The Deadly Virus

Heyy, 

Coming back down to earth and to the daily grind was hard last week, but heaven knows how hard Mr Warehouse and I were about to fall. Last week I said that I supposed our next beachy holiday will be our Honeymoon, however, with recent developments, this is looking unlikely. It is so hard for me to write this, even now as I type I am brushing tears from my eyes for I know the inevitable, and yet at the same time I know nothing at all. 

Since banning all weddings and marriage celebrations from 23 March 2020, the UK government has been sketchy at best on Weddings or civil partnerships, however, since 4 July in England weddings can now take place with up to 30 guests. At this point, hours away from our holiday to Cornwall, Mr Warehouse and I considered it. Obviously, it is an option and for many, this could work fine, and for many, many more they would have to make it work, if at all. Others simple refuse and make the heartbreaking decision to postpone their date. 

As quoted from the Gov.uk website, "legally-valid ceremonies or formations are strongly advised to go ahead only where they can be done in a COVID-19 secure environment (Whatever that means and thanks BoJo for the clarity). It is also advised that the ceremonies are kept as short as reasonably possible and limited as far as reasonably possible to the parts of the ceremonies that are required in order for the marriage or civil partnership to be legally binding. No more than 30 people should attend a marriage or civil partnership, where this can be safely accommodated with social distancing in a COVID-19 secure venue." In short, this means no singing, no choir (namely in our circumstances due to age and health issues which would consider them in a COVID-vulnerable category, not to mention being unable to learn 2 new songs by the time our day rolled around). It also means for us that it would not even be 30 people as we need to include in that group our photographer, videographer, Reverand and at least 2 witnesses. 

In conjunction with this, "Large wedding receptions or parties should not currently be taking place and any celebration after the ceremony should follow the broader social distancing guidance of involving no more than two households in any location or if outdoors, up to six people from different households" and again would need to include photographer, videographer, bar staff & waiting staff, taking our total down to even less. We calculated just 19 people could come to our special day.  

Following the UK Government Coronavirus announcement late last week and drafted on the basis of the scientific evidence available, from 1 August, "small wedding receptions will be able to take place". What does this mean? What is small? What is a reception inclusive or exclusive of? The guidance means that a sit-down-meal for no more than 30 people is to take place, again subject to COVID-19 Secure guidance.

For us as a couple, the thirty guests allowance simply would not work, and for many reasons. As the Gov.uk website states "Marriages and civil partnerships are a vital part of our society, uniting couples to start their new life together and affording certain legal rights. However, by their very nature, in bringing families and friends together, they are particularly vulnerable to the spread of COVID-19." How can I have a wedding with only a handful of our nearest and dearest? It is simple we cant. As frustrating as it is, I cannot simply cut my guest list and tell someone they were invited but now "really sorry you have not made the final cut". That is just not fair. Almost as much so that Mr Warehouse and I even need to consider this as a damned option on what should be the happiest few months of our lives. 

For us, as a couple trying to marry in 2020 it is a huge uphill struggle; Every. Single. Day. The constant questions are creeping in and I fathom their anxiety and awkwardness in asking as much as being asked. Or what is worse is the hesitation from friends and family we are slowly starting to meet up with again is agonising to watch them wrestle with themselves about whether they do or dont ask about wedding planning and how it is all going for fear of upsetting us. As I sit here thinking, sighing loudly so Number 10 can hear, I think about what it may be like, A Corona-Wedding?! I am not sure how I feel about it. Masks everywhere, no hugging and limited celebrating if you can even call it that. 

Since Lockdown began, over 73,600 weddings and same-sex civil partnership ceremonies have been postponed. I am just hoping that I am not one of them ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Can you use the word "Dope" still at Twenty-Eight?

Heyy, 

Finally a night in for myself! Mr Warehouse dropped off at the pub and with my semi-healthy chicken salad kebab on stand-by I settled in for the night, feeding the hounds and getting comfy on the couch. It had been so long that I could barely contain my excitement when Mr Warehouse had said he was going to the pub and asked me for a lift. Gladly I dropped him off and anticipated an early-ish night. Mr Warehouse had joined Mr CWG for a night of laughs and lads banter at his old local in the next village over. But now I was home, as the night sky turned darker I had back to back Teen Mom UK, Teen Mom OG and all-new American Horror Story to catch up on. I was very much enjoying my overdue night in front of the box, well that was until I realised that a house is bigger than the old flat and after watching American Horror Story I promptly went around and locked all doors and windows, just in case you know ... 

Soon enough though I got a message. It was legible and spelt correctly so assumed that my future husband was totally fine and had not had too much sauce. However, as I pulled up outside the pub I was greeted by a rather sobered-up Mr CWG, however, Mr Warehouse, my darling sweet boy was absolutely sozzled. Bidding farewell and with promises of seeing each other within a few hours for my birthday party/get-together the following day, I proceeded to take Mr Warehouse home for a glass of water and a couple of paracetamol with a side order of bucket-by-the-bed. 

Pulling away I was met with screams as my burly bae decided that we were going to hit every car that was coming in the opposite direction. This was not the case and as I poodled down the at speed limit of thirty miles an hour, I was told that I was going "far too fast" and to "slow the fuck down". Nearly wetting myself with laughter I must admit I was barely able to keep my eyes open and on the road for how funny this all was. That was until, baring in mind that it was past midnight, I was overtaken by a motorcycle. 
"OOOH HARRY YOUR A WEEEZAAARD!" I heard Mr Warehouse exclaim in the actual worst Scottish accent I have ever heard. Unable to contain the laughter, it only egged him on as he carried on shouting and yelling that "yeeer a weeezaaard Harry! A weezard!" 

Squealing round every bend, twist and turn along the country roads, we finally arrived home, although not before me as the glorified taxi driver was groped and had to tell my gorgeous man off for fiddling with the radio and insisting that he played Heart FM, probably one of the worst things to listen to in the dead of night. Heading indoors we were greeted by the puppies and Mr Warehouse made a dash for the fridge, berating me that I had serviced myself in terms of getting a kebab and yet he was practically starving and wasting away! Hardly. 

Slamming a chicken burger into the microwave and heading to the toilet I thought that the special bucket (originally bought I think as we really tried with the whole adulting thing and planned to use it for washing up or cleaning however was now only reserved for really special nights out whereby someone has gone in a little too hard). Heading upstairs it was only a matter of moments before I was being preached too about the warnings of alcohol abuse and how Mr Warehouse "will never drink again", shortly followed by some long stints hanging out in our bathroom, blowing it from both ends the messy fuck. Least he had the special bowl with him for company as after asking if he was OK all alone in there I soon drifted off to sleep.  

The following morning I was yet again awoken to Frankenstein's borderline nauseating whining and crying and bitching! Oh ma gaad! When will this dog learn I will come down, eventually. I just wanted a fucking lay-in! Attending to him at a stark 6am, only a matter of hours after I fell asleep, leaving my betrothed on the bog with his head in a bucket of his own vomit. The house was far from party-ready and I was seriously reconsidering a cancellation, maybe faking illness or something just so I could lounge about all day in my PJ's and eat cake and binge on American Horror Story, this time in the daylight so the monsters don't seem so real. Returning Frankenstein to his cage and heading back to bed myself I knew it wouldn't be long before his whimpers and cries awake me once more. 

As morning broke, I greeted a very sore-headed bear downstairs and continued the war effort in order to get the place poppin' ready for some drinking and some partying. However, as 4pm rolled around, the start of the party, I realised by the number of cancellations that kept flooding through that there would only be a very select few that would actually turn up. I did, however, polish off nearly a whole bottle of Gin and shared a bottle (OK maybe shared was a strong word as it was barely half a glass) of prosecco with my Auntie, and many, many a Slimming World Syn in the sausage rolls and corn dogs - a feeble homage to my American bezzie Mrs Tweedle-Dumb who couldn't be here to share in this day a part of it!

The day itself went well and I enjoyed the company of all those bitches that could be arsed to turn up. I was spoilt too with pressies of wine and gin and Baileys Strawberries and Cream. From Miss Tweedle-Dee I received a stunning Morphe make-up Palette, along with a bottle of my fave perfume (Clean Rain if anyone is asking for Xmas!) and a super unique horror-film-inspired charm bracelet complete with Freddie, Jason and Chuckie encased in silver, and that was just to name a few. My lovely step-parents (Miss Tweedle-Dee's Mom and Dad) bought me a Pink Gin gift set, a Bathbomb advent calender and set of make-up brushes. Mr Warehouse spoilt me and showered me (literally) or maybe should I say bathed me in about ten different bath bombs, all from my fave store - LUSH, along with some HomeSense Schpoopy candles smelling like pumpkin shit and other fucking dope autumn smells (I'm twenty-eight can I use "dope" now?) and another stunning make-up palette, this time "Take me back to brazil" by BeautyBay. I was certainly spoilt and now am looking forward to counting down the last few days until I can finally say ... It's a year 'til my wedding day!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Green Fingered Goddess

Hello everyone, 

I suppose we have had a rather quiet weekend in comparison to last. No Parties and no worrying over BBQ's and finally no more wondering if Frankenstein is OK in his baby grow or if he would rather the cone. Following his last Vet check on Friday, he was given the all-clear and was ready for some more strenuous exercise, not that he had calmed down mind. With that in hand, I had mentioned to the Vet about possibly enrolling him into agility classes as he has so much energy and is a quick learner. She had agreed and suggested some local groups and classes which I will be sure to hit up, however, I think I will start to show him this year, especially since I will have a few on my doorstep. Who knows we might just win!

What with it being the Bank Holiday here in the UK as well this weekend, the last one before Santa comes, Mr Warehouse and I applied ourselves well and have done the garden. Well, at least some of it. You see most Bank Holidays in the UK are drizzly, wet and grey - If you haven't already noticed. However on the contrary, this one has been blisteringly hot, one of which my future husband and I can enjoy whilst not being as sun burnt as the last time there was a heatwave here.

Saturday Mr Warehouse was working the morning for some extra pennies so I decided to head out for the afternoon, popping by to my seamstress to see if she could work some magic by adding sleeves to my dress for a family event coming up soon. That night we looked after my future niece and nephews whilst their parents were out. Sunday I had reserved for hitting the shops in the hope of finding that elusive rattan garden corner sofa furniture set. And so leaving the pups at home in the coolness of the house Mr Warehouse and I headed out into the 30-something-degree weather and popped by a few stores picking up a much-needed hose for our newly acquired tap, some compost and numerous reduced flowers and bulbs, ready to pot. I was quiet surprised with myself as I sat back and looked at all our hard work for a Sunday afternoon, flowers and plants potted, garden watered and grass cut. Very well done us and as Mr Warehouse said as we settled in for the night that it really is starting to look a bit more like home. I just hope that my green-fingers don't ruin the plants as I am known for not being able to keep most plants in my life alive. Well, apart from that one cactus that looked like a penis and just kept growing?!

I remember thinking as we walked around garden centres and DIY shops as a child that this was the height of boring and that peaking as an adult was when you had been to or had any dealings with a DIY shop and gardening, well, that was just another hell I forced myself through in order to get pocket money. I didn't enjoy it and hated the fact that there were bugs everywhere, it was tough thick clay type mud which was never easy to work with and that it was arduously long work making me ache and hurt by the end of it all. I think it was probably at that point that I vowed, whilst my front garden, and even my back one, in my childhood home looked beautiful and people always commented on it, I would always choose to have my plants in pots, moreso for convenience. 

Today however as Bank Holiday Monday, our extra day out of the office and away from work has been less productive. It started off well, however, with promises of getting the Save the Dates done and ready to post out, however, instead we searched for a suit for Chris, again for the family occasion and scoured several shops in again soaring temperatures only to then buy online as there were limited sizes and styles. It started to lag however when we started the inventory of the wedding items we have purchased in preparation for next year, slowly wilting under the inescapable heat. Finally, I cracked and snoozed for longer than anticipated in the late afternoon. Since then we have set up the printer, and the laptop and printed out what our draft was, however on closer inspection there are some slight changes we probably will need to make before sending out, and that will be left now probably for a couple of weeks as Mr Warehouse will be preoccupied with other, more matrimonial duties and events ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Foot To The Floor!

Hello, 

Pulling into my road after my driving lesson on Friday evening I felt OK about the last couple of hours handling lots of town driving and weekend traffic. Conducting a near perfect parallel park outside my little flat I turned off the engine and took my Ugg-clad feet off the pedals and relaxed. 
"So where was it that you went for the operation?" My instructor asked me. Confused I worried what he was on about. I mean I had a bandage on my arm where I had my Implant replaced the following evening, but I wasn't sure what he meant by that statement. 
"I'm sorry I am not sure I understand?" I asked timidly. 
"Well that's the best I have seen you drive. Ever! So where was the personality transplant done?" My Instructor replied, chuckling to himself. Thankfully I took a sigh of relief and explained that I thought things had been a bit jittery on the pedal control since I was wearing heavy winter boots with thick soles but my instructor reassured me and said that I should probably start calling them my 'Lucky Boots'. We talked for another few moments about my upcoming test and what it would entail. Suddenly I realised that my actual real-life driving test was in a matter of weeks. Six-weeks and three days to be precise. And yes, I am crapping myself. 

I am honestly actually looking forward to it, even though it has come round so fast. I am stunned at how quickly I have learnt everything. I mean granted I still cannot bay-park for shit, but I figure that we will get better in time with that one, but all the manoeuvres I was dreading; Emergency stop, Reverse round a corner and Parallel parking I am all fairly OK with but for some odd reason I have got worse as time goes on with my bay-parking. It feels like only yesterday I was getting in the car for the first time and being pleased that I had driven home or that I pulled out onto a busy road for the first time, now I am less than two-months from finding out whether I have passed my test or not. Eeeek!

I am not expecting to pass first time. I mean obviously it would be a bonus for me as I wouldn't have to shell out another sixty-something-quid in order to retake my test but I acknowledge that realistically the odds will be forever stacked against my favour. An average of seventy-percent of people taking their driving test for the first time will fail, according to my instructor anyway, so the likelihood of me failing is slightly inevitable. My Father always taught me one good thing at least and that was that if I set myself up for failure and prepare for all the horror that it brings, anything else will be a bonus. I suppose in a squaddie sort of way it makes sense, I'm just hoping I have taken everything on board and get a pass first time!

Something else that I will have to consider is if I should bring my instructor along for my test itself. It would be my choice on the day if I wanted him there, watching me from the back seats of my White Beema. (Which I have since hugged, knowing now that it will be the very same car I take my Exam in. I don't know why, I just thought examiners had their own testing cars?) I am erring on the side of caution here as I would prefer for obvious reasons not to be judged by two people, one whom I have come to know rather well, but also I am thinking about some of the things my instructor said to me on Friday evening after my lesson. He explained that not only does he like to become familiar with the body language and conducts of a Driving Exam but also what roads they take so he can show and practise with other learners. He also talked through the interesting fact that once an examiner has finished and is making their decision on whether I am a road-worthy person, if for any reason the examiner is unsure on whether I am capable of certain situations or is unsure of how I handled what happened during my forty-minute Exam, my instructor was right there in the back seats of the vehicle so can judge as well for himself how I handled it, either agreeing or disagreeing with the examiner. In a small way having my instructor in the car with me may be a plus point since if I was to handle a manoeuvre or road situation poorly or less than satisfactory then at least my instructor could explain that in actual fact I had done that move or street a billion times before and I had been fine with it, reassuring the examiner that is was simple nerves or anxiety that slipped me up. Nevertheless this is all a few weeks away and many more lessons so I am not too thoughtful of it yet.

You know what else is only a few weeks away? The kids going back to feckin' school - Well yes, and no I cannot yet sympathise the pain and torture of Peppa Pig on repeat but I am sure I will some day. No its soon going to be my birthday. Urgh! A whole twenty-five years on this planet. That's more than a quarter of my possible lifetime already gone. Poof! Disappeared! But it would seem as though I simply cannot wait until my Alice in Wonderland inspired thirtieth Birthday Party. I want one now. So why not. Well the answer is that in all fairness I couldn't think of any reasoning not to have one, apart from the money it would cost me. I need to be careful though as Mr. Warehouse has only just got a permanent and full-time role so we will be going a few weeks with little money so I need to go easy on the plans. Maybe we shall save the Flamingos and fireworks for my twenty-sixth? 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Is This It?

Hello again you!

So after last week's post this one is going to seem very much mundane indeed. Sorry to all those Nypho's out there but I have been far, far too busy this week to set myself up as a phone sex operator just yet. I have much bigger fish to fry you know. With Mr. Warehouse moved in and mostly settled, with his doggy joining us this weekend, we begin our lives together in harmonious bliss - That is until all hell breaks loose because he ate all my Mini Cheddars!

Who ever knew that things would end up this way huh?!  When I look back on the time I have had with Mr. Warehouse and all we have done in it, everything just seems so fast. This suddenly hit me whilst walking past a jewellers on Friday afternoon following a rather hectic but relaxed few days in the office (and considering it is coming up to the end of financial year, it says a lot about our office productivity). There I was, all twenty-four years of me, standing in the afternoon shadows of a second-hand and vintage jeweller, looking at the sparkly sapphire numbers twinkling back at me that I dream of wearing on my left hand one day. But then it suddenly dawned on me. I am twenty-four! 

Walking away I suddenly I could hear my maternal clock located somewhere in my womb ticking loudly. Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock, Tick, Tock! Louder and louder as I thought about what I wanted to do and what I had planned for myself and the timescale to do it in. I mean we all have a five-year-plan right? Right? You see, I want a child before I turn thirty at least. And before all of that I want to get married and tell stories of fairytale princesses and dancing the night away with their Daddy on the happiest day of my life, next to the day that they came into my world of course. I had to get a decent paying job (or just ask for a cheeky pay rise). I would have to travel the world to several more places including Africa and the East in order to extend the stories I already hold to include riding elephants through the jungle and cuddling lions in the Savannah! I will need to buy a house to accommodate this womb-bending brood I plan, something as you all know including four-bedrooms, an en-suite to the Master and a picket fence outside on a quiet suburban street with optional neighbourhood watch. But I suppose that is a lot to do for a little person like me who is only just learning to drive and still sees a shot of Cherry Sourz a good friend on a night out!

I just want to be fully prepared for parenthood and know that I have done things the right way and inside wed-lock. I know it is not for some people; The whole getting married and then having children, and in all honesty I do try not to judge people who are in that situation, but I just know that in my heart of hearts I would be severely disappointed if my life was planned out any other way. Not of course that I would ever regret my children if that is how the winds swayed, but I would feel disappointed in myself that they were not born into something that was already legally and lustfully bound by love. 

Now I know that a huge majority of that gumph above is pressure put on by myself and that to achieve everything I want before having children and ideally speaking within the next six years, that is one heck of a shit-load to cram on in! I mean whilst I love Mr. Warehouse to the ends of the earth and back, am I really ready to become someone's wife? I just don't know?! As harsh as that sounds the whole prospect scares me slightly, but at the same time excites me with the possibilities! Is this it? Is this now my life? Is Mr. Warehouse the one I shall grow old with? Is Mr. Warehouse suddenly dawning on me as Mr. Right?

I suppose in several of my past relationships, I have queried if I could ever be with that one person for the rest of my days, eating with them, sleeping with them, living with them and raising a family with them. Will I ever get bored of them, or them of me and is there anyone else left out there better suited? But then I think about my Mr. Warehouse and to back when I was single. Reality is that even then and now it would be the same answer. No there is not someone better suited to myself. Or maybe there is but who has time to flick through countless dick-pic's on Tinder and faux profile's on PlentyOfFish.com when I have someone who is wonderful in so many ways - His ability to eat all six packets of Mini Cheddars not leaving me a single crumb being one of them, haha! 

My dearest boyfriend is ever so kind and considerate. He is very affectionate but also stands his ground when we have a barney or believes he is right (does he not know all women species are right in every way all ways?) He buys me gifts now and then, sometimes flowers, sometimes chocolate and when I have a crappy day he brightens my mood by breaking me into laughter. He is silly and stupid - Just like me. He is immature and loves giggles, pillow fights and chasing each other round the house with tickles just as much as I do (apart from I don't like being tickled). Mr. Warehouse is thoughtful, getting me things I need and helping with household chores when I ask. He looks after me when I am ill and comforts me when I am sad. He has never made me cry. Ever in fact. And he does his very best every day to make me feel like I am his absolute world. His be all and end all, and everything in between.

I suppose the next logical step for us would be for to get a dog, get a house and get engaged. But that is my plan and a relationship is about compromise, but with Mr. Warehouse holding my hand tight, I doubt I will be compromising much that I didn't already have the chance to look for! 

'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

I'm Getting Old

Good Evening,

So today I went to a funeral. It was not someone I knew terribly well but it was someone I had shared several happy memories with. But as I sat there, dry eyed and holding on tightly to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hand tightly watching everyone around me fall to pieces as we all watched a silent and still coffin, I felt myself grow a little older. Gone are the days now of drinking in the park and mucking around at school. Today I think I faced the fact that whilst I am still young, I am not getting any younger. 

Growing up is tough, but I think one of the toughest things is seeing those around you slowly disappear. I once asked my Nana as a young child what the worst part of getting older is and she explained simply that as we grow older, the more often we have to go into the wardrobe and reach out for that Little Black Dress, each time getting quicker and quicker in concession. 

You see as we all progress in the journey of life we realise that faces change, as do people and their personalities. Some change for the better and some not so much. You yourself as you get older and maybe wiser will change too. And again, some change for the better and some not so much. People will come and go from life as changing as the seasons. Some of the characters you will meet along the road may break your heart and will be the ones that got away. I know Mr. Workaholic is for me. But then I look at the situation I found myself in back in Northamptonshire when I was in my happy little blissful bubble with him. I was twenty and more than happy to settle down with an itchy finger and an empty spare room I needed to fill. Looking back now, albeit through rose tinted glasses, I now know it was not where my life was designed to go and if given a second chance again to give it another shot, I am almost certain now I would decline. Since Mr. Workaholic I have had many a dating disaster including Mr. Carrots, Mr. Coffee and Mr. Sick - Although I am hardly sure you can call that one a date?! Not all of them were awful though. For example I have met wonderful people like Mr. Cheese, Mr. Coffee and even a stint with a couple of lustful lovers over Tinder. But none of them being that all-illusive 'One'.

You will have noticed that Mr. Warehouse has been excluded from the above. Now this does not mean we are getting married (Step away from the facinator!) but nor does it mean that he is another frog in my quest for a Prince Charming. It merely means that for the first time in a while I am beginning to accept that this may be 'it' - Whatever 'it' is?! And after only six-months or so into our relationship it's hard to say if Mr. Warehouse is my one and only. When you have had something so perfectly perfect before it is hard not to compare your feelings this time around to that of how you felt last time you were truly, madly,deeply in love. But I know now that it wasn't perfect as I once thought.

In the long run I honestly don't think Mr. Workaholic and I would have ever worked out. We were not wholly compatible - But then again who is? He never ate vegetables and all that graced his plate was beige this and beige that. Living on chicken dinosaurs and Carbonara flushed down with Redbull was not a healthy or sustainable diet. How was I meant to raise children around a father who ate about as much greens as a breeze block? And whilst we had a laugh and fooled around a lot with minimal arguing, there were some things in life that are just not meant to be. I am in a much better place right now than I ever was with Mr. Workaholic. I am somewhere whereby I don't have to rely on someone else or their income. I depend on me and only me. I pay my own rent, my own bills (Lets not talk about British Gas!) and afford my own things. On the other hand, Mr. Cheese in his own right was wonderfully charming, good looking and very affluent with friends and family in all the right places, but lacked basic skills in the bedroom as well as the "fun and frivolous" department. I could never really be my true self around him, only a segment of me. I knew both at the time and now that if I had continued any longer I would have definitely been settling for something, never to be completely satisfied. 

Whilst the intellectual conversation surrounding politics, literature and other current affairs was there with Mr. Workaholic and Mr. Cheese I was lacking in other areas and although I am not stating that for a second Mr. Warehouse tick's every box, he does try and that is worth more than anything I could ever ask for. Today and the past week or so has really opened my eyes to the world a little and in a way I have come to the conclusion that one day it will be my funeral, and someone will be standing up there on the pew reading out my life story. I want to know that I will have lived life to the fullest and trying not to regret or dwell on what could have been, only looking forward in anticipation for what is to come. And so I end this weeks blog post in a somewhat thoughtful and reflective mood, leaving to ponder the possibilities that tomorrow will bring. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Shock, An Invitation And Compulsory Meeting

Heyy,

So after last weeks interesting episode, I have encountered a shock announcement, a few revelations and an invitation which ultimately brings with it a predicament! Now would you really expect anything different from me readers? I understand that you also felt that last weeks instalment was a tad long and for this a apologise, but hopefully it was worth it in the end. Ill try and keep this one short and sweet.

After finishing a uneventful day at work I decided to call my personal 'Agony Uncle', AKA Mr. Mot. I had not spoken to him in a while and thought that it would be a good idea to have a chat on my usual commute home. We talked endlessly about the weather, jobs and what we were doing that week. Mr. Mot and I also discussed his girlfriend and the progress of their melodramatic relationship and yet again the 'Proposal' was brought about. Again I refused but something inside of me willed me to give in to temptation. I didn't. Further down the conversation we were discussing how Mr. Mot was attending a concert in London over the coming weekend and that his girlfriend was unable to attend. I asked as to why she wasn't making the event, expecting the reason to be something trivial like work commitments or family life. No. "Are you really that stupid?" Mr. Mot asked me. I had no idea what he was on about. Has he told me something and in my old age I have forgotten? Am I going mad? You see, up until this point Mr. Mot had failed to tell me a formidable bombshell that I was stunned to learn about as this had been the case for some weeks now. Mr. Mot had thought he had already told me that his girlfriend was now several weeks pregnant carrying his unborn child. I mean at this point in time it is really only a foetus, a small ball of cells that multiply every so often to gradually transform into a little person. I have known Mr. Mot for several years now and this was a very big shock indeed, not to mention that this added strain has made him question their entire relationship and its future.

Although it did get me wondering about my fate and weather I would be able to have children one day. Obviously not with Mr. Mot, however we have said that if we are still single by our mid-thirties then we shall elope, saving each other from a one way ticket to loserville where lonely single people own several cats and gradually deflate with age until the impending doom of death arrives. Its not like we wouldn't make beautiful children. Blue eyes and blonde hair - it would be like raising a little family that even Hitler would be proud of. But having a baby with someone you love and want to be is equally important when bringing up a child, I think. Honestly though, after hearing from the horses mouth what my ex got up to after we separated was something that brings me joy to this day. But that's a story for another day. What I am trying to say is that I was sure that I wanted all of that with someone and now that its gone, I'm not sure that I will get the opportunity again. Well, until is Mr. Mot and I start the deflation process.

Speaking of the ex, I will be having an encounter this week. I will have to stomach Mr. Workaholic's overbearing ego and poncy manor for a few hours whilst we finalise some financial paperwork that has not been sorted out for nearly a year. His excuse? "I have been busy". Well, unless a porn website has recruited Mr. Workaholic as new member, part of there climax-tester wank panel I doubt you have been very busy. Either that or you have found a new chess buddy *Snorts and snigger's loudly*. I am not looking forward to the meeting however it will be that last I shall have to ever encounter him. Mind you, I said that the last few times I have blessed with Mr Workaholic's presence. Also this week after an interesting invitation from a mutual friend of me and a another, whose name I shall not mention as they may be reading, I may be attending an event with Miss Chocolate. I shall not reveal any more information as I don't want to spoil the fun I may have, but will defiantly update you all on how it goes. As it is St. Patrick's day this coming weekend in the UK, Miss Chocolate and I will be celebrating in true Irish style, although she does not know this yet.

Anyway I think I deserve a nice hot bubble bath. Time to wash away my sins and all that filth of the day.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx