This is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon ...

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I take half day I usually feel very stressed and under a huge amount of pressure to get everything finished and Thursday as lunchtime approached I did not feel like this. In a weird way I felt a odd sense of calm wash over me. I knew that I would be rushed off my feet in the few hours before I relaxed into the salon chair to have my hair done before meeting my family for dinner and reminiscing about some of the the times we had with Grandad and with each other. 

Unfortunately for me this would not be the case. Sweating in the sweltering heat of my Orange Vivienne that in ASDA car park, Mr. Warehouse and I called my Nanny Pumpkin to find out what time she was due to be at the restaurant this evening. After ringing through a few times she finally answered flustered and in a bit of a flap. On enquiring what was wrong I was told that after my Uncle and Auntie had landed from Ireland they had going to visit my grandfather in the funeral parlour at Nevilles. Following this harsh reality my Uncle hit the bottle. In all honesty I am still pretty impressed that he was able to do a whole bottle of brandy in the space of about fifteen-minutes. 

in a way it is quite easy for myself and the rest of the family to maybe forget just how how hard that kick from reality must have been. Both my Auntie and my Uncle live abroad and as a result there is an almost inability to connect with what is happening back home sometimes I think that some members of my family would be worth noting that whilst others have had time to process the news, others have not. Whilst I acknowledge that Granddad's death was certainly not out of the blue or something quick, the luxury almost of being away from constant conversation or updates about his progress or not at the case may be almost lends itself to the fact that they were sheltered almost from the reality until they landed on Thursday Afternoon. 

And so it was with a heavy heart that I gave up my mojito in a nice restaurant and instead opted for a healthy salad whilst everybody else in on Indian or Chinese takeaway. But I missed out on all the drama when I went to collect the food with my other uncle and Mr Warehouse. So the story goes that my father turned up and when he confronted my uncle in the kitchen of my Nanny Pumpkins house it all went to pot and my family started a slanging match. Now don't get me wrong, all families argue, but I just hoped that given the circumstances at the time that things would have been left and not acted upon or challenged at all in one way or another one for each and every one of us were in some sort of shock, upset or grief including hurting and anger. No matter which way you look at it that was not the moment to pick an argument for have a fight. After my father left and my other uncle, Mr Warehouse and I arrived back home with dinner everything was tense. Here's hoping that everything would be OK tomorrow for that was the last thing that we needed another point for argument. 

Waking up on the morning of the funeral with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all. Hiding my head under the covers, Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass. Getting ready and heading down to my grandparents home, it's strangely had an almost wedding day like feel. With everything organised and things in place there was nothing left to do but turn up and hopefully try and enjoy what we could offer day whilst we remembered a great man. Throughout the morning as I helped people get ready and dressed, fed and watered, I can tell that Mr Warehouse was watching to see if and when I would crack. Truth be told I was fine and I had grieved for my grandfather many years ago. In a morbid sort of way I just wanted to get today over and done with so we could all start to move on. 

Arriving outside the church it was getting hotter and hotter. As the sun shone down on us standing there in our black glory I looked over to see my uncle crying which made me feel quite uncomfortable, all in the knowledge that there was simply nothing I could do to make his pain go away or for the feeling to get any better. I looked over to Mr Warehouse and he gave me a sweet smile. Soon it was time to go in and with this I stepped forward after my Grandma and my youngest cousins at just twelve and eight. I walked into the church alone and with nobody by my side. This was not how it was supposed to be. My brother should have been here by my side, and yet after all the trying and attempts made to get him to reply to my messages or even acknowledge what had happened, I walked alone. In away as I saw everybody look in our direction I realised that they were not looking at me or even my Nanna, but at the military draped coffin. I felt the lump in my throat get larger as I watched The Pine coffin being carried along the aisle the brass cross emblazoned on the back of the coffin was all I could focus my attention on and hope that I did not trip in this god awful heels. 

Sitting down on the second row on the right hand side of the church, I familiarise myself with the pictures and images I had seen as a child of Jesus Christ and other holy sentiments. It certainly was a blast from the past as I remember the times from my childhood where things were a lot less stressful and there was a lot less drama. Things were simpler back then but I was also a child and this is what happens when you grow up. People die. After listening to my father's eulogy it made me feel so proud as he stood along his two brothers, telling Granddad's life story and explaining some of the myths and legends that surrounded the man himself. Listening to that piece about my grandfather and looking around at the people that the Sat listening to only made me appreciate him more for everything that he had achieved in life and even opened my eyes to a few things I did not know about him. 

As the service came to a close I stepped out from the church into the bright sparkling sunshine. Seeing some of my mother's side of the family come to pay their respects warmed my heart and made me feel as close to crying as I possibly came throughout the day. Everyone complimented me and my family on how beautiful and personal the service was. But it was not over yet so I had to say my bit too at the crematorium. Bundling back into my Viv, I raced across town in order to try and beat the traffic in order to get to the venue first. I wanted to make sure that I was not going to be late and that I had plenty of time to maybe rehearse or even look over my notes. I could not get this wrong. I had one job and this was it. With my grandfather yet again being carried into the crematorium for the very last time again I walked in alone after my grandmother and cousins. This is not the last few weeks have been leading up to. As I was 'introduced' and took the stand I knew that this was the moment everybody had been waiting for. What was she going to say and was it going to be appropriate?

Song Lyrics? Nah. A Poem? Nope. An extract from a book? No. I have wondered for weeks what would be a good way to start this off but somehow ripping off someone else’s writing, no matter how good it is just simply isn’t my style - Is it granddad?

What do I say? Truth be told, what does anyone say? Sorry just seems a bit bland. Your not sorry. Neither am I. I had some wonderful memories with my grandfather. I don't have anything to be apologetic for yet everything to be grateful, thankful and appreciative of.

   

We had some great memories though didn’t we. Like that time after your eye operation that you had to wear an eye patch. I told everyone at school that your fought off a bear or that you are secretly a pirate. I remember when, after a few weeks of being a one-eyed bandit, Me and Sean thought it would be a good idea to cut out pictures of eyes from the magazines and stick them on your patch. The real fun though came when we figured out that heavily made up ladies eyes were much funnier!

Or how about the time that time when we had a birthday party and I thought it would be really funny to throw marbles out the window with my friends to spook people. The frustrating thing is that it never worked as they would always bounce off your soft grey afro hair!

Do you recall that moment when we were on holiday? The towels we soaked from a day at the beach or the pool and we hung them on the back of the sun-loungers to dry off. But it was all too much for the white plastic frame for when you came along to take a seat the whole thing just gave way leaving you mangled in a heap of plastic and soggy towels.

There was that moment that we went out for dinner at a quiet French village. Dusk settling in and with the hilltop vineyards as our view it was perfect. That was until the young waitress came along with our drinks, tripped, and showered you with a mix of wine and fizzy pop. Oh lord your were so mad, but I think looking back on it the faces you pulled and some of the choice English phrases you told the poor lass only makes for a funnier memoir.

One of my favourite tales, and I am sure that this will become one of yours too when I tell it is the time you visited Uncle Dave and Auntie Bernie at their Irish country cottage. From all accounts Granddad was outside coming in and on a stone floor with crutches and the dogs at his feet it was difficult keeping his balance. I suppose in a way a big slobbery dog is the last thing you want when trying to negotiate your way to the sofa and yet there she was. But before my grandfather knew it the floor seemed to give way under his crutches after placing them on what we thought was doggy dribble. In a spectacular style and yelling to my Nanna all the way he fell over. For years Granddad you thought it was dog slobber you slipped on. I am sorry to tell you that it was not. It was a puddle of wee.  

Over the years as I got older and grew from a sweet child into an independent women we shared in a stories and anecdotes about travelling the world or my sometimes eclectic dating life. I always loved hearing tales of the good old days where my grandparents were young and walking on the moon was a myth thought up by dreamers. I myself hoped that someday I would have something as special as what my grandparents had. A love to surpass all others, born out of a pure organic romance that all started because my Nanny Pumpkin was paid to come on a double date with a friend! What I want to know was how much were you paid, because you had something with granddad that is priceless and eternally lasting. All I can pray for is that one day I can reach your level of marriage where playful bickering and comedic arguments only ended when one of you laughed it off. Or muttered under your breath, which ever the other one couldn’t hear.

But for me personally my fondest memory was the arduous task of him teaching me how to ride a bike. All the cuts and the grazes, all the tears and tantrums. I cant remember how many times I stomped my feet in a grump or walked off in a huff but my goodness there was many. I hated him for it but Granddad would always make sure I came back to my little pink bike with a basket up front, shiny new white tyres and frilly tassels billowing out of the handlebars. He taught me the surest life lesson that would see me through many a problem or difficulty, probably making me the person that I am today. When you fall off your bike you should always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the worse it becomes when you do. And that is what we have to remember here today is that whilst it is hard and horrible to say goodbye, we need to pick ourselves up and get peddling again. For this is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Crime-Scene in My Pants

Evening one and all, 

So after a long and stressful week I was certainly looking forward to the weekend and a much deserved bottle or two. Settling into the drivers seat outside TESCO as I prepared for the journey home, snacking on some ham since I had been hungry since missing my lunch that day. Suddenly walking past the front of my little Viv I noticed my Dad, and, clocking one another I was certainly glad for what ensued. Several hours later we had touched on many a subject including marriage, travelling and home buying, something until only recently I had sought some professional advice about. I think that everything last week had seemed like a challenge and that I wasn't going anywhere and that getting to where I wanted to be, especially on the property ladder, seemed out and out so un-achievable unless I came into a great deal of money or spent the next decade saving. Seeing Dad was lovely and the heart to heart conversations was what I severely missed in my relationship with him. Pop's probably doesn't even realise it but our meeting was really cathartic and meant a great deal to me, even if it was unplanned. 

Seeing Family over the weekend also cheered me up no end, especially my cousins. Aged eleven and twelve, both boys are starting to learn about the world and how it works, and during the course of Saturday I was taught the difference between all the difference levels of Cannabis on the spectrum of hallucinogenics and how these days, schools tend not to bother with the whole banana and condom trick. Oh no! Kids nower days are given full blown Dildo's (And yes my cousin did shout the word dildo several times in the middle of Costa Coffee) and made to put a condom on. The world has come a long way since 2001 I thought. 

Back in the day the lad's and ladies were separated in order to learn about their bodies, but we were never shown or taught what the other had to endure. Ergo, we had the era of the period jokes and a crude fascination with the opposite sex. I would have loved to be a fly on a wall in that room, hearing all about inappropriate boners and what semen contains. I suppose as a boy is may have been equally interesting listening into tits and fannies for half hour every Thursday afternoon. 

In this time frame all the girls were handed a booklet about our body and how it changes in preparation for periods and the eventuality of childbirth. This was my actual nightmare beginning. I hated,  and still do, talking about periods openly. It is something private and whilst every women aged fifteen to fifty does it I still feel a twinge of cringe when I open up about bleeding 'downstairs'. I don't laugh and period puns and can hardly stand it buying tampons or pads, forcing them through the self-scan at TESCO like some strange lady with a weird body function to hide. Its embarrassing - Both being so ashamed of it and actually having to put up with altering your life for however many days in the month. I am lucky in a way that I never suffered at the hands of cramping or major mood swings like some of my friends in the playground, however I think every girl will admit to remembering those dark days when you didn't know how to manage it. Spills, accidents and leaks were something I loathed but in a way I was grateful because it meant that someday I could have my own children and in  way I have now come to accept that it is something natural and normal. 

I will still try to hide away when someone reminds me of that scene in a Rom-Com somewhere, I think its called 'No Strings Attached' (which is ironically funny when I tell you where this is going). Ashton Kutcher (love of my life) makes a period mix-tape and brings round cupcakes for all his Bae's friends, including one friend who describes her period as "A Crime-Scene in My Pants". On this mix-tape including old favourites such as Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis, Red Red Wine by UB40 and The Tide Is High by Atomic Kitten (or Blondie, if your so inclined). As cringe as that was it does go on and the full track listing can be found online. Cute, cringe and bile-inducing all at the same time is hard, but somehow Ashton nails it ... And me if he is in Bedford any time soon!

Back in the classroom the time soon comes when both the classes were combined, adding to the social awkwardness, both for students and teachers alike. Settling an unruly class is one thing, but trying in-vain to teach them about the birds and the bees was another, and so most teachers at my small town Middle School chose to simple put in a VHS they had recorded from a teachers Satellite channel in the late, late hours (Yes I did just say VHS). 

But I must confess that in the whole history of me being in school, both middle and high, the majority if not all of the things I learnt and picked up weren't from phallic shaped fruits or dodgy home-recorded videos, It was from friends (Miss Tweedle-Dee deserves a shut out here as my main provider of such material and knowledge), late night babe channels and sadly porn. I think that teaching kids younger about what is right and wrong in relationships is and can only be a good thing. Starting them off young, telling them about the Pant Rule and showing them about how good relationships work is crucial in bringing down the number of Rapes, teen and unwanted pregnancies as well as STI's and non-abusive relationships. It can only get better and as on the continent shows that good things come from starting them off early with preventative education and serious chats about well-being. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Another Week, Another Christmas Party ...

Hello, 

Saturday night I rolled up late (as usual) to my new work's Christmas do, dressed to the nines and looking hopefully like a sparkly black and red Christmas cracker. Don't worry I was actually invited to this one. Eating my meal and mingling I wondered how it compared to the last Christmas party I attended less than a week earlier. But that was an unfair comparison. I had only been in my new role a few weeks really and knew few by name let alone face yet. And whilst I had a wonderful time I couldnt help think that next year will be better once I have established myself in the group of colleagues I have now and learn my place. I am loud and brash and sometimes can be quite drunk so will need to learn how best to mold myself to this new environment of sophisticated and seriously adulting individuals. I have come to realise that most of my work colleagues that are the same age as me are very grown up and have their shit seriously together - Buying houses, travelling and getting married and here I have a fucking FOMO when I can't get my eyeliner "on fleek" in the morning. I think if my new colleagues and job have an any influential change on me in the past few weeks it will have taught me that now it the time to hand back the bottle of Vodka, hang up the heels and become someone a little less full on. The new year will hopefully bring about some changes and see me starting to act my age and not the Gin-Princess I was last weekend. OK well the thought was there at least ...

But as the hours melt away and the big day fast approaches I am getting increasingly more excited about Christmas. And just when I thought I had peeked too early by singing Christmas songs before I turned twenty-five. Suffice to say that even before people started asking the questions of  "Are you ready for it?" and "Have you finished the shopping yet?" both Mr. Warehouse and I were more than ready, even as far to say that for both of us and our extended list of loved ones to buy for, we were done before we went to York in mid-November. I think I like it that way. I can get a feel for what I want to buy people towards the end of summer, and after my birthday is over and done with (not that it should sound like such a chore of course) I start buying the items that have been sat in my online baskets. 

Now I'll admit it that this year, I have spent less but have bought from many, many different retailers I would have never thought about going to before I had Vivienne (my car). I have been to Hobby Craft, The Works, Tesco and Argos all in the hope that what was in my bags from the high street and arriving in the post from Amazon were going to be something they loved. I am glad of the presents I have picked up for friends and family as whilst they are well thought out, creative and something they will enjoy, they are also well priced and if anything a bargain. And all because I plan in advance. 

My best advice to people is that funnily enough, Christmas is on the twenty-fifth of December next year. And it may sound crazy but its the same the following year, and the year after that and the year after that. It shouldn't be a big surprise that as soon as the leaves start turning brown you panic buy socks and Milk Trays in bulk. Plan ahead. Hit the sales in January and pick up the knock off Christmas Deck's, baubles and lights. Find the wrapping paper you loved and the cards that made you chuckle all at rock bottom prices. Become a chipmunk and squirrel stuff away in a Christmas box. Presents, gift wrap, and ornaments. Everything either you or someone else would want that year. Our Harry Potter AKA the cupboard under the stairs is a great place to start and hosting a boot sale to clear out the crap is the best way forward. Out with the old crap and in with the new crap. That's what Mr. Warehouse says. 

But as it gets closer to the end of summer, start thinking about people and their personalities and what they would want but don't they want. I have a spreadsheet and honestly I live my life on it. Colour-coded, key-enabled organised chaos is how I manage everything and most of all Christmas. I keep track of what I have bought people for Christmas the past two years, so as not to buy them the same wonderful gift again and work out financially what I have and what I can get for it. Its all about knowing the value not only of stuff generally and where to buy it cheap, but also that you have to work with what you've got. Everyone would love to give their husband, wife, mom, dad, nan, best friend or dog an eight-bedroom yacht called "Rosie" with enough petrol (or whatever boats drink) in it to head off to the Bahamas for a turkey dinner on the beach. But reality is we all have budgets for a paper boat made out of yesterdays Daily Star. 

Whatever your budgets though and whatever you have brought people this year, as well as whatever you have got for yourself; Just remember where you are. You are protected by four walls and a roof, in a warm home, surrounded by people who love you (probably), eating and drinking and being merry. Some people across the world don't have any of that. Some people that are right in your town, maybe even only a few moments from where you are now that have nothing. Just remember that you are extremely luck and all of us should remember that its about being grateful and thankful for what we all have and not being consumed by the consumerism and gumpf that Christmas pretends to be about. Christmas is family and love and warmth. So spend it with your loved ones and have a very Merry Christmas. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Battle of the Vom!

Evening All,

So after last week's dreamy slumber, I am most definitely back in the reality of Blighty. I would say I am enjoying life as I know it but with the last couple of weekends being spent puking and poorly inside the flat, I haven't had much opportunity to venture outside and explore apart from my morning commute. 

It all started last Saturday when I went out for a lovely brunch with my Auntie and Grandma from my Mother's side. With my pre-teen cousin in toe I soon felt a whole lot older as he started to "Dab" his way through his iPod in the middle of Sainsburys. Nevertheless getting home afterwards I made myself some lunch and, with Mr. Warehouse away with Mr. CWG at a gamers convention in Birmingham, I looked forward to an afternoon of catching up on shite TV. Crunching down my Tivo Box I suddenly started to feel a pain in my stomach. It was almost how I would imagine a stomach cramp or period pain to be, but as the afternoon continued and the evening set in it got worse. By the time Mr. Warehouse had arrived home I was bent over, crippled with the pain in my abdomen. Taking a couple of paracetamol I curled up on the couch and watched some Saturday night telly, but after being violently sick numerous times, I finally fell asleep on my boyfriends lap before being carried to bed. 

Waking a few times throughout the night to be sick again I was still exhausted when the sun broke through our window. Although feeling much better I put it down to maybe eating some dodgey chicken, out of date milk or just a twenty-four hour bug. Feeling much better I thought nothing of it and continued to work the following day. With the working week dragging by in a haze of things to do, office gossip and chitter-chatter we were all finally at Friday. And up until then I was looking forward to the weekend. Mr. Warehouse's brother was taking his fiance out for a birthday meal and wanted us to look after the kids; a six-year-old, four-year-old and a four-month-old baby. We had happily obliged (There was a takeaway in it for Mr. Warehouse and I ... We're not stupid haha) and I was actually looking forward to a weekend playing Momma's and Dadda's. I had already started to carve out my leading role as bad cop and designated an area for naughty little ones, whereas Mr. Warehouse had firmly got into his role by supplying our cupboards with chocolate and sweeties! 

But after I returned from lunch on Friday afternoon I felt an all too familiar twinge in my stomach again. The cramping had started again. Looking at the clock and seeing it was gone half-one in the afternoon I considered my options. "There is only a couple of hours left in the working day, just make it to four-thirty and then you go straight to the doctors, you hear me!" I told myself, egging me on. It didn't work. Within a few hours I was falling apart. I had been sick in the toilets, multiple times. So much so there was now nothing left to come up, resulting in a lurid yellow bile consisting of stomach acid and not much more. As I returned to my desk, mascara awry and nice 'Friday' hair now in a messy bun I didn't need my work colleagues to tell me I looked rough. I felt it. Finding my manager downstairs I ushered him over and explained I had to go home after being sick. I didn't want anyone else to get it if it was serious and in all fairness, I knew I couldn't answer the phone and vom at the same time. 

Calling a cab and waiting the half-hour or so for it to arrive was excruciating. It seemed like every time I wretched it made it worse, adding to the already tight and tense muscles in my abdomen. I felt as if I was giving myself a six pack, which of course would be very difficult since I was a size 18/20. Getting into the cab I closed my eyes hoping that the journey would be swift. It was not. "This is certainly not the fucking time Taxi-Cab Man to be giving me a sceneic tour of the Bedfordshire countryside surrounding Kempston and Bromham!" I thought to myself as I opened my eyes for a second to make sure the cup I had "borrowed" from the canteen was in place for any "spills". Concerned, the Taxi-Cab driver asked if I was OK but with all patience lost I exclaimed, louder than I probably needed to:
"I would be if I wasn't throwing up into a cup in the back of an already late taxi en route to the Doctors because I think, I have come down with an fatal case of Gastroenteritis! Now unless you want this stomach smoothie all over your seats I suggest you put your foot down!"

Arriving at the doctors, barely able to walk without puking I fell into the arms of my awaiting boyfriend. Staggering to the front desk I checked myself in a I think I must have fallen asleep on Mr. Warehouse as it seemed very quick I was seen. Into the doctors office-room-place I sat, still with half of a boots counter running off my chin, my hair in a Mrs. Trunchbull bun and sick probably down myself I was certainly far from last weeks "Girl I would want to marry" I thought. Examining me from top to tootsies the brilliant lady nurse diagnosed me with having a viral infection and because I studied in my Science and History of Medicine classes I knew that the only way I would be getting better would be rest, pain relief and sleep. I had probably just had a second bout of it after Saturday since my immune system was low and had been attacked once more. Leaving the surgery, I was given a bedpan-thing to be sick into and a box of tissues. Boarding the bus I must have looked a fucking state. So I chose to sit next to the prettiest girl and make myself look a little better, all whilst trying to infect someone skinnier than me. Bitch!

Getting home I was hoofed into bed by my dear Mr. Warehouse and told to sleep. But after periodic snoozes, retching and violent vomiting fits, I couldn't wait until morning broke and I could shake this all off. Waking the following morning on Saturday with very little sleep behind me and a bucket of proof at the edge of the bed I tried to carry on as normal, nibbling at things and drinking plenty. I snoozed most of the day and felt much better by late-afternoon. I didn't want to let down Mr. Warehouse's brother and the children as they were looking forward to coming over to see their Uncles house as much as we were looking forward to hosting them, so I kept quiet about my episodes the evening before. But, spending the night curled up on the sofa, Kiddies half asleep and baby napping too, it was the perfect evening and much better than what I was anticipating. Bad cop didn't even have to rear its head. Well, at least until the children went home! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

And the Award for the Most Productive Weekend with A Hangover Goes to ...

Top of the marning all, 

Pheew! And party the weekend away I did! But strangely I have had a very productive weekend also. You see it all started on Thursday when, after work I headed into Town on my way home from work, stressful and as tiring as it always is, and went to get my nails done. Nearly an hour later, glossy glittery nails had befallen my finger tips and as I booked in my next appointment in February I knew that by then I would be very excited indeed at the prospect of being pampered once again! Trenching out into the blustery cold, wind and rain of a December night I picked up a few accessories from New Look and headed back home to Mr. Warehouse with Fish and Chips in toe to loosen the mood he was in after I had been shopping for several hours! Snuggling down in front of the Telly we leisurely wasted the next few hours on crap TV and takeaway before heading to bed for what I can only describe as some very heated moments between the sheets. 

Friday morning I awoke and with my day off commencing with me lazy on the sofa in the lounge whilst Mr. Warehouse slept in I lost track of the time and rushed around to get ready for our day of relaxation and pampering before the moon rose and the stars came out to play. First on the agenda was a Full Body Massage booked in for myself and Mr. Warehouse. Now my dear Mr. Warehouse had never had a massage before (Well apart from that one time ... Anyway) and so as a anniversary treat I had booked him in with my Bi-Monthly rub-down. In preparation for the nights antics to follow I thought it would be a good idea, although now Mr. Warehouse does not think so much. A few 'Ohhs', 'Owws' and knots later finally we were freed and allowed to get dressed and discuss the treatments on a whole which for me was relaxing, but not with the other half in the room. Hmm, Honeymoon bliss by the beach, I think not. Next time I am advising myself to spa and Massage alone. 

After we hit some shops for some last minute gifts we headed to a local 'posh' hotel for some Festive Afternoon Tea. Service as before was not the greatest and despite my desperate attempts to make it right in my head and justify the lack of staffing errors I couldn't help but succumb to the fact that it was simply a beautifully looking five-star appearing hotel, running a two-star service. 

Dashing back home in enough time I managed (Somehow) to get ready in less than two-hours and was ready, waiting for the cab to collect us at seven-thirty. After a few moments my phone rang and after several minutes of explaining to the cab driver that he was at the wrong address - Twice?! - He finally turned up, albeit nearly twenty-minutes late. Arriving at the venue Mr. Warehouse and I skipped inside out of the cold chill of the night. But as we walked in I saw no faces I knew. Other works Christmas parties were already settled down and in there seats but my friendly work family were no-where to be seen. 
"Maybe they're in the Bar next door" Mr. Warehouse ushered as we headed for the toilets. But as Mr. Warehouse sped into the gents I was greeted with a big hello from everyone as they came through from the Bar to the Restaurant areas. Kissing and hugging everyone as they walked passed in a possession line of familiar work colleagues I felt as though I was at a very fast paced wedding, greeting guests on their arrival. 

Soon Mr. Warehouse was by my side and I was thoughtful that a year ago I graced this same wood floor only to have known Mr. Warehouse for a few short months and been dating him for less than that. Now a year on, I sat across from him with all our friends, and some of them Mr. Warehouse's family, enjoying a pretend Christmas Dinner and pulling crackers with people we spoke to most days. I was in my element and enjoying every moment of it. After the meal was finished I took the opportunity to get up and mingle. Quite frankly I was sick and tired of being stuck in a limbo between to ends of a conversation and with no way of getting out due to seating arrangements placing my by a damn door. Nevertheless I saw my moment when a lady next to me went to the bathroom and I bolted to the nearest table I saw Champagne. Turned out to be my boss and Sales Reps table in which they were all highly invested in a conversation about Christmas Dinner, that was until little old me and my low cut dress came along and wet more than just their appetite for a over-elaborate Sunday Roast. 

As usual the evening ensued with my Sales Reps glancing more than necessary at my open chest, a few sexist and sexual remarks from engineers and a whole host of people taking the royal piss out of the money allocated for everyone behind the bar. Four-Hundred-Pounds spanked on booze for admittedly everyone, but some got more than others which frankly I thought was wrong and next year I plan at least to take more advantage of it than my measly two-ciders and a glass of Prosecco. 

Ordering cabs and heading into town I had the most hilariously awkward and sexual conversation with my two Sales Reps and Mr. Warehouse I have ever experienced and something that whilst at the time seemed funny, now just fills me with anxiety and absolute embarrassment, although is still as I look back on it, very funny. It started out with me running to the Cab with Mr. Warehouse and my two sales reps behind me and I simply asked Mr. Warehouse if he had picked up my heels to which he said he had. The following Taxi journey I spent apologising to the poor Cabbie and explaining to everyone, including the driver that "Yes, sometimes a women must ditch all attempts at gardening and simply patio over the luscious foliage to keep one's downstairs in tacked."

More hilarious moment soon caught up as we headed to a local Nightclub in town and spent most the evening on the dance floor. Even my Big-Big Boss was seen throwing some odd shapes to songs which included the 'N' word too much for my liking. But I soon saw that Mr. Warehouse was not up for dancing all night and to be honest it got kind of same-y and boring. So at ten-past-three on Saturday morning we called it a night, collected my shoes and bag from the cloakroom and headed home, but not before a stop off at Subway to pick up Breakfast and what turned out to be lunch the next day. All in all the Annual Works Office Christmas Party wasn't, in my mind, as good as last year but I suppose the nostalgia of it being my first year with the company, having so much to drink I was plastered by the time the starters came out and being around everyone I loved and cared so much for I don't know now if any year can top that one!? We'll have to wait and see though. 

Saturday itself was a very lazy day as I myself was the one who lied-in until gone midday, only to get up and move to the sofa-bed, already pulled out and occupied by that lovely Mr. Warehouse. Sunday was more productive though and after heading to town for a few super last minute bits, Mr. Warehouse and I spent the next seven hours straight wrapping Christmas Presents. I think I am an athlete at this now. I declare it as a sport of choice for the holiday season and as such I would like to crown myself queen of Sellotape and matching tags to paper with my specialist subject being the difficult wrappers! I did it. We did it! Only to realise moment later than in just a few days, under a week now, that wrapping paper and all my hard work with twirling, swirling, wrapping, sticking, popping and bow making will have all been a waste. Ahhh, what a way to spend the weekend, Eh?

So I suppose I won't speak to you now until the big man has come down my chimney and emptied his sack all over my Daddy's front room (No pun intended - Honest!). And to think that next time I write it may be of getting a Puppy or a Car or maybe even something better!? 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx