The Big Two-Five!

Hello, 

Finally the wait is over and I can finally tell you all about the surprise plans that I have had in place for the last few weeks. No these are not to do with a holiday that myself and Mr Warehouse will be going on in less than a fortnight. Nope, these are the wonderful birthday surprises that I have been keeping secrets from Mr Warehouse for the last few months. And with my birthday falling an exact month after Mr Warehouse's, I am sure that the same amount of effort and preparation is going into my presents and surprises as did his. 

It all started back in the beginning of the summer when I decided that it would be a lovely idea to celebrate Mr Warehouse's twenty-fifth year on the planet as best way I could buy throwing a surprise party / meal. I soon realised that after looking back on my 25th birthday party that Mr Warehouse would not appreciate being the centre of attention and a huge surprise. As a result it was plain to see that a nice sit down meal with the family and friends he held close would be the best idea. And so, over the coming weeks and months I researched into the different venues and restaurants that would be able to cater for what I needed. After settling on a local restaurant that specialised in Chinese with an all-you-can-eat party menu I was sold. 

The fact that they had a function room was even better as the parents of any children being brought along did not have to worry about them disrupting the other customers meals. It would mean that the adults and children alike could have freedom whilst celebrating with good food and even better company. I had the idyllic idea of setting up a colouring station with lots of colouring pages and pencils in one corner of the room in order to keep the children occupied whilst their parents ate. There would be like music in the background and a table for gifts and cards. Alas though this never came to fruition and I shall tell you as to why. 

After weeks of getting up just after Mr Warehouse had left for work at around 6am to bake several cakes in order to stack on top of each other in some sort of towering cake and frosting excellency, I failed and instead succumbed to the fact that I am no Mary Berry and decided to just bin it all and opt for a Waitrose "Ready-to-decorate" golden vanilla sponge cake. I will admit that yes I did indeed go to Waitrose on my lunch break and purchase a very plain cake and decorated it myself with chocolate icing and candles, all in the effort to pull off the idyllic birthday cake that I had imagined in my head. Of course though my imagination is a lot better than my ability in making and decorating cakes. Suffice to say that the cake went down better than the cheesecakes also brought for dessert. The guests even question as to whether it was homemade by myself. 

But waking on Friday morning to a excited Mr Warehouse, I made myself a cup of coffee and sat down with his birthday presents. Opening the birthday cards that had come in the post first from my Grandma and Nana, Mr Warehouse was delighted that this was the first year he had been given a birthday card by them both. Ripping open his other presents, Mr Warehouse unveiled the secret I had been keeping for the last few weeks and months. A belt, a super-large, fluffy bathrobe in Navy, a bag full of 2-penny coins so that we could go to the seaside and play on the arcades all day long whenever he wanted was just a few of the many gifts I bought him. But I saved the best until last. 

After a quick doctors appointment, I rushed over to the venue in order to decorate and drop off the cake and colouring pages. Making excuses to Mr Warehouse as to why I was leaving work late on a Friday, I walked into the venue only to discover that the hefty deposit that I had paid in order to secure the function room was in actual fact redundant and our guests would now be seated downstairs in the normal restaurant area. No colouring station for the kids, no designated area for presents or cards and certainly no display area for my knock-off-Nigel-cake. To say I was angry was an understatement however I did not have enough time to worry about this as I still have to get home get ready and back to the restaurant without Mr Warehouse assuming anything was wrong. 

Coming home I talked through my day as normal and explained that I was thoroughly looking forward to our date night. Hoofing Mr Warehouse out of the back door in order to walk the dog before we headed out I quickly called through to my Dad and the restaurant to make sure that the people had all started to arrive. Heading out the door I was shaking with nerves and anxious that Mr Warehouse may find out what my last and final surprise for his birthday may be. 

Driving down the road slightly I asked Mr Warehouse to go in my handbag to get me something. Unbeknown to the boyfriend he reached inside and picked out a small wrapped box. 

"Happy Birthday!" I exclaimed as I continued round the corner of the residential streets. Shocked and speechless I asked if it was a good present. Mr Warehouse had just opened up one of his last presents, a leather bound wallet with Marvel characters on the outside. Inside however was something even more Marvel-lous! For months all I kept hearing from the boyfriend was the fact that the now infamous Richard Jones who won Britain's Got Talent 2016 performing magic alongside a career in the military, was coming to Bedford in the autumn. I played hard to get and said that I did not know who Richard Jones was, but as Mr Warehouse went into full detail about who he was and what he did, I was secretly looking all the best seats in the house in order to see him live and in action. The money that I have paid for the tickets was certainly worth having Mr Warehouse speechless in the passenger seat of Vivienne. 

Still reeling from the surprise that his girlfriend had bought him pretty much front row tickets to the show that he had been looking at for the last six-months or so, I parked the car and we entered the restaurant. Shock again blessed Mr Warehouse's face as he looked around at the friends and family that had joined him to celebrate his birthday. There was maybe an inkling that someone may be up to no good when he noticed some guests walking in late as we approached the venue but other than that he was stunned. Pheeew! Finally I could breathe a sigh of relief, all in the knowledge that everything was over and I did not have to lie or sneak about anymore. 

In terms of the meal itself it was OK, however the combining factor that I had paid a lot of money for a deposit and with the promise of a function room only to be then seated with everyone else in the restaurant, plus the annoying factor that the restaurant staff did not even take out orders for another hour and a half totalled to making the experience less than satisfactory for myself. Parents of some of the youngest members of the party had to leave as they were already passed their bedtime and they only had the opportunity to consume the starters. Anyone with all other children older than toddlers were asked to cough-up as despite the children not eating from the menu they were still snacking on Prawn Crackers and tit-bits from their parents plates. The colouring pens and pencils as well as the drawings were only helping the children so much and as the Borden crept in from sitting at a empty table for so long the noise of the restaurant got louder. This was not what I wanted and certainly not something that I have signed up to when I spoke to the restaurant originally to host the event. 

However, that being said the food was lovely as always and freshly prepared to order, and all in all I think that everybody had a good time including the birthday boy himself Mr Warehouse. But in no uncertain terms I have been told under no circumstances I am I ever to throw a surprise birthday party or meal again, so ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Castle on the Hill

Hello Dears!

Finishing work I don't think many of my work colleagues knew that I was taking annual leave, starting with a half day on Friday afternoon. Come half-twelve I was more than ready to finish work and get my hot-tub on! But first I needed to wait for the besties, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb to arrive so that I could drive us all to our home for the weekend. Once they had arrived we popped everything into the car and headed out to the Open Roads. 

Our purpose built, Laxfield Lodges log cabin was set in the beautiful Suffolk countryside and is a part of a couple that the land owner has on his property in order to make a bit of cash on the side. And why wouldn't you make use of your surroundings, bunging in a hot-tub as well to increase profits. All rooms in the cabin were carved from the finest cuts of wood and the cabin itself was comprised of two bedrooms, a double and a twin, one main bathroom with a bath tub and a en-suite to the master bedroom including a rain shower. A separate utility room with tumble dryer, washing machine and storage was hidden along the wooden corridor before you came into the main living area which boasted a beautiful black and white granite kitchen including an incredibly useful island. All the mod-cons and amenities you could ever ask for in a kitchen as well as a six-ring old fashioned range in which you could cook in either the fan or the gas ovens provided. Two leather sofas rounded of the Living area looking out to the large decking and meadows but was accompanied by the glass free-standing dining room table and TV. 

But as you stepped outside onto the wooden veranda you saw the 'piece de la resistance': The Hot-Tub! Covered cleverly with some reeds and bamboo shoots, the hot-tub / Jacuzzi itself was very discreetly hidden from view of the other Lodge and the main house. perfect for a late-night dip and even maybe something a little bit more risky! But on a hot and lethargic Friday afternoon and certainly following the long journey that we had coming over from Bedford, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I were all itching to take a dip before the sun set. We even found out from the owner that the singer and songwriter Ed Sheeran was from around these parts, and was actually raised in the village down the road from where we were staying. The area even hosted Ed and his female friend, the international pop star that is Taylor Swift in a pub round the corner and and the video shot for Castle on the Hill was actually done nearby and showed the Framingham Castle in the background, a supposed old haunt of Baby-Ed. 

Saturday morning the Tweedles and I all awoke fresh as daisies and ready to start our day. After having breakfast consisting of a cup of coffee and a waffle or two, we all jumped in the car for the 40-minute or so journey to Ipswich in search of some shopping and retail therapy in order to unwind, spending some much needed time together for alas this may be the end of our annual holiday as we knew it. With some swift changes coming up in the next few months and very near future it was clear that we did not have much time to spend with each other, at least not in person anyway. Some make-up, clothes and holiday bits for mine and Mr. Warehouse's holiday to Tenerife in August we we're all officially shopped and dropped, and it would appear that we have dropped right into a Chiquitos nearby for some Dinner. 

Sunday was an unsuccessful day at the farm for a free activity, but I would say that the less said about this the better and so back to the hot-tub to enjoy the last few moments in whirlpool bliss before heading home to reality and work the next day. Suffice to say that whilst we had our holiday squabbles and disagreements as usual it was also an emotional time to reflect on our friendship and realise just how far we had all come from the school girls that met in the playground well over a decade ago. Who knows where our next trip will take us however I have a funny feeling that it will probably involve a little bit of a Chillier climate and even a trip to a Swedish Christmas Market!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

BF4L

Heyy, 

So it would appear that yet again it is Easter and after weeks of planning and looking forward to visiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her other half, I picked Miss Tweedle-Dee up after finishing work of Thursday evening, ready for the tedious drive down. Truth be told I actually don't mind driving down to Hampshire to visit, in fact I quite enjoy the drive. Getting there late we all milled around Miss Tweedle-Dumb's flat until the earlier hours, gossipping about friends, family and strangely current affairs. It was not normal that the subjects of news articles were topic of conversation, but it seemed to happen a lot this weekend and I liked it. 

Friday morning Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I awoke and planned out a nice day to a local working farm. Arriving on site with sun shining and Sunnies on I was really enjoying my time with the girls. Ever since Miss Tweedle-Dumb had moved down to Basingstoke last Summer I had been worried she would miss home too much or that Miss Tweedle-Dee and I wouldn't see her as much, and whilst the latter is true, I think we treasure our time together much, much more than we ever used to. For the weeks in between our monthly visits I imagine we all look forward to them as much as the next. 

I know myself just how destructive living with someone can be, well at least for me it was destructive with Mr. Workaholic. So I can understand why she was nervous about moving in with her boyfriend of more years than I can muster, especially seeing me go through the messy break-up and everything else that went with separating whilst still being responsible for a property. It can be so easy to look at someones situation close to you or that you know of sometimes and compare it to your own, even if there are very little commonalities. I worried when Miss Tweedle-Dumb moved away that she would feel isolated, cut off and abandoned in a fresh new area where she knew very little people, most of them her other-half's family. But I am glad that it seems to have all worked out and safe to say that despite the odd bicker here and there, she is flourishing in her new home. 

I suppose in a way though Miss Tweedle-Dumb and my situations were and are very different, even now. I lived with Mr. Workaholic when I was in my late teens and early-20's. I was still learning about myself and dealing with situations most twenty-somethings don't have to contend with. We were both very young and naive and whilst I tried to make it work, for one reason or another it was not meant to be, but I can see now why. Could I really have raised children with a man that thought it was OK to eat nothing but for Chicken flaming dinosaurs and pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner? And whilst we had some good times, Mr. Workaholic and I, it was a case of too much, too soon. It would have never lasted and I am thoroughly glad of all the experiences and people I have met since him and his god awful man-gina habit! 

Walking around the farm on Good Friday, enjoying the extra time off we had together, we saw the regular inhabitants including sheep, baby lambs, cows and pigs, not to mention a donkey with a massive dick and his two bitches in the fields next to him. I never understood why we have never done anything like this before, It seems almost like a right of passage in friendships - Day trips to Zoo's go hand in hand with shopping and cinema outings. But I was glad to be doing something else outside the box with the girls other than the usual shopping and spending money which usually happens when I visit Miss Tweedle-Dumb down South. Obviously after seeing all the sights and sounds of the farm (Including the super hot farmer who was so enthusiastic about the sheep he farmed I would totally let him "ram" me) we headed into town, where I spent waaay more that I should on stuff I probably could have done without including a six-pound lipstick that looks no different to my normal lip colour and an eye-shadow for over fifteen-quid that gives me a mediocre coverage to look like a glitter ball. Also included in my haul were flip flops I did not need for a further four months, cake I did not need to eat and more cheese for my expanding fridge collection of nibbles. 

Nevertheless after my weekend with my friends I was looking forward to going back home to my pooch and boyfriend. I always seem to miss them much more after being away, even if only for a few days. I do however miss my bezzies. but until next month, I will just have to count down the days ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Hiya!

Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking. 

Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor. 

After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway. 

As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart. 

Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?

Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?

I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!

I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Terror Is What You Regret In Life!

Hallo Everyone, 

Lazing away my morning in bed I was glad of a Friday off work. Thrilling though it is, sometimes it can be nice just to have a break from it. But I couldn't lounge around all day, I had a train to catch!

Off to London I went, mini case and signature Eggnog Latte from Starbucks in toe as I boarded my train to The Big Smoke for the weekend with Mr. Warehouse whom was still hard at work and would be joining me later for dinner. I was looking forward to my weekend away with the boyfriend and even more-so to be spending Saturday evening eating German Sausages, Candy Floss and Fudge all whilst in the company of Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee. And as if the couldn't be more exciting we were all going to be in the company of Miss Tweedle-Dee's most recent Beau. I was more than made up that my little Tweedle-Dee had found someone and was excited to meet her and experience Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland 2015 all together. I had also planned something for Mr. Warehouse that he was not expecting on Saturday which was going to also add to the magic of a relatively romantic weekend away before Christmas. Although in hindsight maybe everything from Six O'Clock on Saturday evening onwards should probably be swept under the Klusterfuck carpet and never spoken of again?!

Being pampered and getting my hair done was, as it always is (isn't it gals), a pleasurable experience and even more so when it only costs you fifteen-quid at a top London salon in the heart of Hatton Gardens - Jewellery quarter of the city. Strutting my stuff I barely had enough time to head to the hotel which was nearly an hour outside the city (hastily bought due to a discount and very heavy eyes on a Sunday evening a few weeks ago) and back into the city again before Mr. Warehouse arrived. 

Trotting down to the platform at Baker Street, transferring from one tube to the next I stood on the platform awaiting the 1704 to Farringdon on the Circle Line (Yellow), due in just under two-minutes. I couldn't wait to see my baby and have a lovely meal and maybe some cheeky cocktails before bedtime! But as I approached the platform I noticed from the corner of my eye something strange. There was a man. Standing there just behind the yellow safety line. He was white, dressed in muted tones, a Khaki coloured, large, bulky coat covered him. His eyes were wide, like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car down a country lane. He looked worried. Scared even. I looked away but something pulled my gaze back towards him. Then I noticed it. He had a rucksack on. 

I turned away not wanting to believe that I could have such horrible dark thoughts about someone. I was kind and loving and enjoyed making people laugh and smile. How could I think that of someone, especially someone I never even knew? 'He didn't look like a terrorist? Did he? But then again - What do they look like?' I thought silently to myself. Trying my hardest not to be judgemental I thought that maybe if I spoke to him he would give something away that would enable me to realise I was just being silly and that he was just a normal bugged-eyed human being like me?!

"Excuse me, Sorry but do you have the time please? My phones just died" I asked the stranger, lying through my teeth as I hide my luminous, 78% battery life-d phone in my coat pocket. 
"Yes, its coming up to Five O' clock" he replied, gentlemanly with a normal, English accented voice. 

It didn't work. I still felt uneasy in his company on the platform. Swamped with thoughts the announcement for the tube blasted out over a tannoy and I was face with what was now seeming to me to be a very real life or death situation. I had built it up so much by this point I was expecting it to happen. Watching him shuffle from foot to foot as I recalled the rest of the passengers seemingly unaware of the turmoil I faced as the tube roared onto the platform - 'If I get on this tube, I may die!' 

It was something I had never considered ever in all the times of coming to London, even when visiting Mr. Cheese every other weekend. I had never felt so vulnerable and unsafe. If I missed this tube and waited for the next one I would almost certainly be late, ensuring and argument with Mr. Warehouse after leaving him to wait in the cold darkness of Farringdon Station awaiting my arrival which he did not know well. Alternatively I could board the tube and everything would be fine, I would alight a few stops down and I would arrive on time if not early, therefore impressing Mr. Warehouse and getting the evening off to a good start. with seconds to spare and the door alarms screaming in my ears I ran to get into the carriage. 

As the doors closed I looked across to my fellow passenger. It was the same man I saw on the platform, only now under the lights of the carriage I could see clearly that there was a small, perfectly square box in his jacket pocket. I caught his gaze. A cold steely stare from those bulging eyes. Even before the tube had set off I noticed beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had not ran anywhere. And it certainly did not feel so warm that you would break out into a sweat. He took his hand from his pocket and wiped his brow. But as he placed it back in his squared pocket I noticed that he was tapping his fingers, drumming them rhythmically along the yellowed bar of the carriage. He looked nervous. Again looking around everyone was oblivious to the fixation I had with this man. Looking back towards the doors I could see they were open. I tried moving closer to them but it was no use. I was stuck. Jammed in with commuters, tourists and the like of rush hour people traffic in London on a Friday evening. 

As the doors closed I turned back around and caught my own reflection in the glass. There I was. Twenty-Four. A little on the podgey side, but better than being stuck on a constant diet of gluten-free this that and going to the gym. I had people who loved me. My father. My grandparents and family. My Mr. Warehouse. My friends; Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. My work colleagues. I never had children, or the chance to be a mother. I never got married and felt what it was like to have someone call you their wife. I would never get my white picket fence and lovely four-bed fully detached family home. I had got my hair done real nice, dark chocolate in colour and with a slight curl for my date night with Mr. Warehouse. It cost me fifteen-pounds. What a waste that would be if the only place anyone ever saw it was in a body bag, pieces of me all contained after the explosion. It may seem silly and over-reacting now, but right there in that moment it seemed so damn real I was shaking where I stood. I was scared. Scared of dying and living with regrets of never being able to get to that point in my life where happiness was every day. 

After what seemed like minutes I was jogged forward as the tube started moving and with that I instantly looked at the man in the Khaki Jacket and Backpack. What I saw next terrified me more than anything I had seen so far. The man that I barely knew, that I had lied to just so I could gauge his person, began to cry. Silent, wet tears spilled over from his bulging eyes as he looked back at me in utter despair. That was it I knew that I had to get off this tube and as the next station approached I poised myself for a click. But it never came. Instead the platform arrived and I flung myself through the crowds to the doors and to what I presumed was safety. 

As I walked down the platform and away from the tube I waited in anticipation that it might happen now. It didn't. As the tube rolled off in the direction I needed to go I waited for the next one, keeping an ear out for any loud or suspicious noises. Nothing. 

As I sat on the next tube that came along I was overtaken by a feeling of guilt and disgust with myself. I had judged someone on what they were wearing and what they had in their pockets. I had persecuted someone (albeit in my head) based on their body language and the fact they were carrying a rucksack on their back. 'He may have just had a bad day? His dog might have died? He might have had some bad news?' I tried to reason with myself and could come up with nothing more than the question that if anyone else was faced with that situation; Eyes wide, pupils dilated, sweaty palms and forehead, huge coat and a rucksack coupled with a nervous disposition and deathly silent tears rolling down his face - Would you have stayed on board to await your fate?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Compromising Position And The Unavoidable Question!

Evening All, 

So following events from last week after my best friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle Dumb, met the rather shy Mr. Warehouse I wondered what the next steps in the rather rapidly moving romance would be. One thing I never expected though was for my midweek dinner with my father to be such a hostile and fiery affair when it came to talking about my love-life. 

Daddy picked me up from work just after I finished, meaning I only had a few fleeting moments of stolen kisses and secret cuddles in the canteen with Mr. Warehouse before I saw his silver jeep purr into the car-park. Braving the cold winter air and hopping into the warmth of my Papa's car I looked forward to a good chin wag, even if it was an excuse for him just to kill time before a pre-arranged meeting. Sitting at the table ready to order I knew I wanted something meaty and saucy. Chicken and Rib Combo it was then! You see my friend, I am not one of these ladies (Dare I call myself that!) whose diet consists of skinny soya latte's with the possibility of a salad minus the caesar dressing. Yes, I am that girl. That girl who enjoys a mighty rack - of ribs. I adore a rare steak and need my meat to still have a heartbeat its that blue. You cant beat the feeling you get when your teeth sink into the cooked flesh and chew, swallowing all the meaty juices and don't even get me started on how amazing it is to have a right old naw on a set of ribs. Sometimes I wonder if I was a Lioness in a previous life, hunting antelope and getting a food-high on Zebra ass. Gosh I have just had dinner and now I am hungry again!

Anyway food was ordered and said food arrived but it wasn't until the dessert menu was cracked out that Dad really let loose. Parents are strange you see. Even as a girl in her early-twenties I still need my Dad and want to be around him and spend more time with him than I currently do. Although I appreciate him, his Girlfriend, work, extended family and voluntary work usually stand in the way though and so I have to be made happy with these fleeting post work gap-fillers. I get that he is busy and all with his own life, but that just makes it even more odd that he would act in such a begrudging way. And so, in between silly jokes and mocking comments about flaws that aren't really all that important there was some serious statements made. Comments like "If he hurts you there will be hell to pay" and "I hope he isn't using you because if he is then god so help me I will rip his balls off" followed in a wave of both interrogation style quick-fire questions and meaningful comments of somewhat intent. I understood though that by the comments my Daddy dear was making such as "I don't want to see you get hurt and cry any more" had a dual meaning. To me, as I sat across from my Old Man, I heard "I don't want to be picking up the pieces this time when it all goes wrong". And I understand his concerns. I myself am regularly transported back to one of the darkest moments in my life, The moment Mr. Workaholic left me. 

Desperate to change the tune, conversation turned to plans for Christmas and New Years. Being Mid-November already and with no-one having an actual plan to go with I became anxious for my own fate at Christmas. Would I be doomed to spend it alone - Opening pressies 'To me, from me' whilst wearing my pyjamas and eating copious amounts of chocolate Santa's and Cheese Footballs consequently ending the day by drinking far too much Port and watching back-to-back films and feeling sorry for myself for being a loner!? Or will I be forced to spend yet another Christmas with family members I don't wholly know, recognise or really give any care about given the fact I hardly ever see them. In all honesty though I think if I drove, Christmas morning alone wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. I can have a lye in, get up and do what I wanna do, drink coffee in my Xmas panties and dance around my flat with my tits out to Slade. Either way I am hoping it will be entertaining and fun-filled. Maybe this year I will have someone to kiss underneath the mistletoe!? 

Now Siri is a wonderful thing. it can help you find out things just by speaking to your mobile phone. So whether it is and enquiry into the forecast for the next few days or to Google 'How long an elephant is pregnant for?' - of which the answer is twenty-four-months, Siri knows the answers. However there is one thing she does not know. And that is whether someone will commit or not. As I flicked through the channels I noticed Mr. Warehouse talking to Siri. He had asked a multitude of questions including "When will she be mine?", "Am I good enough for her?" and "When do I ask her out?" to no avail as the answers were null and voided. Laughing to myself as he was told off by Siri due to the foul language of the next sentence out of his mouth, I mouthed some dangerous words. And as little giggles and flirts turned into full on Petting Season at the Zoo I made a move I probably shouldn't have. Now I know (As usual) I am beating around the bush but after a good half-hour of skirting around the issue, I was now in a very compromising position, straddled on my bright orange couch, when I was asked a question I shall never forget the context of. As my lover panted his way to the finish line, one simple question was whispered in my ear. 
"Will you be my girlfriend?" Mr. Warehouse groaned, banishing all memoirs of the same phrase being used in the playground in high school. I responded the only way a lady should and that was with an almighty powerful 'Yes' leaving us both lost for words and out of breath. Truly the most memorable way I think I have ever been asked out and something I am looking back at right now as I write to you all with a grin on my face as wide as moon shining through my window. 

With work colleagues have already jokingly asking when will be the best time to buy a hat for the wedding, I don't think it will come as a big shock to those who I work with. Maybe the circumstances, but definitely not the shift ion relationship status. Its strange to think that Mr. Warehouse and I have only known each other for four-and-a-half months, and only really started seeing each other properly since I turned the ripe old age of twenty-three back in September. Somehow it feels like we have known one another for an eternity. And although now we are metaphorically, physically and sexually in a relationship, mentally I am still trying to get my head around it. You see for someone that has been so brutally scorched in the past I still find it difficult to throw caution to the wind and live in the moment. I am getting better and find myself now casually daydreaming about the future and what it might hold for Mr. Warehouse and I. Optimistic I am, however anxious that I have yet to have a wild party weekend in Ibiza or a Summer travelling round somewhere exotic. So whilst I have finally jumped and taken the big step to be in a committed relationship with someone like Mr. Warehouse I will stay true to myself, my friends, my family and most of all The Tweedles, for I am only twenty-three and there is so much more to life than just living!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Silly Mouth!

Well Hello There, 

So another week and yet more blissful romances have continued with my dear Mr. Cheese, that as until my ridiculous mouth said something it wasn't meant to...

I looked at the clock. It was nearly quarter-past four on a Friday afternoon and in a few moments it would finally be home time. As I shutdown and cleared down my desk for the weekend I knew that it wouldn't be long until I was rattling down the tracks to Mr. Cheese. Luckily enough I even ended up bagging a lift to the station from one of my work colleagues who lived nearby so grabbing my bag I jumped in the car and off we went. Its funny how I didn't seem to realise just how busy rush hour gets the closer you get to London on a Friday evening. Irrespective of this I still took up four seats on the train with my bags and coats and worldly possessions for the weekend ahead. Safe to say I don't travel light!

Arriving into King's Cross I speedily whizzed around looking for a less busy ticket kiosk but everywhere was manic with tourists and business people, families and general busy-bodies alike, all searching for a platform or information or like me, a ticket machine for the Underground. Finally I found one but oh wait; My card has decided to have a disagreement with the machine and so after spending a few years in the queue, several minutes reordering my tickets and annoying the forty-odd commuters and travellers behind me I went to go join another queue where a real person could help me. My card ironically worked and after an hour of wandering around looking for a ticket I eventually got one. Now for a coffee and boy did I need one! 

As I skipped off to the Underground, coffee in hand I felt my stomach rumble for something more than just an expensive beverage. I was glad that Mr. Cheese was making me dinner, even if it was all alien to me. I mean Mr. Ginge helped me cook but never took the full reins and Mr. Workaholic, well, I can hardly count chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles is hardly a romantic meal is it? Arriving into West London once more I was greeted by a warm yet slightly damp Mr. Cheese. Typical British weather. It was raining. As we let ourselves in he informed me that we were having a feast of local butchers chicken breasts stuffed with Italian buffalo mozzarella wrapped in cured Parma ham with a side of homemade seasoned fries, carrots and broccoli all coated in a rustically prepared-from-scratch white wine jus. Impressive I know. Sounds like Michelin star dining when I put it like that. And as we sat down to eat at the shiny black glass dinner table in his kitchen I thought to myself whilst being poured another glass of wine by a gleaming, gorgeous Mr. Cheese "Wow, this one is a keeper!" 

After dinner was the game. Of football. Now everyone will know I am no sports fan, as a matter of fact I am the furthest from a sports fan. London hosted the 2012 Olympics last year and the whole world watched as I avoided watching TV for fear of getting out of breath just looking at people doing sports. But somehow I have found that sports, football in particular can be very, very entertaining and by the end of the game I was holding my breath and getting excited just as much as Mr. Cheese was. I suppose what made it better was the build up of sexual tension as I unknowingly stroked Mr. Cheese's thighs and felt along his arms which were tightly wrapped around me as we cuddled watching in awe at 11 overly-paid men run around and kick a ball.

What followed was an evening of passion, one that is best kept under wraps. One thing is for sure though and that is after a few weeks of figuring out each others sexual excites and pleasures it seems that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was right. The sex does get better. Once all the anxiety is lost and the pressure is stripped away (no pun intended) there is just left two people that fancy some fun, and what better way than to get your rocks off with someone who fancies the pants off you ... quiet literally! Saturday morning again was 'orgasmic' in a way that I have never felt before up until then. Somehow Mr. Cheese has an uncanny ability to make me want him, even when he is getting dressed. After sectioning myself to the corner of the bedroom we were both finally dressed and ready to have breakfast out at a posh restaurant on the local high street near Mr. Cheese's flat. Smooth small talk and conversation bubbled across the breakfast table whilst we both gazed into each others eyes longingly although unbeknown to me something was brewing. Something big ...

Rushing, Mr. Cheese and I paced down the steps to London Victoria's Underground station. We both knew we might be a little late to our appointments that afternoon. As the two tubes stormed into the platforms we quickly hugged and said our goodbyes. It was at this point it spilled out. 

I meant to say something nice and sweet and lovely, something that I say to Mr. Cheese all the time because there are no other words to say how I feel. And then. Out of no-where. Like a freight train it comes steaming out my chest and through my mouth but before I have a chance to cover my lips it escapes ... I Love You. Fuck! Everything slows down and for a few seconds I wonder what just happened. He turns to walk away and I pray to God that he didn't hear that profanity. I had promised myself I wouldn't say it. Not until I'm ready. Not until the moment is right. 'And Victoria Tube Station was not the right time mouth!' I scolded  myself. As I stepped inside the closing doors of the tube I wondered how I may tell my children about 'Love' one day. 

"Mommy, How do you know when to say I Love You?" my children will ask me. And what shall I tell them - "Well my child. When your in a stuffy, crowded Underground station in the middle of London. When your cooking alive because your wearing seven layers plus a coat, scarf and gloves. When your standing across from the man you have been nurturing feelings for ever since you went to the wrong damn bridge on your first date. When both of you are finally ready to depart one anothers company and there is seconds to spare before the tube doors shut and your left stranded on the station. That's when my dear. That's when you say I Love You. Then you turn, curse yourself for saying it and continue beating yourself up about it all weekend hoping that, despite your love-interest saying that he didn't hear, a little part of you wonders if he secretly did." Yes. Sounds about right. 

So as I made my way to the hairdressers to have a fringe cut into my long locks that I had been growing for nearly three-years I wondered how Mr. Cheese's journey was, en route to volunteer at a local Charity. Auuhh! I had tried so hard and convinced myself that I didn't feel that strongly for him, fooling myself into understanding it was just infatuation and smitteness with something or someone new. But maybe this is my sub-conscience telling me that in actual fact I do. Do I? I mean I have come around to the idea that it is now beyond sex and there are the foundations for something special. Mr. Cheese has had a lot of me and my life to deal with and he still wants to spend time with me. My family adore him and my friends are just as besotted as I am but is it Love? 

Well if that isn't enough I am sure that this weekend will be a sticky one. I am meeting some of Mr. Cheese's closest friends. Friends of his I might add that are under the impression that we are an item. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Item. Question is, by the time Sunday evening rolls around will I? Or will Mr. Cheese explain to his friends that we are simply "friends"? Will I be friend-zoned? What will I be telling you all next week? Oh, Silly Mouth! How I love you so.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx