Vacation Over: Officially time to return to knowing what day of the week it is!

Evening everyone, 

Crashing back down to earth I would sooner be writing to you all from the beach bar in sunny Marmaris, Orgasm in hand and cocktail menu not too far away than where I am now. But alas our "Up yours COVID" holiday had to come to an end soon and so I am here writing to you from a very dark, blackened Autumnal night with drizzly rain and cold weather that hamper my spirits. Now, where did I leave you all ...

So after booking some excursions and haggling down the price, we had indulged already in a traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (again I urge you if you have yet to see some uncomfortable bathtime photos you should really head over to my social media, they're a right scream) and also sampled some of the best Turkey had to offer with a boat trip. However what was meant to be our wedding night had been messy, to say the least, not many cocktails consumed but nevertheless woke up with a sore head. 

You see it all started the previous evening when Mr Warehouse and I were trying to enjoy a nice steak dinner with each other at a time when we should have been dining on our wedding breakfast and dancing the night away with friends and family. As I have been doing throughout this holiday I was capturing our holiday and tonight was no different so as we grabbed our banana and strawberry daiquiris and posed for a selfie this strange man came out of nowhere and snatched my phone from out of my hands. Shocked I looked at him in absolute horror and disbelief as he placed the phone on the table and asked us to pose whilst he took a photo on his professional Canon. I was fuming and instantly it had ruined what was meant to be a happy moment in a bitter situation. 

Now it was more bitter than a lime that had been snubbed for an Oscar. The last few days have been wonderful and now this. Mr Warehouse was pissed and asked him what the fuck he was doing and to hand the phone back to me. He didn't. As Mr Warehouse, my knight in vest-tops and jean-shorts (not the hot pant kind don't worry), got up to grab my phone from just the other side of the table our Turkish answer to Annie Leibovitz snatched it back and attempted to take photos on it. This is when my Beau really lost his rag. He demanded that the blog give the phone back or he would knock him to the floor. I knew he meant it, despite being such a reserved character normally he could see it was upsetting me and obviously wanted to make things better. But it was too late, we were flat and done. As he shrugged his shoulders and walked off after handing back my phone I looked at Mr Warehouse. He was ready to walk out. We had full and overflowing frozen cocktails but he was millimetres from throwing in the towel and just walking off and I could see it. He was fuming. Seconds later the bread come out and we had to say something. 

The waiter apologized and explained it was a photographer from the strip that had nothing to do with the restaurant and was not affiliated. We explained the situation to both him and management and they seemed to take it seriously enough when we started we were seconds from walking out. Finishing our meal, however, we were brought a complimentary (although disgustingly toxic) shot of alcohol. Lord knows what the frick was in it, but it tasted like anti-freeze. And that's how we got talking to Mrs & Mrs Brave. 

Leaning over the Scottish wife and wife asked us if we knew what was in the virulent shot. We shook our heads but laughed along as we all swigged in unison. As we got up to leave they asked about what had happened and we gladly explained. Mrs & Mrs Brave explained that if we were looking for a good night out we should head over to "Talk of the Town" as they knew a lot of the locals and some of the lads in the show, one of the only one's still operating in the small tourist hotspot. And so on the authority of good advice from some lesbians, we had just met we headed on over and booked our tickets for the following night. 

And so following the football, Mr Warehouse and I spent the rest of the afternoon doing some more shopping (albeit stumbling around due to the intensity of said Orgasm cocktail) and hunting out fake goods at bargain prices was a breeze, including a Gucci scarf I am in love with for the upcoming season, a YSL glittery pink bag that screams "Clueless" or "Mean Girls" plus some cute Gucci sneakers a la Insta, Nike sliders for some poolside chic and a Gucci beach towel to make sure those Germans know we mean business with our sun loungers. Oh, did I say I liked Gucci? 

Once we had shopped until we dropped, we headed back to the hotel for a few drinks and a chill by the pool before heading out. And tonight didn't seem to be faring much better in the way of drinking as we donned our glad rags for one of the only shows still in town. "Talk of the Town" has been one of the most hilarious shows in Marmaris which dates back to 1996 with a cabaret that guarantees a humorous evening out filled with outrageous antics and laughs all round. And Mrs & Mrs Brave did not disappoint. I had been to one or two drag shows and nights in the past but honestly one of the best nights I think I have had in my entire life. With the lad(ies) belting out hits such as Disney's Frozen; Let It Go and Titanic's OST My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion I was sure that I was being left with no voice tomorrow. Heck, they even put on a performance of Baby Shark halfway through which was a right roaring success, clearly among adults escaping the kids for a week or two. 

Mrs & Mrs Brave seemed to enjoy it too whilst we shared their table and got to know them a bit more. I thought to myself as I sat talking to these married women, maybe fifteen or twenty-years my seniors, how similar they are to myself and my very own lover. Like chalk and cheese one of us was singing our lungs out whilst the other tapped their foot along in appreciation. Both quite short and portly, one with dark short hair and the other long and greying blonde they spoke fondly of their daughter back home and son and his new wife out in Australia whom they seemed to miss deeply. I couldn't help but think that maybe for a night or two, we were the replacement family - And they treated us as such, even inviting us on a specially arranged boat trip with a local friend for a couple of evening's time, just the four of us so as to celebrate a wedding that never happened and I suppose a holiday friendship. My god, is this how it starts! 

Walking off after the show I was high on cocktails and my cheeks hurt from laughing (even if it was interrupted slightly by a brawl between two-lassies and their mom's beefing it out because someone was dancing to close to their table and you know, 2-Metres and all). This was insane. Swapping numbers Mr Warehouse and I made out way back to the hotel, laughing at the fact that one day were eating out at a crumby restaurant with basic steaks, the next were drinking in the company of some amazing Scots-women and in the next couple of days, we could be sharing their chartered Yacht around the small secret islands off Marmaris.  

The alcohol soon wore off though and as we awoke early the following morning, promises of not getting too drunk that night we slipped into our swimming gear for our Jeep Safari. Looking for some sheer adventure during our Marmaris holiday, Mr Warehouse had really run out of steam by the time our adventure awaited in the form of a Marmaris Jeep Safari. The day started off well enough with us shunning the fried breakfast offered by the pitstop and instead opting to hunt out a local corner shop for something fresher, an apple it was decided and a bottle of water. As we continued our journey, exploring the terrain around the countryside among the stunning Bozburun Peninsula and the Marmaris National Park all in military designed jeeps (ours was aqua coloured!) As the convoy of jeeps bombed it down the highway at full throttle we soon reached the well-beaten tracks that we struck at full force! 

As sold to us we were soaked by the time we came to our second stop of the morning, a small family-run resort, seemingly someone's home come pool, come shop, come cafe where we met the most adorable Akita pup, still teething and quite bitey at only a handful of weeks old. It took every ounce of Mr Warehouse and I not to smuggle him into said jeep and take him home with us. Heading to our next stop was Jesus Beach, jam-packing it in so you could walk the famous lake where the water was so shallow you could look like Jesus walking on water (although unfortunately thy hallowed had not been a visitor before) all before whizzing off for a basic yet tasty chicken and pasta salad lunch in a dusty layby hideout seeming for locals and probably home for them too. No rest for the wicked though as we were all frog-marched into the Jeep's for our next and final stop before home to the hotels - A beautiful natural spring pool and waterfalls, Turgut Falls, set deep in the forests outside of İçmeler to the west of Marmaris. 

As Mr Warehouse and I headed back to our plush and less dusty hotel for a shower and freshen up before dinner, we thought it a good idea to decline the invitation from Mrs & Mrs Brave. In the joyousness of the evening, I had instead taken their number and them not mine, therefore meaning unless we reached out we would be nothing more than a tale to tell. One of the reasons I couldn't fathom a private chartered sunset cruise on a Yacht was that it did simply seem too good to be true. We had only just met these people and as red flags go, not knowing their actual surnames is probably one of them. Now I am sure it would have been fine, however I have watched enough serial killer docu-films and read enough crime books on murder and homicide to know that this has "press conference to find our missing family members" all over it. Now I am almost certain as I write this that our Scottish lesbian holiday friends were just looking for some simple company to share their boat trip, celebrating a wedding that should have been and welcoming in a new friendship soley exisisting over social media with the odd Christmas card thrown in. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that Mr Warehouse and I knew nothing of them, barely where they were from or what their lives were like, and being on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no phone signal and no internets connection just screamed Channel 5 documentary with a grizzly end. 

Suffice to say the rest of our holiday was spent lazing by the pool, splashing around, drinking cocktails, reading a good book and of course some last minute spending, haggling (or at least Mr. Warehouse was, I seemingly, had lost my touch and couldn't haggle my way out of a paper bag) on hoodies and handbags we definatly didn't need. Leaving our luxe surroundings and comfortable hotel, our journey back home was not as eventful as the journey we started with however within moments of Mr Warehouse and I grabbed a bite to eat in the airport we had located out friends, brick-shit-house-Stormzy otherwise known now as BSS, Regina George and some other face from the Airport scrap that nearly happened on the way into our holiday. However, a couple of noted faces were missing including the someone impersonating Post Malone and the white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. We chose to believe that the threat about "meeting outside the airport" was true and it had all ended in hideous bloodshed and we would hear all about it when we got home, which of course, never actually happened. Landing on a darkened and drizzly Thursday morning at 1am I was ready for bed and excited to be soon at home with our fur babies - Oh and our Fourteen-day self-isolation to begin!!! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Pink Punters, Pallets and Pooch!

Evening All, 

Following on from last weeks discovery of an aural haematoma in Pooch's ear, something similar to a blood blister in humans, Mr Warehouse and I are in doubt of it getting any better. On talking to the Vet's last week we discovered that it is most commonly found after an ear infection or, as with this case, smacking a soft floppy ear off of something hard. Bursting the blood vessels it has caused a swelling and, unlike humans, dogs and other animals struggle to regulate this natural occurrence and thus rather than the body automatically absorbing the excess blood back into the tissue surrounding the area it creates a pocket that fills up and then starts to process and drain away the fluid into the body. However, this process could take days, weeks or even months in many cases and we discovered after Googling it (I know I told him not to but Mr Warehouse was on it before I came off the phone to the Vets) most dogs and cats are left with a cauliflower ear, crumpled and disfigured from the trauma. However it would appear that since Pup's aural haematoma is not improving and after monitoring for over a week now, I think that surgery is going to be on the cards when we meet the vet again this week. 

However we have still had plenty of cuddles this weekend and with an extra day being a Bank Holiday I was looking forward to spending more time in the garden with her by my side as I read a good book. However as I disappointingly helped Mr Warehouse unload the lorry that had arrived with pallets on board  I realized that maybe the weather was not going to be improving. Now whilst I did not expect it to be as blinding as Easter Bank Holiday with temperatures in the region of 25+ degrees, I thought that the sun would have shone for at least a day or two out of three. I had such high hopes for our bank holiday including spending some quality time together creating a beautiful garden that we could share with friends and family over a barbecue or two throughout the summer. This would to be inclusive of our new adventure in a pallet sofa for the garden, Pinterest Style, and maybe at a stretch a fire pit, although Mr. Warehouse is insistent we are not getting one. 

Nevertheless, after finishing off putting our palates in order starting them against events we decided that the hard work was done with and so we ventured out into the drizzly grey Friday evening to get our fish and chip supper, something I had been looking forward to after being good all week on my new stint at Weight Watchers WW plan and loosing nearly quarter of a stone in a few weeks. Obviously with the count down to the wedding getting closer I was sure that I wanted to buy and wear a dress on my big day that fit nicely and that my weight wouldn't be a hindrance to this. Not that my size has been an issue in the past when trying on wedding gowns, but I just know I would feel more confident and comfortable not only on my big day but also be would be happy looking at the photos sat on my mantelpiece, should I have one, for years to come. 

Since Friday those pallets have stayed in the garden and have yet to be made into our dream garden furniture. It has been far too drizzly and wet and cold to do anything remotely outside. Apart from that is, go out partying to one of the biggest gay clubs in the county, Pink Punters in Bletchley, as I did yesterday evening with Miss Tweedle-Dee. Labeling itself as the fastest growing LGBT venue in the UK, it was what I would call a standard night out on the raz, lots of drink and even a complimentary McDonalds to finish with a side of vomiting into the wee small hours. Although I was impressed with the level of security and also that of the organised parking, drop off and collection system they had, it wasn't what I really expected a gay club to be like. I think that looking around the dance floor there were far more straight heterosexuals than anything of L, G, B, T, Q or Plus. 

Miss Tweedle-Dee agreed and I think that we maybe saw one or two transsexual's, and a over elaborate drag queen who looked incredible. I am not really sure what I expected from one of my first proper gay bar experiences, but maybe I thought it would be as it is in films or what Hollywood portrays, something entirely different than the standard bars and clubs - Playing music from the 90's with special significance to Elton John and Celine Dion, party go-ers wearing PVC and chains and the bars selling poppers. Whilst at least one of them is true, suffice to say that I was proven wrong and that it was like any other club or bar I had frequented before. With birthday requests coming in thick and fast for 18 and 19-year olds I felt like I was someones Mom out on a school night without the kids. The fact that the odd 20 or 21-year old birthday shout out only made it worse and reconfirmed that the 28-year old me want to check myself into a a nursing home right there and then. 

Regardless of all of this though, I enjoyed my night out and my Bank Holiday weekend spent with loved ones. Hopefully I can suffer and battle through the next few days until next weekend where I pray that the weather improves and I can enjoy my Pinterest pallet creation, complete with fire pit! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Termination And A Flirtation ...

Hi,

Following a roller coaster of a weekend last week with Miss Chocolate things have slowed down a bit, almost to a halt. This past week I have been thinking 'Isnt it funny how things turn out sometimes?' - You put so much of your time and energy into working and then realise that its all in vain, particularly when it comes to the termination of employment. Weather it be on good terms or not, the feelings are still the same and ones that I am familiar with, but strangely not as much this time around. If you haven't already cottoned on to what I'm trying to say then I shall explain how I have become newly unemployed.

After a few months working in the offices of a flooring company and weeks of knowing that I will probably not be continuing my career there I am finally out of the job. The explanation was simple. The last lady that worked there had done so for more than fifteen years and was at the top of her game before leaving just before Christmas last year. I was to replace her and with that my employers presumed that I would quickly be able to match her standards of working, which obviously is impossible in such a short amount of time. Like I said it was a long time coming and so don't feel completely awful about the situation as I have had some time to prepare for it. The two office staff that I work with explained that it wasn't anything personal and that they would be more than happy to give me a good reference. I knew that they were being honest as we all got along very well; I just think that maybe they had underestimated the job and its duties. Regardless, its not the end of the world. I finish there officially yesterday but am choosing to keep working for another fortnight to get some extra cash for my holiday with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in just over a month's time.

Speaking of Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, we have patched things up and are learning that we are all different and think differently too. We met last Wednesday at a local pub after I briefly hosted them in last weeks post. There were tears and laughter but essentially we sorted it all out and after which we started discussing our up and coming holiday to Mallorca, Spain in a few weeks time. The night was wearing to the end and graciously Miss Tweedle-Dumb offered me a ride to the station. I obliged and we walked to the car, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I tipsily singing our way down the street. However what we found when we located the small blue car was like a scene from a Hollywood blockbuster. flashing lights, the rev of car engines and youths stood around watching the Hundreds of cars parade up and down the car-park. My dear friend had only parked where a car rally was due to be hosted that night. Probably drawn up on some social networking site and with lost of scary noises and faces about we tried to search for the car, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I struggling to keep our giggling under control. 'Call the police' I thought, whilst we bundled into the small vehicle, an idea that both Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb agreed with. My reasoning not to call them was that there was not trouble and we would be safe. In fact I had noticed a few faces I had attended high school with some years ago. After what seemed like an eternity we were finally let out of our small parking spaced and allowed to go on our way, but not with some heavy persuasion from Miss Tweedle-Dee and I to make Miss Tweedle-Dumb drive round the car park and join in with the hooded youngsters. As we sped away the sounds of banging exhausts and bouncing bass faded into the distance along with the city noises that I was already familiar with.

As a matter of fact I have just come back from an evening spent with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and a rather amorous friend of theirs. An impromptu trip to a nearby house-ware shop was this evening s entertainment, followed up by a side helping of guilt and awkwardness. So after I had told them both of the recent job situation, they had invited themselves round and said that later we would hit the pub for a few. Subsequently a few hours into my work day I get a phone call from Miss Tweedle-Dumb asking if I would prefer to hit the shops instead. And, as a red-blooded female whose just been paid of course I'm not going to turn down a bit of retail therapy, even if I don't buy anything. A work colleague of Miss Tweedle-Dee's and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's, Miss Lace, tagged along for the ride too. Now, my 'relationship' with Miss Lace is slightly awkward I feel. Ever since we met on a cold, blustery night in November ready to watch the fireworks back home, I have always felt something that's not quiet right between us. Its not because we didn't hit it off or didn't get on well, in fact I feel that's its quiet the opposite.

What with it being the first time I had met Miss Tweedle-Dee's and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's work friends (Miss Lace included) I tried to make an effort to impress and make them comfortable in my presence. But something was different between Miss Lace and I. I didn't mention this to the girls and kept it to myself, thinking that I was just being silly, but in late December I confessed what I thought might be true. "Now, I don't want to blow my ow trumpet" I started once the conversation had been brought up. ''But I think that maybe she fancies me?!'' I couldn't quite believe I had just said that. It sounded so egotistical and pig-headed of me. I instantly brushed it off but ever since I have never been able to tell weather Miss Tweedle-Dee's and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's jokes about Miss Lace and I are just that, jokes, or are they more with some sort of cryptic clues behind them. I mean, I'm all up for a laugh and a joke, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings,especially if what I think and what I'm being told is true and that Miss Lace does have a 'thing' for me. Fortunately or unfortunately, I'm only into men and I don't share the same feelings that Miss Lace may or may not have for me. I know that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb like to make little quips and have fun, but sometimes it goes too far. What makes it worse is that I don't really know Miss Lace that well and as a result don't know her sense of humour so going along with the rest of the gang may not be in such good taste. Naturally I am a flirtatious and friendly person, wanting to include everyone in everything and let them in with open arms but I feel myself clamming up whenever I am around Miss Lace for fear of leading her along or making her think that there is something blossoming when there really isn't. To be honest it is somewhat stressful not knowing how to deal with a situation that could or could not be.

If Miss Tweedle-Dee's and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's work colleague does have a soft-spot for me then I am flattered but at the same time have the uneasy conversation of not receipting those feelings and apologising for a possible false pretence - Something I don't really want to do. Regardless, I am sure its all a joke and it will work out better in the end. It always does ...

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

A Story I Have Wanted To Shared For A While ...

Hi Guys,
 
What a week it has been. So, after last weekend Bank Holiday antics I have recovered quiet nicely thank you, although the fact that my ex-boyfriend otherwise known as Mr. Workaholic keeps plaguing my thoughts. I mean seriously. GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I suppose it all started with a weird dream I had about a week ago including him and Miss Tweedle-Dee, but strangely no Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Unable to wake from such nightmarish slumber I was forced to relive the last scenes of our relationship in dream-state, full-blown hysterics included. But since then Mr. Workaholic seems not to have left and is there in my mind, constantly reminding me of the good times. I'm glad my conscience takes over and reminds me of the bad times though. But amongst the raging battle inside my head I try to reason with myself. Yes Mr. Workaholic was a brilliant lover, the best maybe, indulging in all manner of fantasy and wild exploits - but you have to remember that this was also the same person that left you screaming and begging in absolute turmoil as he drove away, leaving you in the home you used to share. Upon this boiling pot of emotion and memories I am able to pluck out a good tale for you all. Now I warn you it is a tad odd, especially for a man just out of a long-term relationship, but rest assured it is truth and is something I would like to share with you all, something I have wanted to pollute your minds with for a while ...
 
It was a warm summer morning when I stepped off the plane from Dublin after visiting family in Southern Ireland following the split. I had a lot of time to think it out and come to the conclusion that this was it. Since everyone I knew was working I had no-one to pick me up from the airport and take me home. All but one. I had no choice but to call Mr. Workaholic and ask him to help. Of course he obliged and picked me up, probably out of guilt that he had caused this all but regardless when I saw his girlie white car pull up to where I was standing outside the terminal I couldn't help but think that things might just go back to normal and we could make it work. After what I was about to hear nothing could be further from that statement. I attempted making small talk and avoiding eye contact with him for a good few miles down the motorway until Mr. Workaholic asked how my trip had been. I replied honestly and described it as one of the worst experiences of my life, working out how I was going to function without him. I was courteous though and returned the question, feeling anxious and not wanting to talk about myself for once. Starting normally, Mr. Workaholic stated that he had gone away for a few days to clear his head and visit his sister in the North-East of England. Watching the world whizz by on the M1 and struggling not to throw up in his presence, Mr. Workaholic told me he had gone out and had a few too many drinks. But my heart nearly stopped when he told me that he had hooked-up with someone. As Mr. Workaholic began the gut-wrenching tale I felt myself crumble inside, the car spinning and my head once clear now drowning, flooded with pictures and thoughts. He asked me if he should continue or if I needed fresh air. Stupidly or not I decided that I needed to hear this and that it would do me good, maybe even help me to move on. And so he resumed.
 
After some heavy pre-drinking at their hotel to lift Mr. Workaholic's mood (As if his mood needed lifting any further up his arse), his sister and their cousin went to a club and were continuing to drink when a young man came over and struck up a friendly conversation. As the night wore on, Mr. Workaholic needed the loo and so left in search of the 'little boys room'. Once there he relived himself and turned to leave, however, so intoxicated was my Ex that he was approached by another male whom started sizing him up. Now for any normal person you would think this wasn't unusual - You know, two men squaring up in the bathroom alcohol, women, ego's and possibly drugs involved it could get messy. But oh-no, this wasn't any old bathroom. This was a bathroom situated in a busy part of the city centres Soho district. A place where Mr. Workaholic wouldn't usually attend. His sister and cousin are both Homosexual's and Mr. Workaholic was in a bathroom of a very busy and well-known gay nightclub. Swaying from side to side, Mr. Workaholic was offered oral sex by the stranger he had bumped into. Mr. Workaholic accepted. The strange man got onto his knees, unzipped my Ex's jeans and placed him into his mouth.
 
As we flew past a service station Mr. Workaholic recoils as he remembers how the stranger's bristly beard brushed his private parts whilst his member continued to stay soft. "Your not getting hard, are you not turned on?" the knelt man asked looking up holding the still limp extension. Not saying a word Mr. Workaholic adjusted himself and walked away, leaving his dignity and his self-respect behind. A few hours later after kissing a few women, and men, Mr. Workaholic was drinking at an empty table whilst his sister and their cousin hit the dance floor. Another young man approached the lone Mr. Workaholic and asked if they could be friends. Being naive he befriended the party goer and before long more alcohol was consumed and a seedy friendship formed. By this point apparently a fight had broken out between his cousin, his sister, his sister's girlfriend and her girlfriend's ex-partner back at the hotel. Shattered, Mr. Workaholic took the invitation from his new found 'friend' to spend the night before heading back to the hotel in the morning when everything had calmed down. And so as the sun rose over Northumberland, Mr. Workaholic left, to a flat in a part of the city he didn't know, with a man he had only just met. Classy. Upon arriving at his 'friends' address, my Ex was encouraged to undress and share his bed. Consumed by fatigue and intoxicated as he was it happened and before long Mr. Workaholic was fast asleep.
 
Pulling off the motorway I was hoping that one day, Mr. Workaholic would get a rude awakening for the way he treated me. Little did I know that the story was not yet finished. Moments after slipping into a deep sleep, Mr. Workaholic was roused in a way many females are accustom too. Only this was a man. A 'friend'. And this 'friend' was now poking Mr. Workaholic in the lower back with something hard and moist. Realising what this was, my Ex, not being freaked out or disgusted at all simply rolled over and said to his 'friend' that he was not gay and did not want to have sex with him. Reluctantly the 'friend' stopped pursuing Mr. Workaholic and shortly they were both asleep again like nothing ever happened. But it wasn't long before long though that there was a loud knock on the door of the apartment, although no-one heard until it was too late. Suddenly the bedroom door flew open, and with this Mr. Workaholic jumped out of bed, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. "What the fuck are you doing in bed with my boyfriend!" Shouted the large, muscular man fizzing with anger at the rumpled sheets and a nearly naked man accompanying his partner in bed. The frightened boy that was the love of my life ran to the bathroom and locked the door. As Mr. Workaholic's hangover crept in, he searched the bathroom for a way out, but all in vain. Spotting some cash on the sink and grabbing his clothes Mr. Workaholic made a dash for the door, using the stolen cash to pay for a cab back to the hotel.
 
As we arrived at the beautiful terraced house we used to share he asked how I was. What could I say? For once I was speechless, only able to mutter something about how disgusted I was and how sick he makes me feel. For some odd moment I started to laugh. Almost uncontrollably. Crying tears of amusement, grief and shame. Pulling myself together I got out of the car, only to see a large green and yellow 'TO LET' sign next to our once happy home. I stood there. Shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked quietly. "I didn't want to upset you." was the pitiful response from Mr. Workaholic.  Unlocking the door and walking into the house I barely recognised it. Mr. Workaholic continued to explain that his cousin whose girlfriend was pregnant at the time was moving into a new home and needed some stuff so he had sold it to him. Our sofa, stuffed with memories watching TV, making love and cuddling. Our side-dresser that Mr. Workaholic's mother had given us as a moving in gift that I loved and he loathed. Gone. Upstairs our beautiful iron-posted bed had disappeared, the very bed we first slept together in and the one where our story together began. Our second, smaller bed in the spare-room was also amiss, as was the dining table and chairs. Our whole lives were just gone. No warning. No preparation. Just gone. After dropping my luggage indoors I begged him to stay and not leave me alone in the house for fear of my 'dark-cloud' returning. He didn't. He left. Mr. Workaholic just kissed me on the head (inappropriate as it was) and left.
 
That night was my lowest, but I am proud to say that the 'dark-cloud' has left now, and gladly has not been back since. I am in a much better place, with friends and family around me. I have come a long way from the girl crawled up in a ball reading and watching television as an escape from a reality she wasn't ready to face. I am stronger now. Stronger than never before. But one day he'll realise, yes, Mr. Workaholic will realise that I was the best thing he ever had ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx