The Two Wheels That Moved The Soul

Hello, 

So after last week's blog post about Miscarriage, Stillborn and lost pregnancies I had a huge response from people I knew as well as a few new faces, all of them talking openly about the struggles they have had with conceiving and pregnancy. I sometimes forget that my words can actually have a real life meaning outside of the screen from my tablet and I would like to thank everybody that contributed in their own special way only helping to bridge the gap between those that have unfortunately experience such sadness and those who do not know what to say when presented with a similar situation. 

Moving on though from last week and continuing with my gym and personal training sessions I have learnt to my surprise from my last week or two of weigh-in's with my PT I have lost a total of twelve centimetres of my waist alone! Clothes are starting to fit better now and I am coming back into the realms of High Street shopping as opposed to the prospect of looking in catalogues for the larger lady. Asides from healthy eating and the odd trip to the gym a few times a week, things have been relatively relaxed lately. I suppose with January being January most people do not have any money in order to go out and do anything so exercise and limiting calories is probably a necessity rather than choosing. 

One thing that was prominent on our "family" calendar this week was Mr. Warehouse's CBT Test. The CBT test is a compulsory basic training test that all people have to take if they would like to ride a motorbike with an engine size under 125cc. Ideal for getting to and from work as well as town and city driving, I could not think of anything more perfect for a Christmas present. Mr. Warehouse worked very reasonable and an all intents and purposes was really good working hours, starting at eight in the morning and finishing at four in the afternoon. Some people I know would probably kill all those sorts of things with children and even without would just be a blessing in order to carry out errands or just simply having a little bit more time in bed and getting home a little earlier. 

Unfortunately though for my dearest Mr Warehouse up until Saturday he had to get public transport to work which left him time poor and loathing life in the darker months when the cold, wet and snow would bring him down. This weekend I dropped him off at the CBT training test centre and waved him off goodbye hoping against all hope that the next time I saw him he would have passed. With what seemed like the hours ticking by like minutes I was anxiously waiting the phone call to come and collect my Beau. At just gone 4-o'clock and as the sun started to descend, giving way to a beautiful sunset and mild evening I set off ready to hear the good news. Admittedly it was early as I didn't anticipate picking him up for at least another hour and on my less than 15 minute journey I was worried that this may be an inkling into the news that lay ahead. 

"Maybe he didn't pass or the instructor were not confident in him taking to the streets for his practical tests?" I worried as I pulled into the parking lot. Getting in I held my breath for the results. It wasn't good. Mr. Warehouse had failed. Or at least that is what he had me thinking for the first ten-minutes of the journey home. Gutted I really thought that he had failed. So convincing he was in his joshing, I was supportive in my answers hoping that he would not be too upset, unbeknown to me that he had already aced it with flying colours. When Mr. Warehouse finally let the cat out of the bag and told me the truth that he had indeed passed I was over the moon for him and so excited. 

Finally my boyfriend and I would start our lives together, at least in a much easier format than before. If chance would have it Mr. Warehouse could even find another job with more money and better career prospects. Things would be much simpler. Not only would he save himself in time getting to and from work, but he would now have the time to visit his brothers, go to the gym or maybe even start a hobby with all the freedom that your own transport brings. In turn this would lead to better savings for a house not necessarily being tied to the one area of Bedford but being able to look at cheaper houses further afield. And maybe, just maybe, a couple of nice holidays every year, slowly ticking things off our bucket list of travel before eventually settling down. 

I suppose we will just have to wait and see what the future brings, but for now it will be sorting out Mr. Warehouse and getting him back out onto the road. After that it'll be time to save like crazies for I want to buy a house by the time Christmas songs are playing on the radio. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Its My Birthday I Can Do What I like!

Hello everyone!

I am writing to you all from my new stance this week situated at the front of my new flat that is both grander and more superior than the one directly two flights above me in which I was calling home not only three weeks ago. Settling into my new flat has been relatively easy and fun and even better when you end up sourcing a bargain like the desk I am tapping away on right now, instead of my couch as usual. Yes I thought I would make the effort as a fairly established writer (I jest) to invest in a desk for such an occasion. My desk I am at now is made of heavy wood and looks very office-y, more than just a family home type. Drawers and Cupboards either side of me I feel prepared and ready to start with whatever errands and home office duties that may befall me. And it was all for free. The guy even dropped it off and carried it indoors for me. Not. A. Penny. Where I hear you 'Holla'?! The Freecycle Network - A community based group in any city, town or village that advertises stuff for free. A fabulous find for someone whose life is always on some sort of budget. And for free you can hardly complain. 

Another thing I got for free this weekend was far from satisfactory, and I could have very much done without when accepting my newly found desk was a thumping headache and maybe a slight hangover! Yes since it was my birthday I decided to make a right weekend of it, much to the dismay of Mr. Warehouse whom I think by Sunday afternoon was sick to death with the phrase "It's my birthday - I can say/do/be/have what I want". But its OK because in eleven months he can do the same. Turning twenty-four is so not cool. And if you haven't noticed over the years that the older you get the less people seem to care that it is your birthday. I (and anyone else for that matter) should be a princess (or prince) on their birthday. It is the one and the only day you get to be a complete diva and pretty much no-one can tell you off. Unless its the police. Or your boss. Who conveniently was not in for the majority of my birthday day spent at work. 

But firstly we should probably start with the first 'classified' day of my birthday weekend. After work on Thursday I finished and made my way through town with a top on that was probably inappropriate for dinner in a nice restaurant, and most definitely inappropriate for the work place to meet Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. I chose to keep dinner local to me in Bedford as Milton Keynes and surrounding areas albeit would have been nice and maybe more commercial choice, I knew Bedford had choice-a-plenty and such variety too, not to mention being minutes from my bed. Stepping into Mimo's Steak and Grill I was perplexed as to why, on a Thursday evening it would be so empty. Sitting down we were handed menu's and after reviewing them online for the past week or so I knew what I would be ordering. And so between idle chitter-chatter of work, weather and upcoming plans for the rest of the year we tucked into tasty Mediterranean dishes including Calamari, Halloumi and Whitebait to start, Home-made Burgers and Lamb Kebabs for mains and silky smooth Creme Brulee (my new favourite desert) for pudding. Making it home, all four of us stuffed following our £103 meal I was put through the same saga as I am every year. Like a child I sat eagerly awaiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee to come and join me and my boyfriend in the front room for some food-comatose natter before home-time. But alas they had other plans and whilst I knew what they were doing in my new and improved kitchen, I never anticipated a Reeses Peanut Butter Krispy Kreme Donut as a replacement birthday cake! I thought it was wonderful and truly a fantastic idea. No cutting, no fannying around with plates and cutlery. Just an individual donut for me and three. Rounding off the evening with presents that included tickets to see the real life Magic Mike at The Dreamboy's Show in Bedford's Corn Exchange from Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Gig tickets to see one of the first Bands I ever saw live as a teenager - Fall Out Boy supported by none other than Professor Green at Wembley as well as amongst other things such as a carrier bags worth of Reeses Peanut Butter sweets and chocolate including Reeses Peanut Butter Peices, Peanut Butter M&M's and Peanut Butter Hot Chocolate! This was only to be added to over the next few days as copious amounts of more chocolate were added. To bed though myself and Mr. Warehouse went for the next morning was my actual real-life birthday. 

Waking in the morn I was ready to start the day, even if it was half-five in the morning. Yes I had to be in work early to do invoicing, but at least I finished early which in turn meant I could have a little cat-nap before getting ready for the nights activities. Opening my presents in my pyjamas and on my bed with Mr. Warehouse by my side was intimate and magical, especially since most of the presents were stuff I loved and didn't have to pretend I liked. "This one's a keeper" I thought as I opened some silver feather hair-clips he had bought me on holiday in Lyon, now my only reminder after loosing my rings last Saturday. Hair Chalks and bath bombs followed all with their little clues on the tags. Then I was handed a box. On the label it said "You are my world ... " and as I opened it I wondered what it could be. On opening the white box with Pandora on the box lid I peered inside to see a sliver and jewel encrusted globe of the world, engraving swirling it saying 'Around the world'. Another few more and I was done. Covered in wrapping paper and glitter I was happy to get my day off to such a good start. As I read Mr. Warehouse's card I started to well-up inside, overcome with joy and happiness and love. He wrote: 

Yes, today is your birthday - But I am the one who has the gift. 

The gift of you being in my life for another year.

Finishing off my invoicing around ten-past nine I got away with pottering around looking busy, which was both hard and boring. Nevertheless home-time soon came and as I met my wonderful Beau downstairs in reception we alighted for a quick snooze and getting ready for what was to be a much anticipated messy night out. 

Throwing on a pair of heels and donning a sexy but classy plum mini-dress, Mr. Warehouse and I headed into town. Soon the Smirnoff Ice turned into singles and then they evolved into doubles finally culminating in shots of Sambuca to toast any old thing of celebratory value! Heading to the next venue and the next the drinks kept coming and the dance moves kept grooving. Some good pictures were to be had that night, including one of the whole team on what we disclosed as a thoroughly good team building exercise. Although I did nearly end up in a bit of bother with some lad on the dance-floor. I mean does he not know who I am. This, today of holy day's was my actual birth day and I am having a photo taken of me (obviously) with my work colleagues and here he is, this chav from the back end of no-where special trying to encroach on my happy-snappy. Suffice to say as soon as I barged the little tosser out of the frame we took a good shot. But that didn't stop him squaring up to me in my seven-inch-platforms and trying to have a go. I mean really? Mr. Warehouse, whilst I know is a soft cuddle-bug inside, he is built like a brick shit house and to start anything with me is certain to involve him. I am his Princess. His Queen and anyone to intrude on my thrown, or selfie as it so happens, will suffer the wrath of "Lui et Moi"! With the dance-floor waning, people drifting off to the taxi rank and some stragglers left kanoodling I looked over to Mr. Warehouse from my prime position on the dance-stage and knew by his little tired face that it was time to call it a night. Heading for a standard drunken Subway and home to bed I knew that whilst still relatively early - 0200am to be precise, it was appropriate clocking out time for a lady of my age now. 

Raising my heavy head the next morning, Mr. Warehouse and I agreed that it was about time we did something more sophisticated that getting pissed every pay-day. I was twenty-four (and one day) now. I should be investing in a good, possibly antique dining table and inviting people over for dinner parties rather than being known as the girl who doesn't just go to the bar for one drink but for two. Getting up and lounging around I made the flat look presentable for Mr. Warehouse's mother who was coming over before Dunch (A Dinner Lunch). Seemingly pleased that her son had found a self-sufficient girlfriend who was able to look after not only herself but several pot plants was clearly something she was both happy and proud of. Nattering away over posh coffee and Saturday afternoon telly before going out for a very late-lunch otherwise now nicknamed by me as Dunch. A spicy handmade pizza and glass of milk went down a treat, I even had some to take home with me for supper later on. 

Sunday was somewhat a day of rest before heading over to my grandparents house for a family get-together of sorts and time to share in all the gorey details from the past few days. Yes, my nana does like to hear about my escapades of a night on the tiles. But as I sat in the sunshine, blinded by the afternoon rays I sat and wondered what the next year will bring for me. Yes. I need to think out my life for turning twenty-five will definitely be worse than twenty-four for sure. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

When Is The Right Time?!

Evening All, 

So last week was all about getting pissed up on cheap, flat cider and celebrating life with Mr. Warehouse and his family. And after a long, drawn out and strenuous week at work the past few days have been very relaxing and much more chilled.

From Friday night right through 'til this afternoon when I finished work I have stayed at Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother, although she was away this weekend so Mr. Warehouse had invited me over to spend the weekend and look after his middle-aged Golden Retriever. A part of me did not even really realise until Saturday evening that we essentially were playing 'House'. And why not? Throughout the past nine months of my relationship with this man he has spent the majority of it with me either in my flat or at his mom's. But its strange when two people are just left to their own devices in a big old empty house and nothing much to see or do. 

Not going to lie I did enjoy it, but I soon found niggles that eventually if given time and the lack of space would burrow into my sole with the drive to constantly get on my tits! Like the way that Mr. Warehouse will do stuff he is not suppose to be doing even though you have asked him a trillion and one times not to. Or the way that Mr. Warehouse leaves his shit lying around. Even the way that my dearest Mr. Warehouse butters his toast before adding in a condiment like jam or spread can easily burn on my wick if I am already in a foul-arse mood. 

You see the thing is that when you live by yourself, and, single ladies you know what I mean - Its not the way that someone is around you, its the fact that sometimes you just cant be your true self. You can't always frog it in boy-boxers watching 'Jeremy Kyle' eating a whole pack of Pink Wafers to yourself and realising that the itchy thing on you bottom was just a rogue Sugar Puff from earlier. Nor can you fart loudly, laugh and be outwardly proud of such an expression because you are a lady whom should not do things like that, let alone still be sniggering about it twenty-minutes later. And alas you cannot leave rubbish everywhere with the intent that one day you will pick it up. Ahh yes! The joy's of living alone. 

But don't get me wrong an extra pair of hands can be useful, especially if you live on the top floor apartment with zero lifts. Carrying the shopping up stairs, taking out the rubbish and generally helping out around the place can be a huge help and beneficial to both parties in the long run. I suppose this week's post really started last week when Mr. Warehouse and I were out with my father and his girlfriend for Daddies birthday dinner and in true squaddie style my Dad just blurts out - "So when are you moving in with my Daughter!"

Gob-smacked and totally taken aback by the phrase let alone the idea I jumped in before anyone else had a chance to open their trappy little beaks and reiterated as I had done many times before that Mr. Warehouse was not moving in, not now and not any time in the foreseeable future. I enjoy my freedom. Its the only thing I really have left. I'm not single any more so instead I have my flat when I can grunge out for a whole weekend only venturing to the outside world in order to buy bread and milk.  can be myself in those tiny little slanted walls of my penthouse one-bed. Don't get me wrong I have thought about it, even looking into the possibility of moving somewhere bigger in a few years time to accommodate such a growing and developing relationship. Yes. I suppose the idea in the future is a good one but right now ... Certainly not! 

I mean where in my telescopic flat would his boy 'stuff' go?! The Xbox that is hardly works and even then never used yet held onto as the last claim to being a young man. The never-ending pile of dirty laundry that will inevitably be picked up by me, an ongoing sock vs. pants issue. Pointless letters, papers, payslips and rubbish strewn everywhere. Hmm, yes, not my idea of homely bliss. But then again if you asked Mr. Warehouse I am sure that he would say the same - A continuous stream of washing up, food that is slightly fluffy in the fridge and scatter cushions everywhere! 

In my flat right now their is barely enough room for me and my amazing personality let alone two, and whilst I like the idea that one day I will be a big girl with my own home and garden, I have to realise that it wont come along unless I suck it up and accept sharing. After all isn't that something that our parents all taught us. Yes that pile of washing looks a chore but when two people do it together and work through some of the things that happened in their days making small talk it will be done in next to no time! I don't know, I suppose after popping over to Mr. Warehouse's Brothers (Whose Fiancée is the same age as me!) new House it made me slightly Home-Broody. I think as I sat on their sofa in the three story town house I realised if I want to one day own my own home then I will need to get a shifty on and start saving. But that is light-years away, right now I am happy being the Queen of my own (rented) Palace and I am in no mood of down-grading any time soon, especially after the last time I moved in with someone!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx