to lay their eggs and where the salty seas meet the fresh waters of the African Queen, a reed-filled riverbank giving the feels of Floridian swaps and marshlands similar to that of the Everglades, I imagine. 

Continuing our journey we sailed past the Temple Tombs carved into the mountainside and said to house the dead of rich and famous of centuries gone by and their Egyptian slaves and into Dalyan, a town on the Dalyan River, just inland from Turkey's southwest coast. Sailing further on to the northwest on the Dalyan shore of Lake Köyceğiz is the village of Sultaniye, known for its thermal mud baths. There Mr Warehouse threw caution (and some mud) into the wind and immersed ourselves in the therapeutic natural clay masks and thermal springs before heading back to the ship for home and a night out on the tiles. 

So far our holiday has been everything we wanted and more. Granted I will need to work from home once back and I might regret coming in a few months time if bills are tight because of our frivolous trip but sitting here having my fourth Orgasm (not actual, obviously I'm in public) in a row doesn't feel like a bad way to spend some time with my future husband. Now where's that cocktail menu again ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Życie dobrze podróżowane (A Life Well Travelled)

Hi, 

Setting off from home the whole family had turned out to see me off, although I think the older one had got a bit bored and headed off down the street, probably to take a shit in one of the neighbour's front gardens. Cuddles with my Frankenstein only made me remember the moments we had shared over the weekend as we had taken our first puppy swim class together and he had done so well. Kissing and hugging Mr. Warehouse I was sad he was not coming as well but would love the moment I came home to him and the puppies. Heading down back home I popped by my Scottish grandmother to say hello, as I did with my Auntie and Uncle. I finished off by settling into Nanny Pumpkins, roast lamb dinner and a period drama I was tired and knowing the early start I was ready to bed down. 

Falling asleep quickly on her Sofa I remembered the last time I was on there and it was not a favourable circumstance. I must say it was not the best night's sleep and I was absolutely nackard when I was awoken at 4.30am to my dearest Nanna asking if I was going to stay there all day or if I wanted to go on holiday. Make-up done and hair in a Halloween scrunchie, I was ready and so was the taxi! The airport was pretty clear, as I would normally expect, so arriving nearly three-hours before our flight seemed futile, but nevertheless, it allowed us time for some overpriced breakfast and coffee and a nice chat. The flight was easy enough and as normal, despite the time, I treated myself to some champagne and nibbles. The flight itself I expected would have been busy but in actual fact was so empty most of the wing seats had only one person in them, something I know as a fact Mr. Warehouse would have appreciated and been the first to jump into given half the chance.  

Arriving and getting through the airport and city to our hotel was a breeze as Nanna had opted for a private transfer, something which was deemed a luxury for Mr. Warehouse and me when we are travelling. The hotel is lovely and is situated in a historical building, in the heart of Kraków’s Kazimierz - the former Jewish district. Within walking distance of the Old Town and the historical Wawel Castle the heated and air-conditioned rooms at Hotel Kazimierz are well-appointed including a private bathroom with a shower and a toilet, as well as satellite TV and free Internet access. We have yet to spend our first night hear obviously and have yet to sample the breakfast buffet which is available every morning, however, I am sure to enjoy a morning coffee, and maybe a cheeky cigarette on our balcony overlooking the back streets of Kazimierz.  With the hotel's jazzy wallpaper and random decor choices, its offering is good for any traveller, couple, single or family with a 24-hour front desk, as well as airport shuttle and free of charge luggage storage. 

I get the feeling, especially so when Nanny and I went to explore the hotel and the "breakfast balcony" where the morning meal would be served. Stepping up the small flight to the balcony I looked around to see plenty of tables and chairs. However, looking over the balcony and peering down to what can only be described as more restaurant seating areas, covering what would maybe be a dance floor I felt as though the building could tell some dark tales. Staring down I had visions of the family running and hiding or trying desperately to escape as German troops and officers stormed the building, as they had done with the whole street I imagine, marching the men outside, never to be seen again and leaving the rest of them to only wonder what next. It gives me chills to think about what happened here but I feel as I did when Mr. Warehouse and I stayed in a hotel in Newquay for one of his cousin's weddings and the feels and creeps I got from that place, only to discover its tragic past of the Hotel Victoria. 

I am sure I will get many more feelings like that, but for now, I am absolutely shattered and after a ravishing meal, I am sooo ready for bed. Tomorrow we visit the Jewish areas of Krakow and attend the Schindler Tour. Escape2Poland explains that "you will be guided around the former Jewish district of Krakow seeing not only beautiful synagogues but will have a chance to visit one as well." Allowing tourists to see where the city came to life before the Second World War and explore various religious locations such as ritual bathhouses and a cemetery I am sure will allow you to further your understanding of the city, the country it belongs too and some of the awful things its residents had to endure throughout the occupation. We will get to visit the ghetto square and to take in the former walls that enclosed the ghetto. Nanna and I will see numerous sites used when shooting Spielberg’s Schindler's List in the early 1990s and learn about an incredibly brave man with a passion for helping people. I shall look forward to the next few days as much as possible without sounding like a raving Nazi, but until then - Night, NIght!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Pacing Prague And Other Tales!

Ahoj!

Racing around like a blue-arse-fly I was now stuck in a serious traffic jam on the A421. Stand still. Not. Moving. Anywhere. Frustratingly I spent over double the amount of time it would normally take me to get to Miss Tweedle-Dee's house for our Pre-Holiday sleepover. After a spot of telly and a night time snack of coffee and Jaffa Cakes we headed to bed for an early night. Waking the next morning the staples of toast and more coffee ensued and afterward it was time to head to the airport. Thanks to Pappa Tweedle-Dee we arrived in good time and after changing up more money (to think I was worried about not having enough) we headed shopping and for a bite to eat. 

Boarding the plane Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were excited and just over ninety-minutes later, with a rather uneventful flight in general that had passed really quickly we had arrived. Touching down we collected our bags and headed through nothing to declare and awaited our driver. And waited. And waited. Went outside into the cold early evening air for a quick Vape Sesh and then back in. Still no driver and it was now I started to panic. Was this a scam? Have I made a grave mistake in booking a hotel and not looking at the reviews? I had been talking to the receptionist for the last few days as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had many questions but maybe it was all a set up and now I am in a foreign land where I know virtually no Czech and am struggling to call their offices! Help! Just then, as if by magic a pink-shirted gentleman approached us as if from no where and asked us if it was us he was looking for. We must have looked lost! He took my bag (Miss Tweedle-Dee carried her own) and we headed to the car. Driving through the streets of Prague we swapped small talk and asked advice on where is best to eat and visit in the city, but more-so where not to go. 

Finally arriving at the apartment and figuring out our own way on how we get in after being abruptly told by a moody jobs-worth of a receptionist, we settled into what I can only describe as a very white, clean and well equipped studio apartment. Small for the two of us it certainly ticked all the boxes and provided us with everything we could have wanted or needed in our time here including a super comfy memory-foam double bed, small dining table and chairs, wardrobe, safe and small kitchenette consisting of the microwave, kettle, under-the-counter fridge and sink. There is / was a hob however we did not use it. In the hallway was a coat-rack and areas to put boots and other outdoor wears and opposite was a toilet and separate bathroom complete with a very small shower, washing machine and sink. Cosy to say the least, but in all fairness it was a place we would spend the next few nights in bed, scrolling through social media and sleeping before heading out again. That being said the stairs are and have been an issue. Three flights that curve round and are usually shrouded in darkness have certainly been the bain of our lives. 

For our first night in Prague, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I hadn't made any real plans in terms of dinner and neither of us had actually reviewed or researched any where near our apartment for some dinner and therefore we wandered rather aimlessly towards what looked like the Christmas Market set-up. Around there we found what looked like a rather neglected from the outside restaurant, but to be fair it looked warm and I was getting cold so I persuaded Miss Tweedle -Dee to come inside with me. And oh boy was it the best choice we made, I think probably all holiday. Since we had both eaten lunch pretty late neither Miss Tweedle-Dee or I were that hungry so opted just for a single main course from the French Restaurant menu. I ordered a roasted Guinea Fowl and the Bestie ordered a Pork Belly with Potato Puree. This was all washed down with a couple of beers. Such a stunning meal and honest to god I would definitely recommend it so if you are heading to Prague you need to go to La Gare just round the corner from the main Palladium shopping center (which is deceivingly huge by the way, like some sort of shopping tardis!)

Waking up in the city the next morning I was glad for being here and on holiday once again. Heading out into the fresh chilly air we looked round the Christmas Market Areas round the areas surrounding our hotel and found ourselves moving over to the Old Town Square area. We watched the Astronomical Clock and pottered around some of the churches and architectural landscapes surrounding the infamous area. Wandering then took us over the Charles Bridge, and sauntering across the river Vltava and finding ourselves in a small cafe, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I ordered a traditional goulash and some Camembert, accompanied with some tasty raspberry infused beer! Delish! The following days were spent very similarly, touring round Prague, taking photos, filming filler for my holiday Vlog and visiting the many Christmas Markets around the city. 

A visit to several of the most popular tourist hot-spots were also frequented by Miss Tweedle-Dee and I including the Prague Castle which is the largest Castle in the world sprawling out over eighteen acres. Me and the Bestie also visited the Sex Machine Museum which I will be honest was a slight let down, although the Creepy Bear (picture uploaded to my Facebook page if you really need an example) and other apparatus were certainly interesting but possibly not worth the nearly ten-quid entry fee?! Another maybe more worth while waste of money being a tourist in Prague was with our visit to the Chocolate Museum / factory just off The Old Town Square. Other than this simply wandering round the shops and Christmas Markets and stalls have occupied both Miss Tweedle-Dee and I throughout our stay here. 

Eating out in Prague has certainly been an experience which in my opinion was miles and miles ahead of my experiences in Tenerife with Mr. Warehouse in the Summer. Our first night I have already touched on and whilst I was given loads of advise from tonnes of people I knew who had visited Prague before as well as some helpful vloggers and bloggers who live in Prague and the Czech Republic, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I hit up some really, really good restaurants. Firstly there is the cafe round the corner from our accommodation called Cafe Apetit. Whilst I am almost certain that all that occupied at the time we visited on Sunday Morning / Afternoon were all local, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I struggled through our broken Czech to order a delicious open sandwich, coffee and a large slice of cake which all came to under two-hundred Czech Koruna, equal roughly to under a fiver in British money, something which we were both stunned by given if the same was bought in London it would have easily been double if not triple the price and so much lacking in quality. 

Another place you need to hit up when in Prague are Brasilerio where you can have as much meat as you can handle and an unlimited salad and other specials bar. Very similar to the steak all-you-can-eat buffet Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had with the rest of her family and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in Las Vegas you use your coaster to show green in order to tell the meat-staff and servers when you are ready for the BBQ goodness or switch it over to red when you just want to tap-out for a little bit. Regardless of the hefty price tag (well only hefty in comparison to the other eateries we visited which came in well under the four-hundred Czech Koruna I was expecting to spend each night) I still think that for the price it was certainly worth it and would certainly encourage you to visit if here. 

My only let downs about Prague as a whole I feel (apart from going home tomorrow) is that the majority of the city, its sights, tastes, smells and feels could easily be done in half the time we have spent here. I would suggest if you are planning your trip that two or three days would be sufficient and if the Christmas Market is in town, maybe four but I probably wouldn't plan another city break for as long as Miss Tweedle-Dee and I have come for. Whilst it has been relaxing we have done a lot of the same thing. Long lazy mornings lying in bed till noon an staying up late scrolling through news feeds have kept us occupied though and I honestly cant think of many other people I would want to spend my time exploring a European Christmas Market with that my bestie, Miss Tweedle-Dee. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Adieu France!

Bonjour, 

Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert. 

Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call. 

Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton. 

Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you. 

Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home. 

Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Irish Experiance

Top 'o the marning to ya', 

Or at least that's what they say in Ireland. Haha. Anyhoo I hope all is well and good with everyone and it is safe to say that I am fully recovered and rejuvenated from my adventures of the lactose variety. I am now back home safe and sound and ready for a fresh new chapter ahead. Well Kinda! 

So after I left the House of Cheese last Sunday I whizzed back home, up my apartment stairs still dressed in the outfit from the night before, suspenders and all and rallied around my penthouse for my bag and all the other bits I would be taking away with me to Ireland. After making several trips up and down those god awful stairs many more times as a result of leaving something important behind I finally left in good time to make my train and grab a good old Starbucks before heading to the departure lounge. I was hoping to find a nice Irish fellow, maybe works in something fun like marketing or advertising to chat with on the journey. Maybe we would fall in love and he would invite me to stay in Dublin for ever and ever and live happily ever after under the shadows of the Guinness factory. Alas though this was not the case and after taking off late due to a delay I began to feel nauseous. Maybe my last night of passion had caught up with me? Nevertheless I tucked into my hearty breakfast bap from Starbs and let the oxygenated air knock me out for six. 

Landing in Dublin I knew I was already going to be pushed for time catching my coach from the airport to the village closest to my Aunt and Uncles cottage in Callan, County Kilkenny. Rushing past fellow flyer's and nearly pushing a small Spanish boy onto the luggage carousel in a mad dash to get through security I managed to get outside into the Irish air but missed my coach by mere minutes. 'Damn Spanish kids' I thought to myself as I begged for a Irish driver to detour and take me to where I needed to go. Thankfully a nice man let me on his bus and I headed for the city centre hoping I could make my connection there. As the city lit up with the evenings lights under a dark rain cloud it began to pour and the heavens opened over the home of the leprechaun. Just as I thought it was too late my trusty bus driver pulled into the coach yard and yelled at the now leaving coach bound for what I would call home for the next week or so to stop and allow me to board. The luck of the Irish 'eh?

After a long and winding journey through the Irish hills that seemed to roll on forever and countless attempts to get my phone to work in what appeared to be a completely foreign country (Thanks T-Mobile) I finally arrived at my destination. A local farmer friend of the family came to collect me and we made small talk most of the journey home. Letting myself into the small cottage I breathed a sigh of relief as I took in the sights that had comforted me so many times before. Somehow I always feel like I am at home in Ireland. 

Settling in I unpacked and threw on some pyjamas in the hope that there might be something decent on TV like a film or such. Casting my phone aside and telling myself that I would deal with it tomorrow I flopped into the leather couch and prepared for my first night alone. In the middle of nowhere. Miles from the nearest neighbour. Where you can scream and no one will hear you. With no protection other than a blunt letter opener. 'Yes, I think I fancy watching My Little Pony tonight!' I thought to myself as I made sure that the front door was locked. Luckily I didn't have too long to enjoy my own company as I was joined the following morning by my Aunt and Uncle's dogs arriving back from the kennels. I was hoping that maybe now would be my chance to meet a handsome Irish man. No. This one I am sad to say was old and had a white beard to rival Captain Bird's Eye. Taking hold of the leads the large dogs, one a Pitbull type and the other a slobbery Dog Bordeaux, I could feel how strong they were. Pulling on the chains I shoved them into the house whilst I waved off my only communication for that day and collected the rest of the dog stuff. 

Snuggled up on the leather settee was where myself and my furry friends spent most of the next few days, watching reruns of Friends (In which I had never really seen before but now I am hooked and feel I now need to spend the next few weeks catching up on everything between 1994 and 2004). I did however venture out most days, oddly going for a run a couple of times. I know - I must have been bored. I did venture into the city of Kilkenny one day to see the sights and to have a cheeky shop in the knowledge that my bags had plenty more room to fill with clothes and shoes. Sad to say though by this point (Tuesday Afternoon I might add) I was already missing work and so this reflected in my shopping habits with me picking up several new shirts and a pencil skirt I shall no doubt return once home. Exhausted I headed for a bearded gentleman manning the information desk to call me a cab back home since my driver was unavailable for the week. After dialling for a taxi and trying with no avail to tell him where I needed to go I sat in the back of the large silver tin can hoping and praying that he wouldn't turn down a dirt track and try to grope me. 

Thankfully I made it home in one piece although robbed of forty-euros for the cab fare. The cheek! Apparently I found out at a later date that the journey in total shouldn't have cost no more than about twenty but how was a pretty little English girl to know that? Disregarding the incident I went about my usual duties for the week feeding all the animals on my Aunties increasingly growing collection of farm yard creatures. In total I was sharing my Irish retreat with four goats - One of them pregnant, a horse, several chickens, a rooster, a couple of guinea fowl and three dogs. Snuggling down under the blankets and with the warmth of the hounds we watched a film and then headed to bed. Soon enough though the weekend was upon us and I was greeted by the local farmer again offering to take me to the local pub up the road for a proper Irish knees up and a few pints. Obviously I obliged but had to clear myself of dog hair and the smell of oats. 

Donning my boots and 'Big-Boob-Bra' I headed out for a night out with the local lads. Lads however may have been an extreme use of the word. I think maybe the phrase I was looking for was of the more mature variety. Stepping into the quaint little public house I could tell how it once used to be someones front room. Warm and cosy though I stood at the bar and soaked up the surroundings. It was far from busy and I took shelter with my 'date' for the evening until I found some company. Looking around my thoughts were confirmed. I was not only the youngest in the joint but also the only female! Now most people would have thought 'Oh dear god no! They will harass me and try all there best 1974 chat-up lines on me?!' but not me. I revelled in the conversation about cow's and farming, even dropping in about my blog once or twice. 'I knew I would be a hit' I thought to myself as I spurred out all the old tales of bad dates and naughty escapades of a younger, less informed self. Rounding off the night I thought I might have to carry my farmer friend home but thankfully his wonderful wife came to collect us and saved me from a good four-mile trek home in the scary darkness of the Irish wilderness. 

Being woken up at the crack of dawn by the rooster "Cock-a-doodle-dooing" is something I shall never become accustomed to however on the morning following the Irish night out my head was craving for more time with the pillow. I reluctantly rolled out of bed, fixed my curls into pigtails and began the feeding of horse, goats and poultry. I did fancy picking one of the chickens up and just whispering to it "Nando's" but I thought that would just make me hungry so went back inside to find the CoCo Pops. Rounding off my week away I rose early this morning to make sure that all the animals were fed and watered and that the dog man collected the pooches before I headed off back to Dublin and to catch my flight later on that afternoon. And after all my in-vain searching for an Irish fellow I finally found one in the Kennel-boy. 

Pulling up in the silver van I could hear the Pitbull and Dog Bordeaux going mental. Not evening thinking twice I nearly ran outside to see what all the commotion was all about minus my top. Bare breasts to the guy that collects Mutts for a living is not the best first impression to give someone not to mention probably making the poor boy vomit and causing mental scarring. Huffing on a vest and joining the barking two-some outside I could see what they were barking at ... Woof Woof! Talk with wispy curly hair and a thick Southern Irish accent and I was sold. On top of all that (Yes please!) he worked with dogs for a living so no more bow-wow bashing. Handing them over to him I thought about crawling into the cages next to them and asking the young chap to take me for a walk! 

After watching my Irish farmer boy drive off up the lanes I waited next for my carriage to whisk me away to Kilkenny so I could grab a much needed coffee and some breakfast before boarding the coach again back to Dublin. Waiting at the station I helped out a African man struggling with a folding bike, unbeknown to me however it turns out I had made a friend. When questions surrounding my love-life arose I remembered how Mr. Cheese had said that African men always see a girl with no ring on her finger as a potential wife. Reacting quickly and not wanting my love-life to seem as tragic as it actually is I made up a story that I was engaged and that my fiancée whom I have lived with for several years after meeting at University in London, was buying the ring this weekend. It seemed to throw him off but left me feeling deflated and wondering when or even if I will ever get to that point in life. 

Trundling through the city streets of Dublin flooded my head with wondrous fantasies about one day living over there. Not permanently of course, I can barely leave my Tweedles for a week let alone a lifetime! No maybe just a year or less. You know, living in a hostel, working in a bar, making new friends and chatting up nice Irish men! What could be better. It got me thinking and I am now seriously considering a sabbatical from work to live out an Green Isle adventure. Finally connecting to Airport WiFi I completely miss read the departure gate for my flight and instead of being at gate 107 I was at 307. 'Im not going to Manchester?' I thought. Then it hit me and my Caramel Frappachino like a tonne of bricks - 'Shiiiiiiiiiiiit!' 

Running through the airport as they were making the call for final boarding I realised that not only do I probably look like a twat running but that I may become one of the disgruntled passengers I always laugh at on my favourite TV programme of all time 'Airline'. Finally arriving at the correct gate I flew through the check in and boarded the plane home. And so here I am now. At my trusty window in my apartment writing to you fine people! Safe to say though that my feet themselves will barely be touching the ground this week as I have to go into work tomorrow to sort some stuff out, I have the UnDate that we spoke of that I may have to reschedule as well as all the washing and packing for the weekend ahead. Weekend ahead you ask? Well I most certainly will not be going to Tiffany's to pick out an engagement ring with my future husband (Or maybe I will?!) No I will be crowning myself as an Indian Chief and getting down and dirty with the best of them. Mallet, mud-fights and cagoule at the ready - Next weekend is Reading Festival 2014!

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

Muchas Gracias ...

Hi Everyone,
 
My goodness what a week. Exhausting and stressful but glad that I am able to reveal all to you now. You will be pleased to hear that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are not burnt to a crisp but heavily tanned, although much to their dismay 'The Peel' as it is now refered to has started. So after leaving you last week in stiflingly hot Majorca I am now safely back in the UK, but not without our fair share of problems let me tell you that ...
 
I found Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb by the pool still sunning themselves trying to cram as much tan-time as possible and after a brief disagreement we started to get ready for the transfer coaches arrival. Boarding the coach and finding our seats we appreciated the on-board air conditioning. Bumbling around the local towns and hotels picking up tourists I began listening to a Belfast family and willingly allowed their accents to bless my ears. That is until a well-bronzed, middle-aged couple got on board and started rustling their travel documents. Upset at their rudeness I gazed out the window at the setting sun over Spanish wasteland. I started to day dream of meeting the perfect Irishman in a bar; Tall, dark and handsome with a thick Irish accent. Mmmm! Suddenly though I was snapped back to the cooling coach. Then, Miss Tweedle-Dumb had started to explain how our flight back home was cancelled. Laughing I told her to sod off and stop pulling my leg. Her face was serious but still I refused to believe her. "How dare she snap me out of a pleasant pipe dream of me and my future Husband meeting in a smokey, old-style city pub on 'The Green Isle'. Rude!" I jovially said to myself. As we arrived at the airport though, worrying that my fantasy was interrupted was the last thing I had to worry about. Our flight had been cancelled!
 
Whilst the Tweedles panicked, as did the rest of the coach party, I grabbed a luggage trolley and loaded our bags. Pacing into the Airport itself we joined a line that was already a few hundred long and several people wide. After hearing the stresses of Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee I decided to go and ask someone what was going on. I joined some people talking to a young attendant and she informed us that due to some issues with the French authorities no flights were allowed into the airspace at all and that almost eighty percent of flights that day and before had been cancelled. These problems could last for up to four days she went on. Armed with this information I waddled back to The Girls and told them what I knew. Several moment later after discussing options a few of us in the lengthening queue were asked to make a separate line for people going to certain destinations. Like sheep we herded round the desks waiting to hear our fate. Becoming bored I started to befriend a pudgy man behind us in the line. I was somewhat dazzled and slightly bemused by the fact that the larger man had a full set of gold teeth. "Very odd" I thought. But after listening to his conversation to a fellow line-ee I discovered he was a washed up pop star who had appeared on a talent programme some years back. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had to watch some of his performed and cringed watching them later on.

Finally arriving at the desk we were told by the lady that the next available flight wasn't for another three days, but it wasn't guaranteed that would be able to leave either. We had no choice. We had to take it. So Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I agreed and our flight was booked for nearly midnight on Thursday evening. But there was a problem. It was only Tuesday. Where were we going to stay for the next seventy-two hours, or more if our new flight was delayed or cancelled! Thankfully the airline recognised this and whilst they admitted that it wasn't the travel providers fault they had to help somehow. So they paid for Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I to stay in a three-star, all-inclusive hotel for a couple of nights and also arrange for pre-paid taxi's to collect and drop us off. Happy for the solution all three of us bundled into a cab and headed to our beds - Not before another dispute due to the fact we were all starving and wasting away due to not eating since breakfast.

And that was that. Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had worked out that we had bagged a ten-night holiday in sunny Spain for just under £200.00! Bargain if I do say so myself. The morning after our terrible Tuesday I was able to engorge myself with my all-inclusive breakfast so I didn't die of malnutrition, however the water I feel did alter a few things. Lets just say that The Tweedles and I took a few trips to "Brown-Town" during those extra days - at least the Loo was nice though. The extra few days we spent relaxing by the pool, topping up the tan and drinking pre-mixed Pina Colada's whilst trying to avoid the over-enthusiastic holiday rep's. So here I am, back home at last. But its not all boring - Oh no! Because I can promise you next week will be a storm ... Watch this space!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Time For A Little Sunshine...

Hey everyone, 

So I am currently writing to you from the very sunny and beautiful island of Majorca in Spain. Slightly chilly out but still, the sun is shining and I don't have work. 

The past week has been fun although not much has happened in the way of anything, apart from having to comfort a very glum and self-destructive Mr. Mot after I had a phone all at one in the morning. I attempted to pamper his ego as much as possible and make him feel better about himself especially what with his current situation, but it was all in vain as he still carried on in the same self-loathing he had started the conversation with. After an hour and a bit of trying to make him feel better I gave up and ended the call. Nevertheless the following day he was as right as rain and back to his cheery, if a little crude and flirtatious self.  Mostly this week though has been preparing for this week. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have been stressing about packing and departure times and such like all week, where as I have been as cool as a cucumber and have been relaxed, that is up until the wax...

So after my appointment at my local college being booked in on the half-term holidays in the south of England and so therefore being unavailable I found myself a little salon near where I work. Reasonably priced and with the schedule open I booked without hesitation. Upon arriving to said venue some minutes late due to the train being cancelled I was ready to be de-fluffed! Little did I know that walking over hot coals would have been a more pleasurable experience. If you are thinking about it ladies and gentleboys; DON'T - It hurts! Thinking it would be a good idea for holiday is one thing but then carrying it out with a women who you don't even know is another. I mean firstly there was the fact that I had bought new jeans previously and that the dye had rubbed off onto my legs so I looked like an overgrown Smurf. Secondly, less than ten minutes in and because my legs are made of 99.9% cellulite, she spilled hot wax all over me as the roller machine that she was using got trapped in one of my fat pockets. And then there was the sheer fact that she had a looked and touched something that a guy only gets to after he's taken me for dinner. Bareing (no pun intended) this in mind, my legs are still smooth ... ish. Definitely not worth it for the money, the pain or the bite marks on the back of my hands as a result. 

Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I arrived mid morning after a long morning spent traipsing round the airport looking for a coffee shop so that all three of us could function properly as it was like three in the morning. The flight itself was pretty straight forward, but as we were taxing down the runway, for some odd reason I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss someone. To be honest I felt a bit emotional going on holiday again. I always do though. I suppose it doesn't help that I feel this way every time I go away because it was the last time I went on holiday with Mr. Workaholic that he decided to make his own mind up about our relationship. Regardless of that though, I am having a splendid time already. Miss Tweedle-Dumb is having a nap before we head out to dinner. So far there have been no arguments although I have had to seclude myself onto the balcony as Miss Tweedle-Dee is making so much random chitter chatter by talking to herself that I can barely hear myself think. 

And so after a fun and vibrant day in Majorca, Spain it's time to clock off as I am starving and Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I still have to hunt out dinner. Need to wake them up first which shall be a task and a half as Miss Tweedle-Dumb is already snoring. Uhh, she also just farted, how classy of her slumbering self. This will be an interesting few days to watch out for next week. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx