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
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Showing posts with label French. Show all posts
Monday, 7 September 2015
Monday, 31 August 2015
Bonjour! Merci!
Bon Soiree mon ami,
Finishing work and hurrying out the door of my office before anyone could ask me another thing I was more than ready and very excited for my holiday away in the Mid-South of France. Lyon was a place that I have thought about going to but as with most I did not know a lot about it and chose not to research too much into it so as to fully experience the city when I arrived. Watching the time I headed to get my nails done and pick up some bits in Bedford Town Centre before heading back to my little apartment to meet with Mr. Warehouse who was soon en route with the suitcase which by his own admission he had filled more than half of the twenty-kilo allowance EasyJet was giving us. Nevertheless we packed what I needed and double checked all our tickets and passports before settling down for a cheeky Chinese takeaway and some GBBO - The Great British Bake Off for those whom are unfamiliar is a show in which contestants slave over a hot oven in order to impress and 80-year-old and a pompous old git, and all whilst trying their best not to let their Pavlova end up on the floor. I don't know whether you can receive this in other countries such as the States or Asia, but you cannot receive in Europe, at least through the BBCiPlayer.
Anyway back to the holiday. So after getting up at about the same time I would usually be going to work (6.30am to be precise) all because Mr. Warehouse didn't want to be late for his flight. In turn after arguing about when to call the cab we arrived at London Luton Airport so damn early that our flight (that didn't take off until 11.50am) wasn't even on the board. Grabbing some breakfast and checking our hold luggage in we headed to the security. Once passed their which was smoother than other times I had flown though London Luton Airport we arrived in Departures with just over an hour and a half to spare. So i did what I knew best, headed for duty-free and Starbs. But as usual my beloved Coffee Frappuccino barely made it onto the flight and once seated and up in the air Mr. Warehouse took it upon himself to order himself a beer and a rather hefty bottle of Prosecco for his lady in waiting. Anticipating a two-and-a-bit hour flight we dug out our free papers and started reading. But no sooner had I finished my bottle of bubbly we were on our decent into Lyon. Shocked at the speed of which we travelled I soon packed things away and prepared for the barge that usually happens when a flight lands on the tarmac. No sooner than we exited the air-plane we were hit with a warm breeze and the smell of a foreign land.
Getting through customs and immigration we soon were at a sticking point as the travel money card I had got before travelling was being temperamental and after nearly four hours stuck in the airport with soaring temperatures we were more than ready to get to the hotel. So when we checked in and slotted our card through the slit in the door we were more than grateful for the super large king-sized bed, cold water in the fridge and clean areas we could relax in before getting ready for dinner. And boy did we eat dinner. Lyon, known otherwise as the gastronomical capital of France and world known for its foodie-influences we soon settled into the life of luxury, dining out three times a day and enjoying all the delicacies the city had to offer. Sadly as I write to you on my last night here in France Mr. Warehouse and I have yet to try Frogs legs and Snails, although me-thinks that this is something for the less sophisticated parts of town. And since our hotel is located just metres from International brand stores such as Cartier, Louis Vuitton and Hermes just to name a few, I doubt we will be dining at anything less than four-star. First night we dined on French styled brioche burgers with a wonderfully rich sauce and fries to rival anywhere at King Marcel, certainly a contender for my fave London burger joint Honest Burger. Later throughout the holiday we dined at typical Lyonaisse Bouchon and Restaraunt A La Traboule where I indulged myself in Beef Carpaccio and Roasted Duck Breast all washed down with a cocktail or two.
City sites have included the wonderful Place Du Jacobin which is seconds from our hotel room. A simple square surrounded by boutique shops and world-wide high end stores, it hosts an impressive water fountain, encased in marble and white stone. If you look up at the overlooking buildings you can see why it is called Place Du Jacobin as the architecture and building beauty is to be desired by anyone, especially a resident. Oh what it would be to have an apartment overlooking the city, cast-iron curly balcony and modern Parisian inspired interiors to match. Another place we visited was the Place Bellacour, again, not far from our hotel. Red Sand, Pigeons and a huge statue of a horse mid-trot; it reminded me a lot of Trafalgar Square back home in Blighty, only a lot bigger, and less busy. Throughout our stay Mr. Warehouse and I went through these two tourist attractions almost every single day, at least twice, and still were in awe of their beauty right up until the moment we leave tomorrow probably. As well as visiting these Mr. Warehouse and I have seen the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière, a seventeenth-century cathedral that was built with the pretence to inspire the Parisian create of Notre Dame and other European cathedral's. A sneak peek into the world of the Roman settlement here in 43bc with the Theatre et Odeon Gallo-Romain. We even had time to be dragged along a guided walking tour through the Traboules which are little residential and secret streets throughout the city leading to houses and apartments that only the locals know about. This hurt my little piggies a lot and as a result I laughed hysterically when our guide announced it was over and ran all the way to the nearest pub.
To my surprise I have done little shopping and the only thing I have bought so far for myself other than food and consumables was a silver ring etched with thirteen little diamonds round the outside from a little independent French boutique whereby no-one spoke a word of English. But that didn't bother me and as I went to pay for my items I noticed Mr. Warehouse too was at the till, anxiously awaiting the cashier to gift-wrap something. I asked what it was and he turned to me and smiled. The store owners looked at each other and back at myself and Mr. Warehouse. With broken French vs English the cashier ushered to Mr. Warehouse and then to me as if to ask if what was concealed in the little pink bag was for me. With no French vocabulary, Mr. Warehouse said Birthday and put his finger to his lips, all the while looking at me. As the staff giggled and wished me a Bon Anniversaire (Happy Birthday in French) we headed for the exit into the now 34-degree-heat. Being a jewellery store, specialising in Silver and Gold as well as accessories I wondered what it could be, however as we passed through the little stands near the door, Mr. Warehouse was keen to not let me peruse any further for fear I might buy the same. Sneaky man! Very sneaky man! And so sly and stealthy. If I hadn't been paying attention I don't think I would have ever known he had bought something until we were outside the shop. Hmmm, only a matter of weeks before I know what it was he purchased! And as if that wasn't romantic enough we spent that evening cruising along the Saone and Rhone rivers by the light of the huge moon and glistening lights of the city.
And so on our last day of our holiday in Lyon, Mr. Warehouse and I are more than ready to go back home. We need rain! I loved the holiday but I will be the first to admit that the weather has been so very, very hot. Every single day we have been here has averaged between 32 and 36 degrees and all with no breeze. Tomorrow it is very likely to rain here but as our flight is at 2.55pm we will probably get that in about three-days over in England. I can handle heat, but this was way too much! Mr. Warehouse and I are already budgeting and planning for our next adventure. Maybe over Christmas we will head to another European city, Copenhagen, Belfast, Dublin, Lille, Berlin - Who knows. But as for our next Sunshine holiday ... Definitely in order for the same weather, just maybe a sea and sand instead of city-living. Although I must say, this is probably the best way to spend a Bank Holiday!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 15 June 2015
Souvenirs D'Adolescent
Bonjour,
Comment ca va? Ca va bien. Apologies for the French opening to this week's post but I am just sooo excited! So as if living the American dream in Las Vegas this March with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a matter of weeks ago we booked our annual Budget-Budget holiday to the once party island of Kavos in Greece. And as if that wasn't enough for one little globe-trotter I have also booked a cheeky holiday with Mr. Warehouse too. And that is where the French comes in as we are off too Lyon!
Now don't get me wrong I am stoked for lilo-ing in the swimming pool of mine, Miss Tweedle-Dee's, Miss Tweedle-Dumb's apartment and finding real life human faeces on the steps of our chalet not to mention the crazy nights out whereby a mixture of Scottish bars, Whitney Houston, meat sweats and copious amounts of foreign alcohol lead to what can only be known now as 'The Butter Floor' incident. But that frolicking is over one-hundred days away. And whilst my last boyfriend I went on holiday with decided to dump me several months later I feel that this one is different. Maybe its the fact that I have slaved over numerous holiday, hotel and flight websites looking for a getaway that is under two-hundred quid. It proved a struggle to find something that ticked all off mine and Mr. Warehouse's boxes - Under £200.00, in August, outside of term time, in the summer holidays and over the course of a bank holiday weekend. Yes it was an absolute struggle that had brought us to tears (literally) but finally we have found somewhere.
Booking a flight from London Luton Airport to Lyon Saint-Exupery Airport for a five-night, relatively budgeted break away was just what we both needed, Mr. Warehouse more-so I think than my passport wielding self. You see with limited money we couldn't afford to go somewhere like Barcelona, Rome or Paris as I had hoped, let alone New York or something more exotic. But my interest in France stemmed from a long childhood spending my summers there on holidays with my family have left me feeling in need of the French lifestyle over the last few years. I want something sophisticated and sexy from a holiday with a Lover. Somewhere we can throw ourselves into and immerse ourselves with good food, great scenery and a wonderful passion for each other. I know it never worked out in my last holiday with a partner but I am hoping to rectify that although it does scare me to pieces that the same thing might happen again. At least I wont be going with Mr. Workaholics overpowering mother whom acts far from the age she was.
France was somewhere my family and I used to holiday regularly, and by regularly I mean like every sodding year from the age of six or seven until my parents divorce nearly eight years ago now. At the time I was too preoccupied with boys, friends and other teenage things to really appreciate the fact that while I got to go on holiday to the French Eastern Coast and Riviera my friends got to go on seemingly lavish holidays to Florida, Greece and Spain. Secretly I was jealous but now I am thankful for the many years I spent travelling around Northern Europe with my family, exploring places such as France, Belgium, Holland and Germany as well as my native country, Britain. That aside, I am more than excited about returning to somewhere I nearly called Mon Mansion! (Yes my parents nearly bought a second home there with the intention to emigrate and have us sent to much better French schools). I have downloaded an learning languages app on my phone, ordered a tonne of Breton stripped T-shirts and am preparing myself for a whole lot of food consumption.
However, as I write to you now I am becoming increasingly sidetracked and unfocused as I am now surrounded with my adolescent diaries from years 2006 onwards and so have now rediscovered just how hilarious I once was. The thoughts of a littler me have me in stitches and as I now conclude today's post with an extract dated Tuesday 25th March 2008 I think to myself that maybe I shall post some more extracts one day. But for now I shall share with you a little part of sixteen-year-old A.Lou:
---
"Dear Diary,
Wow! You know if and when I find the right guy in High school, which I think I have its just amazing to find out that he just keeps surprising you with interesting facts you did not know about him. Number One - He rides a bike. One of the most sexiest, no, the most sexiest things a male can do is ride something macho. Wow! Number Two - He watches Skins which to some extent explains why we are compatible and are just meant to be together. Number Three - His hair looks so cute when its all fluffy and unbrushed like sex hair. Or Fuck hair. Yeah that sounds better, Fuck hair. Uhh Fuck Yeah Fuck hair. Anyhoo so intervention at school today was boring as hell but meh. I was interested slightly by a different reason to come into school.
Lots of Love, Night Night :) xx"
---
Established male-enthusiast since 1991 ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Comment ca va? Ca va bien. Apologies for the French opening to this week's post but I am just sooo excited! So as if living the American dream in Las Vegas this March with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a matter of weeks ago we booked our annual Budget-Budget holiday to the once party island of Kavos in Greece. And as if that wasn't enough for one little globe-trotter I have also booked a cheeky holiday with Mr. Warehouse too. And that is where the French comes in as we are off too Lyon!
Now don't get me wrong I am stoked for lilo-ing in the swimming pool of mine, Miss Tweedle-Dee's, Miss Tweedle-Dumb's apartment and finding real life human faeces on the steps of our chalet not to mention the crazy nights out whereby a mixture of Scottish bars, Whitney Houston, meat sweats and copious amounts of foreign alcohol lead to what can only be known now as 'The Butter Floor' incident. But that frolicking is over one-hundred days away. And whilst my last boyfriend I went on holiday with decided to dump me several months later I feel that this one is different. Maybe its the fact that I have slaved over numerous holiday, hotel and flight websites looking for a getaway that is under two-hundred quid. It proved a struggle to find something that ticked all off mine and Mr. Warehouse's boxes - Under £200.00, in August, outside of term time, in the summer holidays and over the course of a bank holiday weekend. Yes it was an absolute struggle that had brought us to tears (literally) but finally we have found somewhere.
Booking a flight from London Luton Airport to Lyon Saint-Exupery Airport for a five-night, relatively budgeted break away was just what we both needed, Mr. Warehouse more-so I think than my passport wielding self. You see with limited money we couldn't afford to go somewhere like Barcelona, Rome or Paris as I had hoped, let alone New York or something more exotic. But my interest in France stemmed from a long childhood spending my summers there on holidays with my family have left me feeling in need of the French lifestyle over the last few years. I want something sophisticated and sexy from a holiday with a Lover. Somewhere we can throw ourselves into and immerse ourselves with good food, great scenery and a wonderful passion for each other. I know it never worked out in my last holiday with a partner but I am hoping to rectify that although it does scare me to pieces that the same thing might happen again. At least I wont be going with Mr. Workaholics overpowering mother whom acts far from the age she was.
France was somewhere my family and I used to holiday regularly, and by regularly I mean like every sodding year from the age of six or seven until my parents divorce nearly eight years ago now. At the time I was too preoccupied with boys, friends and other teenage things to really appreciate the fact that while I got to go on holiday to the French Eastern Coast and Riviera my friends got to go on seemingly lavish holidays to Florida, Greece and Spain. Secretly I was jealous but now I am thankful for the many years I spent travelling around Northern Europe with my family, exploring places such as France, Belgium, Holland and Germany as well as my native country, Britain. That aside, I am more than excited about returning to somewhere I nearly called Mon Mansion! (Yes my parents nearly bought a second home there with the intention to emigrate and have us sent to much better French schools). I have downloaded an learning languages app on my phone, ordered a tonne of Breton stripped T-shirts and am preparing myself for a whole lot of food consumption.
However, as I write to you now I am becoming increasingly sidetracked and unfocused as I am now surrounded with my adolescent diaries from years 2006 onwards and so have now rediscovered just how hilarious I once was. The thoughts of a littler me have me in stitches and as I now conclude today's post with an extract dated Tuesday 25th March 2008 I think to myself that maybe I shall post some more extracts one day. But for now I shall share with you a little part of sixteen-year-old A.Lou:
---
"Dear Diary,
Wow! You know if and when I find the right guy in High school, which I think I have its just amazing to find out that he just keeps surprising you with interesting facts you did not know about him. Number One - He rides a bike. One of the most sexiest, no, the most sexiest things a male can do is ride something macho. Wow! Number Two - He watches Skins which to some extent explains why we are compatible and are just meant to be together. Number Three - His hair looks so cute when its all fluffy and unbrushed like sex hair. Or Fuck hair. Yeah that sounds better, Fuck hair. Uhh Fuck Yeah Fuck hair. Anyhoo so intervention at school today was boring as hell but meh. I was interested slightly by a different reason to come into school.
Lots of Love, Night Night :) xx"
---
Established male-enthusiast since 1991 ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
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
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
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