My Adopted Family

Hello All, 

So praise Jesus and hallelujah! Finally the heat wave in Britain has come to an end. Now don't get me wrong I enjoy the warmer weather however, when Bedford was becoming more like the Bahamas it was certainly time to call it a day and welcome in the storms to clear away the heat and humidity that had surrounded me for what felt like ages. With the weather inside my office comparing to my grandma's fridge freezer what's the weather outside continue to blister on I was more than happy when the two polar opposites (excuse the pun) we're even out slightly by the fact that the outside temperature has dropped a few degrees. Us Brits 'eh we are always talking about the weather, and I suppose it could not have come at a better time as this weekend not just Glastonbury (no I did not have a ticket and yes it is a sore subject) but also the weekend that Mr. warehouses family all rally round and celebrate the matriarch of the family who passed away a few years ago in the year that Mr Warehouse and I met. 

Granddad Next always seem to be the life and soul of every family event and whilst they are not all as great and wonderful as births, christenings and parties he was a corner pin for the family in time's of need during grief or pain. The Kingpin had married young as many of his generation did and was seemingly in a happy marriage until his wife passed away. The father of five children who went on to have many, many grandchildren never remarried and instead focus on things that you enjoyed in life such as pool, darts and family life. Growing up, Mr Warehouse would tell me the stories of how his granddad taught him how to win on the pool table, strike a bulls-eye and even a few naughty tricks on how to play Dirty! Living out the rest of his days in the local pub and Social Club in the village he would challenge his opponents guy yelling "NEXT" at the top of his little lungs, smiling as he welcomed another soul to try and beat him. With his children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren scattered all over the country from as far down as Cornwall and right up into the Scottish highlands there was always plenty of people to pop in and say hello. But once he had enough of you you should tell me about it as the radio would come on a Classic FM would blare out, Opera signifying that you have now outstayed your welcome. 

Sadly though the inevitable happened and a few years ago Granddad Next passed away, surrounded by those he loved and cared for. The following year, on the anniversary of his death, The family came together once more to celebrate his life in a special way he would have been ever so proud of. And so it brings us to present day where Mr. Warehouse and I attend with all the other family members including the Cornwall-lot and Cambridge-lot to play a 'friendly' game of Pool and Darts. I always preferred the phrase Billiards to Pool, but I was swiftly told on my first introduction to such a memorial tournament that Billiards was far too posh. 

Every year now there is a running theme; new babies to introduce, little children growing-up faster, new jobs, new travels, new faces and the forever questions on when Mr. Warehouse is going to make an honest women of me. Probably didn't help that I was wearing a full-length white Maxi-dress from Boohoo.com.  I look forward to the days where mine and Mr. Warehouse's children can mingle with their cousins and second cousins from faraway land such as Newquay and Huntingdon, playing in the sunshine as we have done in the year before. In fact it is not all that hard to see myself in this family for a long, long time. So many faces that are happy to see me as am I to see them, some of them even old work mates from where Mr. Warehouse and I first met. 

Mind you, I did make my welcoming into the family much easier me thinks with my own tradition, I hope anyway, and that is to make the cake. The first year I think it was something plain, or maybe I was so anxious I made nothing at all, however that does not sound much like me turning up to a event with nothing in my arms. Last year it was a Pool Table complete with balls, cue and plaque reading "NEXT" accompanied by dartboard cupcakes. This year I wanted to blow them away yet again with a creation of soft cupcake, creamy frosting and to top, a picture of our wonderful Granddad Next. But the question is what will be next? 2018's cake is already being manufactured and created in my head, I'm thinking bigger, better and more amazing than anyone can think of. I have some ideas but shall keep them secret and nurture them into next years hacking phase where I shall birth a sugary, cakey goodness. Due Date: Late June 2018!

Who could have predicted the legacy that this little old man would radiate, casting a spell over his generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. A true gentleman and someone I think Mr. Warehouse looks up to even to this day. He always talks about his grandfather so fondly and I hope that one day if I can be even half the pillar of the family as much as he was then I know I have done a good job. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

All Ma' Girls!

Hello Dears!

So with less than a week to go I am super excited about my holiday with Mr. Warehouse to Dublin and Southern Ireland to see the family. But this weekend I spent some Q.T with the Tweedles, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in a mammoth sleepover-weekender. 

Friday I had decided to take a half day as not only did I not fancy spending more than two-hours getting to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's house in the darkness after work, but I also wanted to try and catch up with some family members after Christmas and New Years. Settling down in a local cafe for Afternoon High Tea with my Nanny Pumpkin I soon forgot the stresses of work and the mountain of paperwork I had to do come Monday (AKA this) morning. I had barely sank into the comfy, leather tub-chairs before Nanny Pumpkin unleashed all her worldly gossip to me, nattering away and chatting like we always do about work, life and a little bitching here and there for good measure. A slice of coffee cake and mug of caramel latte soon disappeared as did the time, and eventually we left, thankfully my little Nanny Pumpkin gave me a cheeky lift back home to Dunstable/Houghton Regis to see some other family members where again we chatted for a good few hours, consuming more tea and putting the world to right. 

My afternoon with the elderly relatives in my family really put it into perspective that I have come along way since those dark days of my teenage years, just after being chucked out by my pathetic excuse for a mother. Looking through photos of me as a baby I wondered to myself what life will look like with my own children in it, a nice Silver-Cross parked outside the cafe, or breastfeeding whilst having a chit-chat with me Nan in her rocking chair. I hoped and wished that one day I will have children and they could meet these wonderful older ladies in my life, for they are genuinely the ones that have made me who I am today and will encourage me I know to be a better person tomorrow. Their influences already and what is to come from them will help me become the mother I want to be and makes me less scared of the crappy example I had. And it seems as though now the dust has finally settled, both sides of my family have accepted me to be a honest, true and well-turned-out individual in my very own right. 

Drizzling with rain I walked the five-minute walk to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's house and was greeted by the over-sized family hound and my bestie waiting with what can only be described as the best welcome to a sleepover I have ever had ... Gooey Baked Camembert and red onion chutney with lightly toasted French baguette. Mmmm, Yummy! Settling in for the night we indulged in a horror flick (something I will miss once Mr. Warehouse moves in since he is such a pussy when it comes to scary things) and ended the night all curled up in Miss Tweedle-Dumb's parent's Queen-sized-bed. 

Saturday brought a new sense of excitement as we were all heading off for a shopping trip, something we had not done in absolutely ages, and whilst it was to the posh, commuter town of St. Albans, I most certainly spent more money on stuff that quite frankly, I am sure my bank balance will suffer for later. Who needs a concrete Ampersand anyway? No-one. But it looks good in my flat and was only three-quid so it has been fully justified. Some Cookie-Dough lube, Yankee Candles, toning weights (because I realised that I have enough bingo wing to fly both me and Mr. Warehouse to Dublin and back twice over without having to pay for the Ryan Air privilege) and some other home improvements were also in my bags Saturday and although there was nothing in there that I essentially necessary, it is all very much needed in my life now. Lying in bed that evening, Miss Tweedle-Dee on my left, Miss Tweedle-Dumb on my right, I knew I was thoroughly happy with all my purchases and was somewhat sad that I had to go home after such a wonderful weekend. However when Mr. Warehouse messaged me Sunday morning with the promise of cocktails whilst he watched the Game on TV in the local pub in Bedford I was more than happy to oblige and head home. 

On the train journey back I was also made aware that there were now even less sleeps to go until I get to eat out every night and wear nice clothes that aren't office appropriate! So hurry up Dublin - I wanna get my Ta-Ta's out! 

'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

Material Girl

Hi everyone, 

So last week we heard some extracts from my Diary as a Teenager, something I like to think of as the beginnings of my writing career, if you can even call it that. I have decided that on the odd occasion I am going to share some more of my prepubescent ideas and philosophies with you all as I think that they are both hilarious and ridiculous. Let me know if you would like to hear more from Little 'Baby Moi'!

So this week I had a old friend from college write to me about some issues he was having with his group of lads and how whilst he knew in himself he was being silly and jealous of the situation he found himself in he still couldn't shake these feelings of insecurity and anxiety surrounding him and the circle of friends he was in. Honoured that he thought of coming to me I tried to comfort him in a way that would make sense of the situation and allow him to come to his own determinations on what to do. But this got me thinking about jealousy and insecurity with myself. 

Now its a rare thing (Some would say even more rare than rocking-horse shit) that I am one of those girls that is always whining about being too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. I am in most respects happy with my body but there are many hundreds upon thousands of things that people get jealous and anxious over. For example; I am at one with my body and love it for all the amazing things it helps me to do everyday even though I despise its wobbles every time I step into the changing rooms of the local High Street Stores. The fact I am far from the size I was in High School makes me doubt in myself sometimes, making me a timid, quiet mouse from my usual grand, Lioness self. With body anxiety and problems surrounding appearances and aesthetics comes the feelings of low self esteem and the desperate longing for something that is in many cases unobtainable immediately. A full bust, tiny waist and curvy silhouette is what every girl wants and whilst some have it, others don't and to get something even close to what is deemed perfect by most peoples eyes is either with a knife, drugs or with a whole heap of hard work, many of us choosing the first options over sweating like a pig at the gym. 

For some people however it is about the material things in life rather than a cracking body, shiny hair or flawless skin. Money talks but so do people and the more money, power or fame someone has the more other people envy them. I can also be very materialistic and whilst I think that this has improved a lot since I was younger I know it is still a mammoth part of who I am. I know that in many ways the lifestyle I want for my future will never be something I can realistically achieve alone. I will need a hard working partner in crime with a good job and and a salary to match. As for myself I want to be a high earner. I want to afford my children a holiday every year to somewhere exciting. I want them aged twelve or thirteen to be enrolled in one of the best private schools that the local areas has to provide and to come home to a wonderfully decorated and well-maintained home, complete with all mod-cons. I want a nice shiny car and Christmases to be filled with presents, family and laughter. But I know in some respects that mine and my husbands combined income would have to be in the region of £50,000.00 per year. 

I know in myself feel that, as with the last section and the one before that, I can be arrogant, selfish and egotistical one moment and the next being completely insecure in my body and how I look. Same being with finances, money and material items, I can be wanting of a long list of lustful items, not realising how lucky I am to have what I already possess. 

But it should never really matter about these thing should they? We all should be so very grateful for what we have, besides whilst there are some people above us on the food chain that have much, much more that you or I, there are also some people that have nothing at all. And as I close off this week I leave with you a thought that here in Bedfordshire, the lush and somewhat affluent areas of the Home Counties, as it rains intermittently, there are still people with no home to go to. No family or friends to confide in or seek advice. No food to settle their growling bellies. No money to buy new shoes. Nothing. We all should be thankful for what we have. You never know how close you are from slipping down that life ladder ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Baby Brain!

Hallo there!

I hope this week finds you all in good health and enjoying the British weather we are having at the moment, unless you are in the Bahamas and reading along or somewhere else hot and sunny to which I congratulate you on your choice of weather and hope someone brings you a cocktail soon. 

This week I am feeling much better than I have been with a mixture of Hayfever, a hectic workload and not much sleep resulting in me feeling grumpy of late. However this weekend, spending it with friends, family and good food, all in the sunshine washing it down with copious amounts of Blossom Hill has obviously had a positive impact on me. Something else that has had an impact on me, and possibly put me in a favouring mood is children. To be more specific I should explain before someone starts throwing pregnancy tests at me! No I am not pregnant, or at least I think I am not anyway, but at Sunday's BBQ with Mr. Warehouse and his large family clan I felt more than ever that time was a-ticking and that my womb should probably be put up for rent in the next few years. 

I am almost positive that every girl my age has this problem though. There we are in the prime of our life, beautiful and as wonderful as we probably ever will feel. But at the back of our minds we know that there is only a limited amount of time that we have to procreate in. The hurry to get a career, find a man, settle down and start churning out sproglett's is immense and so is the pressure. Careers are limited now, and dating opportunities once college and university is over and done with are relatively slim unless you brave the dark depths of Internet dating. Forgive me for thinking so, but life seemed so much easier for our grandparents. I mean, you were cooped up in education until you were sixteen or so, then you found a nice job working in an office as a typist. Soon a young man would see you about town and ask you on a date. You would go jiving in a 1950's dance-hall and end up courting until your father was approached for your hand in marriage. Before you know it your 2.5 kids a dog and are looking like something out of a Betty Crocker cook book - Or at least in my head I am! Now I am sure that isn't perfect for everyone but for me it would and I am slightly disappointed in the fact I never made it to Uni and therefore maybe never met my future husband?

All of that aside however, if you had asked me a year ago, or even six-months ago, what my opinion of children, especially babies, was I would freeze with fear. Scared by snotty noses, nervous of nappies and wary of whimpers I had successfully avoided all contact with small humans for many years, even my own little cousins. However, over the past few months since Mr. Warehouse and I have been together I have felt increasingly more comfortable around children and babies, although granted I wouldn't know how to look after one on my own. I somewhat cockily think that I will just pick it up. Can't be that hard surely?! There just little people. "Who depend on you for everything" my inside voices say menacingly. And then it dawns on me how horrible that feeling must be. You can't have a lie-in. You can't just hit the town for a girls night out. You can't just make a quick detour after work to Debenhams just because you want to have a look for a nice pair of heels - Hell you can't even wear heels now your a mom! Leggings and flat footwear only for the school run and even then that's only after you have made several packed lunches and have prevented world war three from happening over Cornflakes or Coco Pops. 

I know that I am only twenty-three but I am well aware that I am not in a stable enough relationship or even financially strong enough for a child right now, let alone my living arrangements and lifestyle. People, and possibly more-so girls always question I find about "What would happen if I found out I was pregnant right now?" and I honestly think my answer is simple. I just don't know. Maybe before I would have said I would choose adoption or in some certain cases abortion, but maybe now my mind would change right now with my life as it is - A stable stead job, a good and loving boyfriend and a place of my own. Albeit it would be very far from perfect and the life I have wanted for myself from such a young age I think I would still learn to manage. After all, that is my job. 

I would definitely have to move somewhere bigger, leaving behind my pent house apartment with its sloped-ceiling, and cosy feel. Instead trading it in for somewhere more practical and with less stairs. I would at some stage have to think about giving up work to take maternity leave to live a life at home juggling Cbeebies, pots of 'HiPP' and a never ending rota of washing, instead of engineers and job paperwork. During pregnancy I would have to give up all the good things like wine, eggs Benedict and smoked salmon. I would have to sleep on my back and not my tummy as I usually do and would end up waddling more than a duck with a chaffing problem. All of this coupled with the lack of freedom, sleep and constant anxiety - Yes, I don't think I would enjoy motherhood as a twenty-something with her life full steam ahead. I would want to do it the proper way; Travel a bit, get a good job, nice place to live, meet someone and fall in love, move in, get married, and then start a little clan of my own. 

All that said though I kind of like the idea of being someone's sole provider. Their playmate, their comforter, their mother. I would be the kind of parent that would let them stay up and watch horror films (but only after I had watched them first to make sure they're not too scary). I would be the kind of mom that would rustle up some freshly baked goods when a broken heart is in need of mending. I would like to think that I would be that "hawt" soccer Moom that has all the kids round and secretly shares out some vodka between them all , in moderation of course. Hmm, yes. I think that motherhood would suit me in a way but there is a lot to do before we get there. Besides, a white picket fence and a four-bed detached isn't going to fund itself you know. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Shitty Stick!

Afternoon All, 

So after last weeks slight rant over religion and the tales of God and his holy tales of Easter, this week has been slightly more back to norm. Settling fully back into work and life after returning from Las Vegas and the Easter break I decided to get back in contact with some old Pals from my crazy days as a student in college. 

Dropping a few texts, a couple of WhatsApp messages and a few short hours later I was not only on time, but early to meet my dear friend Miss Chocolate. As I sipped on a Martini Espresso topped with some sort of creamy loveliness I noted all my office and life stresses melting away, thinking about how much my friend had changed in the months that we had not spoken. 

Flicking through a magazine, noting all the different trends for Spring/Summer'15 and wondering where I shall be holidaying this year I was tapped on the shoulder by a familiar face, that of Miss Chocolate's. Miss Tatt's was meant to be joining us but I think had to work late so send her best wishes and recommended the menu. As we were seated for our table at TGI Friday's we both couldn't contain our excitement, twittering on about life as we both knew it and of all the things that had happened over the past year or so. First of all there was the explanation about how fabulous Vegas was and secondly was the long, interesting and the somewhat repeated tale of my latest boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse. 

You see it's not that I don't like telling people how Mr. Warehouse and I met, I do (Besides "met at work" sounds a lot better than "met on Tinder") its just sometimes I wonder, and I am sure that Miss Chocolate and the Tweedles will vouch for me when I say this - I have never really been single. Not properly anyhow. All I seem to do is skip from one relationship to another. I mean it went from being in school where I had nobody interested in dating me to suddenly not being able to shake them off. It all started with the lovely and sweet Mr. Ginge in Sixth Form. Within a year, then along came along the heartbreakingly perfect Mr. Workaholic. After a couple of months it was the intermediate episode with Mr. Coffee. Six-months later, along came the tragically lost Mr. Cheese and exactly forty-eight hours after ending things with Mr. Cheese I finally came up to speed with the wonderfully simple Mr. Warehouse. Yes, I can safely say I don't think I have been single for more than a few months. What can I say, beating them off with a shitty stick! I think I am very bi-polar in my relationships with men and how I acted at school has pretty much replicated itself in life as a fully fledged adult, falling in love easily and getting my heart broken even easier. 

But as I sat talking away to Miss Chocolate about my new-ish addition to my life as a twenty-something I watched as she tried to twist the story making smiles and asking questions about whether he is the one or not? Babies? Or not? Four-bed detached house in Surrey somewhere with white picket fencing, a red Volvo and a Labrador called Fifi? Or not? this round of question and answer always is the same from Miss Chocolate, maybe because she knows how important it is, or maybe because she has not had a one-hundred-percent definitive answer from me since 2010 when she asked me the same interview-esk questions about Mr. Workaholic. My reaction however is always the same since then too. I have never been true to myself in saying that this probably wont work out. There is always a maybe or a hopefully. Never a certified "Yes". 

I think that Miss Chocolate is much like me, in anticipation for the day again where we will both have that conversation and once more I will be safe in the knowledge that there is a good chance my current boyfriend is going to be my husband. Maybe my search stops with Mr. Warehouse, or maybe it carries on and he becomes another Mister in a long parade of failed relationships. Who knows?

As our conversation progressed we chatted about work, friends, family, college days and future crazy nights out to come. And as I boarded the night bus back home I hoped that the night out we had planned for a few weeks time would come about as I was, and still am in a severe need for a good old messy night out with some banging banter, popping tunes and a dance-floor that has been freshly polished. Oh and a pole - Always need a pole!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fiery Frumps, Fabulous Furs and Festivities Galore!

Evening All, 

And a very Happy New Year to everyone. Hope 2015 has been treating you well and that you are all now mid-binge, scoffing chocolate and downing wine from all your Christmas/New Years Resolution-Detox. I love a good binge! But alas I have set myself some New Years Resolutions for myself for the coming year. Loosing weight never works and actually I think I am happy being a wobbly but normal looking lady. I am in no need to slim down because the man I am with finds me sexy just as I am. What a darling?! I am however cutting down on take-out and am sticking to once or twice a month at most. Secondly I plan to improve my time-keeping and not be late which will no end make my nearest and dearest happy, especially long suffering BFF's - Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Other than that though I have not much planned although I would like to travel more and maybe even learn to drive? No doubt I shall keep you informed on my going-on's as today I celebrate over two-years of writing for you all. 

One thing that New Years also does is encourage people to get out there and drink to oblivion, partying into the wee small hours and kissing strangers at the stroke of Midnight. No this is not Cinderella, it is I ... Abbey-Lou. Despite being quite pissed by the time I left my work colleagues on Christmas Eve last week and continuing the festivities well into Christmas Day and Boxing Day (Clocking up into the double figures on bottles of Rose I might add), I still felt the need to completely obliterate myself on New Years Eve. Spending the last few hours of 2014 with Mr. Warehouse and a few friends including Mr. Creepy-Warehouse-Guy himself. Starting on the Prosecco with four-hours to go I started slow but bubbles always get me wasted and very, very quickly too. Nevertheless I was slightly sozzled by the time we reached the local pub in Marston Mortaine in Bedford. 

As the evening continued I danced the night away to hits including the Macarena, The Cha Cha Slide and even catching the end of Mambo Number Five after being so drunk I couldn't get off the toilet. With about half hour left before the New Year Kicked in Mr. CWG suggested that beyond the children's Slide in the beer garden there were some swings. Now I love swings (Although I must stress I am no swinger although a consider-er) and upon hearing this fantastic and magical news I proceeded in platforms to discover such wonder and merriment. It was not to be found though as I soon discovered that not only was the ground soft and wet from the rain, but the grass was boggy and that it would only be a matter of time before I fell over. No sooner had I thought this I misplaced my footing and was plunged head first into a freezing cold mud pit. Tenacious through and through I stood and found my way to the swings. Cold and wet I realised that this was not one of the better ideas I had ever had and so went back to find the others and Mr. Warehouse. His face was not best pleased as I walked back through the packed public house with mud and dirt dripping from my chin to my toes.

After cleaning myself up in the toilets, finding more booze at the bar and throwing some shapes on the dance-floor I realised people were chanting. "...5...4...3...2...1..." I could hear them counting away. Realising it was finally New Year I grabbed my man and holding onto for dear life we kissed passionately before we joined a bunch of people I don't know and will never know to sing 'Auld Lang Syne'. The night concluded by me somehow getting home after falling over several more times and then being sick in Mr. Warehouse's dog's bowl. Nice! And with some recovering in the form of good food, great company and some well needed time to sober up the past few days, Mr. Warehouse and I decided to take a trip to London. 

Waking early on Sunday morning Mr. Warehouse and I struggled to not to have sex with each other as normal in the mornings let alone prise ourselves from the warmth of the bed sheets. Stepping out into the icy air I thought that it would soon warm up and after postponing for a day because of the weather already I personally was determined to do something other than lounge around and waste yet another day in front of the box. But it didn't get any warmer. In fact it only got worse. Minus-two-degrees-Celsius it got yesterday. Minus-two. Now I know to some of you in other parts of the world must have thought that this kind of temperature was normal, maybe even mild, but here in Blighty it was more than just a bit nippy. Frosty fingers and thawed thighs began to melt as Starbucks trickled down our throats, easing the missing of the first train. 

Soon enough though we were in the Big Smoke and strange as it were I was more anxious and dubious about going. It had been almost a year to the day that I had left London and my on/off relationship with Mr. Cheese and to be back was just odd. Constantly in a rush I kept feeling myself slip into the mode of Londoner whereby you want to get from 'A' to 'B' as quickly as possible. Nevertheless I really enjoyed my time with Mr. Warehouse, wandering around the sites of the City and major landmarks before heading to the Natural History Museum for some culture and to see stuffed animals, rather like a dead zoo. Now if you have not gone then I strongly suggest you do. Not only will you be walking around the Mammal section making up voices and tag lines for the lifeless soles but you will also be enthralled in the beauty of these creatures and just how spectacular life can be. 

After a few selfies with Hippopotamuses and Porpoises alike Mr. Warehouse and I headed to the luxury that is the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to visit one of the world's most prestigious stores ... Harrods of London! Immediately stepping out onto the Winter Knightsbridge pavement, Mr. Warehouse became alarmingly aware of his surroundings and just by looking at him you could tell he was completely out of his comfort zone. Trying to make him feel at ease I thought I would start with the Pet Shop. Asking the footman on the door as to where we were in the direction of he explained that this had been closed for more than a year. Instead I marched Mr. Warehouse and I to the womenswear department. Lift doors opening my eyes nearly exploded. All I could see was fur. Mink, Rabbit, Fox, Chinchilla and Alpaca, All of it real as life itself once was for these animals. I was in fur heaven! And the best thing about all of this was not only were the clothing and accessories made with real and bonafide, quality fur; But there was a sale on! All of the top designers were there: Gucci, Prada, Dior and my favourite Valentino were all hosting their coats and jackets. Dolce and Gabbana was one of the only boutiques I actually had a proper nose around and whilst Mr. Warehouse felt like a fish out of water I needed this. I couldn't go home to a fluffy dog and I certainly didn't have the money for the four and five figure price-tags on some of these outerwear so I had to indulge myself whenever I could. 

Revelling in the luxury and hungrily running my hands over the garments made me feel happy. But my boyfriends face did not. And so sensing the shop assistant clocking that we were not here to buy and the fact that Mr. Warehouse was now tired and grumping we headed for the tube home. Unfortunately my dear lover's attention was captured by a lady at the till. Not for her stunning good looks or celebrity status, oh no! It was because she had just bought the red-dyed Mink fur cropped jacket and with a price tag more than what Mr. Warehouse earns in a year he took it completely to heart. Storming off and in a foul mood for the rest of the day until we got into bed he ranted on about this women and where her money came from, how she got it, where she spent it and what on. Nothing I did appeased him and as he ranted on about how that one item of clothing could have written off his debts more than five-times-over and how there were more deserving people of the money spent - Mainly him I figured?! He still wouldn't pipe down as we were sitting down to dinner, my treat, at Honest Burger in Kings Cross - Genuinely one of the best burgers I think you will ever have in your entire existence. If you haven't been there then go and if you have well what are you waiting for ... GO AGAIN! I think if I ever had to choose my favourite-est (yes that is a word) restaurant in the world then that would be it. With only five across the whole capital I am glad that I splurged but I just wished my boyfriend wasn't so hung up about money, especially since it wasn't even his.

Nevertheless we had a good day out and exhausted as we were we still managed to find time to fuck at the end of the day. Falling asleep in each others I whispered about how hard it is going to be not having him next to me as most if not all of the past few weeks over the Christmas and New Years break from work we have spent together, drifting off as one. I am so used to being spooned and only having to reach out for Mr. Warehouse at night, it is going to be strange not sleeping together. But alas I must oblige as the alternative of moving in with each other is far, far too soon. And besides, I like my own space and time away from him. I think it makes us stronger and better as a couple. 

Looking into 2015, I don't know what the world will bring me, but one thing is for sure, this year blogging-wise I plan to continue with my life as a twenty-something and enjoy life to its fullest keeping you all in the loop and giving you the scoop on what's hot and what's not in the world of moi! I will however be trying to shorten my tales of fun and frolics as I feel they are too long sometimes. How I do love to witter on. If however you would like me to continue writing big long essay's that fill up your coffee breaks at work and evenings in bed then feel free to message me, I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions as well as any ideas for making my life a little more interesting or what you would like me to do in 2015! Serious suggestions please I do not want to be bummed by Barack Obama nor do I want to give a hand-job to a slightly aggressive Yak. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Walking in a Winter Wonderland!

Morning guys and gals, 

So as I am sure you can all guess by the title this week I have officially started my countdown to Christmas 2014, although I am pretty sure that started back in September when I began buying presents for everyone. And so as the pennies and pounds start dribbling fast out of my bank account on stocking fillers and the extra bottles of plonk for the big day I am getting increasingly more and more excited. This weekend however, I spent some Q.T with that big bear in my life, Mr. Warehouse but I am pleased to say that whilst we are officially now dating (Eeek, scary) I am wholly devoted to my girls, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. 

Saturday morning I was roused by something hard digging into my spine. Slowly coming round to the winter sun streaming through my window and the chilliness that lay on the other side of the duvet I realised that I hadn't fallen asleep with my back against Pinocchio's face, it was just my Boyfriend! Oh dear lord its even weird writing let alone saying it! And with a swift burst of energy I was wide awake and heavenly satisfied once more. With both of us out on prior engagements we decided pillow talk was best kept short and sweet so I slung on my Christmas jumper and a brand new pair of super tight skinnies and headed for the kettle. 

Monging around for a few hours before we both had to leave, Mr. Warehouse was like a puppy following me around and feeling sorry for himself that we wouldn't be spending the day together. I stood my ground though and whilst I felt bad that I wouldn't be able to celebrate at one of his many family events I had my own family to attend to. Boarding a train I sipped on my iced-coffee from AMT called a 'Froffee' and it is literally to die for, Pret do something similar and again I would easily kill for one! Anyway, as the train pulled up to the station I once called home I saw my friends faces eagerly anticipating my arrival. As I got off and ushered them all to get on and grab a seat I was introduced to some familiar sounding names and a couple of familiar faces. Chatting as we raced down to London I could tell we were all excited for our day out in the big smoke. On the agenda was dinner at TGI Fridays in Leicester Square and then to head on over to Hyde Park for what seems to be now for me an annual trip to Winter Wonderland. 

As we stormed into London I felt an almost overwhelming sense of anxiousness take me over. I hadn't been back here since Mr. Cheese and I was worried about how I would feel now being back. I wasn't to worry though as I think the Tweedle's sensed something may be amiss. As we disembarked the train and headed out of St. Pancras Station I felt everyone surround me and whilst I know it sounds stupid I felt supported and happy to have them there. I honestly don't know how I would have felt or reacted on my own or with anyone else for that matter. The fact that I was on the brink of wetting myself probably helped with taking my mind off things but as we walked past my beloved Starbucks I couldn't help but think of the moment back in February when Mr. Cheese and I parted. 

Toilet stops done and out the way we headed for the Tubes. Feeling like I was somewhat at home again I strategically guided us through the mixture of tourists and weekend workers to Leicester Square. Looking around and seeing the sights I was once so familiar with we all gazed around in wonder like children as we conversed, waiting for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's other half to arrive in from Berkshire. Once all eight of us were together we headed on up to the spectacular M&M World, right in the heart of the Strip. Even before we walked in you could smell the sweet, creamy chocolatey flavours just wafting through the air. As we elbowed our way through the crowds and looked at overpriced merchandise all of us came to realise that this was a pure novelty and no expense was going to be made by this Octo-gang today! And after a disappointment with TGI's not having a table for eight available we ended up going to Chiquitos instead. Not as good as the independent Mexican Mr. Cheese took me to in Victoria but alright I guess for a quick and easy dinner with the odd game of 'Chinese Whispers'. That was until the restaurant royally fucked up the bill more than twice. In the end I think we had all had enough of the stupid flavoured popcorn and overly priced cocktails and left. 

Now was for the real party time! Braving the chilly November air we stepped back out into the city, heading over to the Underground once more, this time ending up at Marble Arch, albeit a rather long-winded route. Dodging some busy traffic speeding across four lanes and singing Christmas songs all the way down the Mall we finally arrived. You could see it from a distance, you always could but somehow it looked better the closer you got. One quick battery change later and I was S-elf-ie ready (see what I did there, aha!) and it wasn't long before we were all posing for funny shot with smiles on our faces and noses pink. Once we had come to terms with the magical light source the Tweedles, Boyfriend and work colleagues all followed straight to the fastest rides we could see. A blizzard thing was happening and with Miss Tweedle-Dumb squealing at the sight of synthetic, sudsy, soap-snow I knew that there was no backing down from this. We were going on that ride. 

After taking out a second mortgage to pay for the ride tokens we waited patiently whilst as Swedish Accented European spoke to us explaining about his day and the  Winter Wonderland we were enchanted with. Finally it was our turn and being front of the queue meant we had the choice of seats. Bagging ourselves a couple of blue pods, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took one pod whilst Miss JoHo and another work colleague of the Tweedles took the other. A quick snap before the ride set off and we all started screaming like children right away. Loving the atmosphere I never wanted it to end as we whizzed around and around, lights blurring as we reached new speeds. Looking over at Miss Tweedle-Dumb I squeaked in happiness and was grateful to be in her company. Faces melting into the burning bulbs I could hardly keep my eyes open as the ride got even faster. Almost at a right angle now I could see nothing but colour. Feeling nauseous I continued to scream, egging the controller on to go even faster. As the ride slowed and came to an end I literally felt exhausted and slightly queasy. I wasn't the only one for the looks on Miss Tweedle-Dumb's face as well as her work friends was equally pale but happy. 

One packet of half eaten Churros and several rides later, the Octo-Gang confirmed it was time to go home. Money spent, feet hurting and my patience running thin I just wanted to get back to my bed although habit told me that would be at least another couple of hours away, from door to door. Looking back on the glow of Hyde park as it slipped behind the sparse tree-lined avenues I wondered what next year would hold for me. Would I be returning with my friends again? Maybe with a new set of friends? Maybe with Mr. Warehouse? Maybe with another 'Mister'? Who knows. I suppose that's the beauty of life you just don't know what's around the corner or who you might meet. Although I think I speak on behalf of all eight of the Winter Wonderland Posey when I say we definitely did not want to meet this next guy. 

As we all passed through the barriers to the platform of St. Pancras Station, exhausted from our day out in the bright lights of London Town, we all noticed Miss Tweedle-Dee being chatted up by a rather intoxicated drunkard and his fat friend. It was clear that whilst Miss Tweedle-Dee knew the twosome, some ex-friends of her brother, she clearly wanted to distance herself. Trying to step in I conversed with them so as to draw their attention away from my bestie. To no avail as when the train pulled into the station we discovered we were going to be train pals. It wasn't even as if we were on the fast one, it was the late night train that stops at every station possible and as the Pisshead started to get louder and more obnoxious I could tell we were in for a very, very long journey home indeed. His rounded sidekick placed himself in a seat opposite me and we proceeded to have a rather grown-up conversation about my Christmas Jumper and his classy can of budget Marks and Spencer Lager. But as Pumbaa mellowed out and sat nicely, Timon just did not shut up. And so, after several loud phone calls including some colourful expletives, and a quiet warning from Miss Tweedle-Dumb and his plump sidekick, the Boozer still persisted in badgering Miss Tweedle-Dee. 'No wonder he was an ex-friends of her brothers' I thought. I could see something stirring in the seats across the carriage from me. She was preparing a rant. As Miss Tweedle-Dumb opened her mouth I knew that this was it, immediately hitting the record button in my head not wanting to miss a moment of this heady burst. Thinking that she was going to erupt into some sort of angry, man-eating, zombie-unicorn I took shelter in my Grazia Magazine and hoped she would make an example of the twat. The entire carriage fell silent and with the eloquent finish off phrase "Now Piss Off!" blurted from Miss Tweedle-Dumb's beautifully linguistic lips Timon and Pumbaa left to go and chat up some girls, explaining how they were security guards at the local airport. From my witnessing tonight, the pair couldn't keep their dignity secure let alone a suitcase belonging to Al-Qaeda. 

So as I sink into my pillow tonight there will be only one thing on my mind; And that is that there is only thirty-one more sleeps until the big man comes and empties his sack ... All for me!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Mothers Love: Part II

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx

Evening All, 

Scrolling through my social media pages in the lazy haze of a Sunday afternoon I noted the popularity of giving love and appreciation to the single person who bore their very existence. Yes. Sunday was Mothers Day in the UK and amongst endless streams of comments, mother-and-child selfies and lovingly prepared roast dinners I couldn't help but yet again feel that very slight loss of something that had never really existed in the first place ... 

* * *

   Continued ...

* * *

7:56pm and  I was still waiting. I should have been there by half past. And now I'm late. I wouldn't mind but the reasons for my tardiness was not self-inflicted. Yet again my parents were arguing. The divorce had only been announced lass than a fortnight ago and it was several days since we learnt as to the apparent catalyst being my fathers adultery. You see tonight was an important one for me. I was meeting my first proper boyfriend's parents for the first time and I was already nearly thirty-minutes late meeting Mr. Ginge. Finally I could take no more and storming past my pre-teen brother covering his ears so as not to hear I raged up stairs to tell them to stop. After several weeks of fighting and relentless spats my father left. As children, my brother and I were told that he was a useless father and to 'look what he had done to us, just left us' were her words to us explaining his departure. Funny thing is out of the whole experience I can never remember the moment in which my father walked out of the front door. I recall my brother in hysterics, begging him not to go and wailing for his Daddy consoled only by an equally devastated big sister whom yet again was left to pick up the pieces. And like before things fell to me to take care of. The washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, packed lunches, school bags packed, homework, bills and everything else in between that in my eyes a parent should be doing. As the visits to a particular male friend increased the more and more lonely I became. My brother began to lash out at me not knowing how to deal with such a colossal life change and we clashed a lot. In the end Mother found it easier to simply take him with her on occasions and leave me waiting for their return, sometimes not until the very small hours of the following day. As a result and not unsurprisingly I began to slip deeper into an unknown depression. 

My resentment grew as the weeks passed us by. Weeks grew to months and as I continued to juggle home-life, sixth-form and work it left me little time to socialise with friends or even see my boyfriend. A part of me knew how much of a rock he was in my life but it is only now looking back on our relationship just how much stability he provided. On many occasions I was forced to cancel plans with friends or Mr. Ginge to go home and clean only to be greeted with a blank stare on my Mother's return from a night out with male company. I began to get paranoid. Constantly wondering where she was or who she was with, whether she had a car crash or was dead somewhere. I would never know. She seldom told me or my brother where she was going of an evening and told us that it was her business and not our concern. As a result of a constant not-knowing I would stay up late into the night and even on a few instances would wait until sunrise to make sure my mother came home. A few times she didn't and it was those times that concerned me the most. In my eyes she was still married and as a married women with two children still of educational age should be at home and not out chasing tail. 

I tried to be their for my brother as much as possible but it was hard when at sixth-form all day and then work in the evening. I worked alongside my mother in a school as one of my first jobs so would normally see her coming into work as she was going out. One evening in mid-November I didn't see her car in the car park and when I enquired as to her location the office staff simple shrugged their shoulders as if it was a regular thing. An hour or two later I get a phone call. Its my brother. He's in state crying and hyperventilating down the phone. After calming him down he was able to explain how he had been hungry after getting home from school and didn't know when dinner was so was trying to cook some food. In an accident the oven had caught fire and whilst no-one was hurt and their was no major damage my twelve-year-old brother was in total shock and needed someone with him. Where was my mother. No-one could get hold of her not even the emergency services. After this our neighbours kept a watchful eye on us and a few time had threatened to call social services as a result of the lack of parenting. Motherly intent came soon though as she tried to prop me and my brother in front of a therapist to try and help us come to terms with the divorce and as pointless as it was all I wanted to do inside was scream! 

After months of turmoil and as I sat in a empty house on the 31st of December 2008 I knew things had to change. Just how much they would alter in the next year would be something I could have never predicted. As the temperature cooled even more so than before, so did my Mom's attitude towards me. She started to invite her new beau round to what was once the family home and on occasions we would attempt replicating family time like sitting down to a nice dinner or watching a film. But something didn't feel right. I actively disagreed with her views and opinions voicing them to her and others. Outraged at her behaviour one evening she stormed off as I was left with the house-work. Then in comes this man who happens to be a 'good friend' of hers and tries to give me a pep talk on why I shouldn't answer back to the person who gave me life. Appalled, I told him where to get off and that telling me what to do was my fathers job not his. A spiteful comment followed and from that moment on we never saw eye to eye. As a result I was outcast and never invited to movie-nights or day trips out. 

In the months that followed January that year I was constantly unsure of life. Every weekend without fail as I called my Mom to let her know was staying at Mr. Ginge's for dinner she would create a scene ending either with me having to leave early with no sense of why or threatened with being chucked out. Nervousness and anxiousness took hold every single time I picked up the phone or dialled her number on an unbroken knife edge just waiting for the next fight to break out. On several dates I can recall being told as Mother left with my brother in one hand and car keys in the other that I should be gone by the time she is home. When asked where I should go she simply answered that she did not care. Many a time I found myself in a family members car or on their sofa just crying, begging and pleading them not to take me back. I hated it there. I hated her. I had enough. I wanted out. But no-one knew what to do with me and as the manipulating adult in the situation everyone around me was simply told that I was a troublemaker and that I kept running away. She even tried to get my Dad arrested for kidnap at one point as I sought refuge with my grandparents who happened to be offering him a room since moving out of the marital home. This went on for nearly eight-weeks, a constant cycle of promises and let downs. In between all my other exploits I was still trying to find time when I could steal some moments away with my father whom I missed like mad. Crying out for help as I begged him to help me I knew he was powerless in bringing me solace. That was until we planned a what should have been a wonderful weekend away. It was to turn out very very differently. 

Months of planning an preparation had gone into planning my bank holiday weekend with my father. My brother opted out of spending the weekend with us and so it was to be Dad-and-Daughter time with my grandparents camping somewhere in the countryside. I had planned to go to sixth-form in the morning and take that afternoon/evening off work but on hearing my plans Mother had forbidden it knowing full well that this would hinder my fathers plans of a settled weekend with his baby girl. I decided that for the sanity of all parties I would just tell my Mom that I was going to work when in actual fact I was not. This was a little white lie that was to back-fire in the most cataclysmic way. The evening before was like many prior and I had waited up until 4.30am to make sure Mother was home safe. Reluctantly retiring to bed I knew I would not sleep tonight. As the sun rose on that May morning I heard the familiar sound of a car reversing into the driveway at high speed. The well-known hum of the engine cut out and the car door clunk open. Thin stiletto heels clacked onto the concrete and echo up to the front door where I heard the key turn in the lock and hearing her walk into the lounge and shut the spring hinged door behind her I knew Mother was home. It was less than an hour to pack my bag, make sure everything was ready for my brothers morning ahead and make my way to the end of the road to meet my Dad at the bottom of the road to take me to sixth-form. Trunching down the stairs I knew full well that my mother would be in the front room awaiting my arrival however when crashing through the door I found her in a slumber on the sofa. Noticing she was not awake yet and completely KO I decided to make a run for it. Sprinting to the end of the road in the freezing cold was like a breath of fresh air in my lungs. I had never felt so happy or been so pleased so see the bright red Landrover parked up. I dumped my bag in the boot and hopped in the front, not turning back to look down that street for fear of what I might see chasing after me. 

After finishing double-English Language and Literature I again took pride of place in the front passenger seat alongside my old man. Clipping in my seat belt he turned to me and asked if I was still sure about doing this and what repercussions may happen as a result. I nodded, at that point never more sure of anything else in my life. Take me away Daddy. Save me. As we started our journey the phone calls from Mother began, firstly it was just a text message to see if I wanted to meet up with her for lunch, which I knew was a sign she was on to us as she had never taken an interest before. After that the phone calls became more frantic and constantly making my phone vibrate with aggression and fury at the betrayal. Eventually I answered. It was her. Like a maniac she flew off the handle shouting and screaming at me as my father watched my world fall apart once more in front of his very eyes. The entire three hour journey to the campsite was eaten up by the poison that had been building up for years, infecting me yet again and bringing me to a shaking, nervous wreck. The last thing she said to me was that waiting for me when I get home would be my belongings on the front lawn in black bin bags. A mere shell of my former self I hung up and was taken in by my grandparents on arrival and calmed down. 

The weekend passed in a blur and soon enough it was time to go back to the hellish normality I was bound to. As before I anticipated that the remarks of being thrown out were lies and words of hatred with no meaning just callous intent, although a little part of me did wonder whether this would be it. I didn't have long to wait and as my father and I pulled into my childhood street we both took a large breath and prayed it would be alright. Pulling up outside the suburban home we all once dwelled the engine had barely been turned off before the front door flew open in a fit of rage. Out swang big black bin-liners. My clothes, my shoes, my stuffed animals, my books, my ornaments, my belongings. Everything a seventeen -year-old-girl should have was bundled carelessly into thin bags and deposited as promised on the front yard for all to see. Under instruction from Father I remained in the car. This did not stop the tyrant though from approaching me. As the shouting match started and my case was brought to the table she burst open the passenger side door screeching in my face, bellowing about my wrong doings and how much of an awful person I was. Taking no more of it my father gathered the rest of my things as I bravely fought back tears and shielded myself from her reign of abuse. Getting into the car Daddy yelled at her to let go of the car. She did not. The car was started and the engine growled into action. Daddy said it again and again it was ignored. Taking no more Dad put his foot down and started to drive off. Mom ran after the car attempting to keep up but her less than agile size made it impossible for her to keep up. stumbling her grip on the car and me was loosened and I watched as she screamed at my departure in the wing mirror. 

And that was one of the last encounters I had with my mother. As the years have gone by I have grown up and learnt to stand tall and proud. There were times after that moment where I thought things could possibly be salvageable, but over time her reluctance to accept that whilst I told a little white lie she was mostly in the wrong for throwing her first born and her only baby girl out onto the streets with nothing more than her father's net to catch her as she falls. In the beginning I thought that maybe one-day things could be different and that we would share happy memories together despite our past but I now know that this is fantasy. On occasions we have been in the same room together but it has rarely ended well, either ending up in an argument or one of us leaving. Her manipulating ways have not changed in the past seven years. Nothing has. She still proclaims that I left of my own accord and has even fallen out with her own siblings about this and other things surrounding our non-existent relationship. I suppose in a way I have come to realise that I will never have a mother-of-the-bride. I will never see the tears at how beautiful I look after the labour of my first child. I will never know what it is like to be hugged and loved and told that I am special to her. That is something I know I will never have. But I'm OK with that all because I am in the knowledge that one day I shall share in that with my own children and vow never to make the same mistakes again. 

And so, Happy Mothers Day to one and all, may you cherish your Mom's. Appreciate their love and commitment and all that they bring you because anyone can bring a child into this world, but it takes a mother to raise it. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx