Every Man Dies, Yet Not Every Man Really Lives

Evening, 

It came on Saturday evening. Mr Warehouse had spent the day putting up a TV bracket for the living room taking nearly four-hours and now we were sat cosily on our sofa with the dogs, curled up in blankets watching Saturday night telly. I had been quietly contemplating visiting my Scottish Grandmother in Hospital since Friday morning, however, the weekend was nearly halfway through and the last visit I wished I hadn't have gone. 

Walking into the building the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical although stepping into the room my Nanna was in, donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus), she seemed peacefully asleep. Sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. And yet despite all this, I struggled with the fact that she barely said anything. From a woman who struggled to zip it (she was a talkative soul), to now see her coldly silent, it was chilling. 

I said to myself that if she was more animated and talkative on Friday and Saturday then Mr Warehouse and I would visit on Sunday. I didn't want to see her like that again, but if she was talking more then maybe that would make that memory fade more into the background when she had gone. Uncle Golf had said that the nurses and doctors had changed her medication and this had seemed to put a little spring in her step earlier on in the week so it seemed positive. However, on reading that message, I knew I would never get the chance. 

"I am sorry to have to tell you that at 6.15pm this evening Nanna passed away peacefully," the message read. "She will now be with Granda and her family in heaven, looking down and smiling on us all" it continued. My heart broke. I did not cry, but of course, I was very sad. All of those ideas and thoughts I had in my head sitting in her rocking chairs together as we watched some old black and white movie as I cradled my swollen pregnant tummy someday, or maybe how she would cooe over her great-grandchild. The closest I got was her meeting my fur child, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called, even let him lick her face and cuddling him like a baby. 

All of it seemed to pale into insignificance as I chatted away several hours later with my Auntie who had called to check up on me. She explained that both her and Uncle Golf had sat either side of her bed, in that heavens foyer of a room, talking about shoes when all of a sudden Nanna took a long deep breath and sighed. 
"That's a bit of a long pause between breaths," they thought, chatting away. Calling in a nurse, and then a doctor, and then someone else, they confirmed that yes, Nanna had taken her last breath, listening to her beloved children twitter on about shoes. I am sure she would have found it comical. 

And that was that. Nothing more, nothing less, a simple slipping away to heavens gate. But I should be grateful I and others got a chance to see her one last time. I remember how I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. And now she is with him. What the future holds? Not a clue. I feel awkward asking about a funeral as she is barely cold, but with me being the only one running the department for the last couple of days with little help or support and the phones busy, work was one of the things I selflessly thought about. 

As we now enter week number four of lockdown in the UK as we battle the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus and with Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) only recently been released from intensive care in hospital, Downing Street announced late last week that we are still amongst a state of national emergency. Continuing the message to stay at home and save the NHS, Lockdown was being extended. The BBC reports that restrictions in the UK will continue for "at least" another three weeks as it tackles the coronavirus outbreak, concluding that a review of relaxing the measures now would risk harming public health and the economy. The UK recorded death toll is now standing at over 16,000 - The population of places like Cirencesterin Gloucestershire, Penzance in Cornwall or my very own home town.

BBC.co.uk continues that the strict limits on daily life - such as requiring people to stay at home, shutting many businesses and preventing gatherings of more than two people - were introduced on 23 March, as the government tried to limit the spread of coronavirus. What that means for funerals? But looking online there seems to only be guidance from the media and newspapers. Nothing from Government. Reading on Metro.co.uk that weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies are being stopped during the coronavirus lockdown, but funerals will still be going ahead. However, it is unclear that, death from COVID-19 or not, lockdown measures including a ban on social gatherings of more than two people makes it a complicated time to cough it (excuse the pun) and the government still has yet to clarify how many people will be permitted to attend a funeral during this time or if only close and immediate family members are aloud only. Advice from the National Association of Funeral Directors (NAFD), said that whilst they have reached out to the Government to clarify a number of questions, including the maximum number of people that can attend a funeral, the initial advice is to arrange funerals over the phone wherever possible, restrict attendees to immediate close family only as well as respecting social distancing guidelines.

And so as the strange times continue for another few weeks yet, for it will get worse before it gets better, especially where my mother is concerned. But alas, I have to laugh and think about what my Scottish Nanna would say - "At Least that's one RSVP you won't have to chase"

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Death is a Lesson - It Tells Us Not To Waste Time

Afternoon Everyone, 

Several weeks in the UK is still amongst a Lockdown never seen before, even during the ware era, from the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus. With Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) having been taken into intensive care and ICU over the last week, Downing Street is still stating a national emergency and to continue with the hundreds and continues into the thousands it is no wonder the NHS is on its knees struggling. I know this for a fact as I visited a hospital today, not as a fact-finding mission or in an effort to get a front line look at the crisis, but because someone very dear to me is very, very ill. 

A couple of weeks ago now I received a phone call from my Uncle Golf, my Mother's Brother, to let me know that my Scottish Grandmother had taken a turn for the worst and was in the hospital. Being in her eighties, I didn't really think too much of it as she was old and frail. She had been in bed ever since myself and my other Nanny Pumpkin had gone to Krakow back in Early October, and truth be told that things had not really improved since then. Good news, however, was that she had been cleared from the COVID-19 Coronavirus several times and that seemingly it was a case for pneumonia, swelling of the tissue in one or both lungs, usually caused by a bacterial infection. At the end of the breathing tubes in your lungs are clusters of tiny air sacs and if these tiny sacs become inflamed and fill up with fluid, this can lead to pneumonia. 

Every day that went by Uncle Golf would text us all a daily update on how she was getting on and the different phone calls or conversations he had with doctors and nurses looking after her. All seemed well and she was eating and drinking and getting back to normal, even talk of her being discharged. However, this morning as Mr Warehouse sat eating breakfast and contemplating doing something productive with our last day of a four-day bank holiday other than binge-watching Tiger King on Netflix, I got a phone call. It was Uncle Golf. 
"Things aren't looking good and honestly they are not going to get better from here" he began, becoming choked up as he spoke. We continued to talk as he explained that Nana just wasn't getting better and that doctors had said to prepare the family and try to make the rounds in everyone seeing her before curtain call. 

And so as 2pm rolled over on my car clock I met my Auntie, Cousin and Uncle in the hospital car park, walking in together for support. My Auntie looked tearful and tired-red eyes filled with sadness. My Uncle was quiet but strong. My cousin seemed to not really know the severity of it all, however, I am told despite being only sixteen, he knows what is happening and the likely outcome. I was half expecting my Mother to show up, but apparently her spotlight, I mean quality time, was yesterday.

Walking in the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being a bank holiday Monday, although that being said though we are amongst a national Lockdown. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical. Stepping into the sister's office I was donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus). Nana was sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. I began talking and introduced myself as if we had never met. 

Struggling to think of things to say I talked about my baby-pooch, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called. Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always describing them as a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. As she sat there silently and shut-eyed, I recalled the first time she met him, picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

It's funny. I wrote a few months ago in the Summer of last year following a visit about how I thought, as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. And now today, as I sat by her bedside on her way out that I would. Although she looked much, much different now with her soft white curls flat and as lifeless as she seemed. I giggled at the thought of how they would wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years and all the mischief she would get up to. 

Pauses came and went as she tried to say something (I think so anyway). Deciding that she could hear me and even if she couldn't it was better than sitting in silence as I watched my Grandmother slip closer and closer to the Grim Reaper, I continued talking. I talked about Mr Warehouse and how I am still working throughout these crazy times and how in a few months hopefully when this is all blown over Mr Warehouse and the dogs are going to Cornwall on a Pre-Wedding holiday. 
"Remember the time that you came with us as a family on holiday with Mum and Dad when I was little. Really little. And I lost my bunny rabbit. Remember the brown furry one with leather padded paws?" I told her excitedly, hoping it might garner a response. Nothing. 
"Do you remember how upset I was and how I cried the whole journey home to without him. And remember how some nice person posted it back to us?" I continued, again with little to no response. 

Changing the subject I thought might help and so I spoke about my upcoming wedding that ultimately she probably won't make and how wonderful it is going to be with all the decorations and the dress and the church. It got me thinking about the story she told me of her and my Granda. I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 


Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish, maybe now more than ever. I thought about that warm August day last year as she sat in her rocking chair and recalled how the day went as my little fur baby fell asleep curled-up on the jazzy carpet. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

Unfortunately, it was time for me to leave and as I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go now and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. Nevertheless, the prognosis does not look good and the outlook is bleak. How long? Nobody knows, could be hours, could be weeks or it could be months. All we do know is she is being cared for by the best people in the Biz and is comfier that I could ever hope for.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wedding Like No Other!

Hello, 

With less than a few days until his operation I thought I would again try and teach my puppy some valuable life skills, like how to conduct ones self when in a peculiar environment whilst containing bowel movements, sitting in the front seat of a moving vehicle whilst not being sick or having a pampering sleepover round your Mom's friend's house as they all sit around chatting shit and smoking like it's1984 their in a seedy nightclub. 

I wouldn't say it was the best experience he has had, however, that being said it certainly went a lot better than anticipated. I started our trip as I normally do stopping off at Nanny Pumpkin's for a coffee and a biscuit. We chatted about mine and Mr Warehouses new edition since she had not yet met our little bundle of fur, cooeing over him like a new baby and admiring him from a distance. Truth be told I don't think that my Nanny Pumpkin is much of a pet person especially that of dogs. I assume, partly from what she has told me and partly from my own judgement that as a military family they were surrounded by families who would get a dog or a cat and then have to give it up several weeks later when they moved army barracks only to be disappointed when Mittens or Rover could not come with them. I do recall somewhere that my father and his brothers had won a goldfish at a local fair and that my Nanny Pumpkin had agreed to let them keep it. If I remember correctly that the goldfish met its end in the same way many do with one flush and a toilet burial. 

I briefly saw my aunty, uncle and cousins as they had also popped by to see me and the new puppy, after which I tried to dash over to my other Nana's to see my uncle and her before my uncle went to go and play golf. I knew before even stepping foot inside the jazzy carpeted house that she had lived in for the last decade or so that my Scottish Nana would be much more reciprocal to my baby-pooch. I knew for a fact that my Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. Picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

I thought to myself as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. In her mid-80's now her soft white curls seemed to wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years. We spoke alot about my upcoming wedding next year and discussed a lot about her wedding and how different it was back then. 

I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 

Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish as she recalled and remembered how the day went. And as my little fur baby fell asleep hold-up on the jazzy carpet I thought about how this could be me in a few decades time, remembering all the fun and joyous moments I had with friends and family at my own wedding. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Turning off the Christmas Lights

Heyy,

So let me start this week's blog post about telling you exactly how much I love my fiance Mr Warehouse, however as much as I loved spending every waking moment with him I would also like to have some time by myself on the sofa watching some sort of crappy episodes of back to back Teen Mom OG or Homes Under the Hammer.

Finally though after what has seems like months, at last I last got a lovely long Saturday morning lay-in and a good binge of TV all washed down with a huge mug of coffee and maybe a mince pies or two. OK OK maybe it was the whole box, but in my defence they were going out of date and oh my goodness they were so crumbly and sweet. Besides, if one is not allowed to binge TV and eat copious amounts of food over the Christmas period then quite frankly what are you doing with your life?

During the run up to this time of year I either spend it out and about most evenings catching up with friends, on holidays or mini breaks away to somewhere more christmassy than Bedfordshire or just simply in a salon somewhere trying to make myself look beautiful for the party season whilst searching for a sequin sparkly plus-size dress that does not exist anywhere in any size other than anorexic or dead-for-a-week. But this year is different. I suppose that this past year there has been quite a few changes in my life which has made Christmas a little different. Granddad will not be feeding the dog from his bed, Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb are off living their best lives in sunny L.A, I have a new Fiance and a New Job as Marketing Coordinator but most of all, I have a swanky new home! 

Ahh yes the dynamics of Christmas has changed. But that is not to say that anything will be overtly out of the ordinary this year compared with last. Yes obviously my grandfather wont be there which in many ways will be sad for all of us as a family, however that being said, Christmas was a time for all the family to get around his bedside and take the piss, tell jokes, laugh and enjoy each others company - Or put up with it, depending on which members of the family you asked. Christmas is a day for celebrating and despite his absence, I plan to do just that. I plan to enjoy the company of my loved ones on Christmas day and will start it as normal with Mr. Warehouse and pooch in our new abode, opening the presents we have been hiding from each other for the last few months and eating chocolate for breakfast as any normal twenty-six/seven year-olds would do. 

Next will be bundling ourselves into the car for a trip round to My future families, Big Brother Warehouses, to have a spot of brunch (usually pigs in blankets although I am not sure why) and to watch our nieces and nephews open their presents from "Santa". You would have thought after generations he would remember to drop them at the right house! Nevertheless off we go again, on the move for the final time, back home to the other end of the 'Shire to spend Christmas dinner with my family, hopefully staying well into the evening and making use of Nanny Pumpkins glorious Cheese-board and over-indulgent Buffet. 

My Grandpa loved this time of year, good TV, family around cracking jokes and any excuse to have the house and garden filled with lights that went off any time you breathed a little to heavily, setting the whole Bungalow into a Vegas styled, all singing all dancing light show. My favourite part of being their grandchild was to sneak round the lounge when someone was sleeping and clap so that the singing Santa came alive, blaring out another nauseating Christmas hit! My brother and I used to laugh and giggle when "someone" would activate the Christmas lights and music, sending Nanny Pumpkin into a spin about why they were all going off again and waking Granddad from his afternoon snooze. 

I think it will be odd this year for sure but that is not to say it will be bad, he is in a better place and to an extent the family can relax a little as we won't have to wait on him hand and foot. Nanny will be sad I am sure but even she will probably find solace in the silence and normal lighting. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

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

Afternoon one and all, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

An Olive Branch?

Evening, 

Following my visit last week to the wonderful island of Ireland after my grandfather's departure, it was certainly a visit to see family and recuperate that I think both Mr Warehouse and I definitely needed. But back home in the struggling spring of Mainland UK and with most things organised for the funeral including piecing together an all black outfit that would be appropriate for a funeral whilst still maintaining at some class and decorum about me, there was very little left to do. 

And yet I had to still try and get a hold of my brother. When it first happened, my granddad's death that is, I hoped he has some sense in trying to get in contact with the family, including both my mother or fathers sides. But what with Mr Warehouse and I travelling to Ireland, contacting my brother had slipped my mind in all fairness but as I said last week, in a funny sort of way I had made my peace with my Granddad and his demise, all I wanted is for my brother to have the opportunity do the same and make an informed choice. Last week I supposed that only time will tell. I didn't have to wait long. 

Following my return from County Kilkenny, I called round all family members, hoping to get an update or to find out that maybe given the circumstances my brother had contacted anyone, even just to send a card or to call and give his condolences and sympathies. Nothing. At the very least I thought he might reach out after all these years to our grandmother who had lost not only the love of her life but also the father to their children who eventually grew into the family she now has. But no. 

After speaking with my mother's brother, my Uncle Golf, I was informed that he to had not had any communication from my brother at all since the beginning of the month. I was disappointed to say the least. This was certainly not how our parents raised us and far from what I would expect my brother to act as an bow fully grown man. Talking more my Uncle Golf decided that my brother and I needed to talk and would be most unfortunate circumstances needed to talk and at the very least discuss the details for the funeral and what we both might like to say about our memory of our time with him. And so with this information and coupled with my brothers mobile number, on a evening after a heavy gym session I decided to give him a call. 

Was I nervous? Yes! Was I Anxious? Definitely!  Was I scared? No, he was my little bro! OK well I was a little bit but I think that all of those feelings are fairly normal when you have not spoken to someone who is meant to be one of the closest people in your life in the last four years. I suppose it is kind of morbid in a way that the last time we spoke it was at another funeral. honestly speaking I hope that it was not going to be add another but here I was. In my kitchen. In my flat. Dialling his number Mr. Warehouse stood by me stirring the pot of risotto watching it boil and bubble. It began to ring. With the dialling tone continuing I expected a voicemail to hit soon. 'Maybe he was just like his big sister putting his phone on charge and ignoring it for the whole evening?' I thought. But I barely had a moment to think about that before a deep manly voice answered the phone in a jovial tone. 

"Hiya" The young man said. Shocked, I had not expected my brother to be so receiving and happy about me calling. But oh how wrong I was! On hearing my voice my baby brother proceeded to tell me to "Fuck Off"! Stunned by his outrageous behaviour and inability to control himself and show a bit of respect, I had only a few seconds before he hung up the phone. Attempting quickly to return his call, it went almost straight to voicemail. Leaving him probably quite a lengthy and rambling on voicemail I followed up my communication, although brief with my brother, on a text message. 

Hi Sean it's me, your big sister. 

I know that you don't want to speak to me so I thought I would message you instead. Obviously I'm hoping that you know this already but if not our Granddad passed away recently. On behalf of myself, the family which you are apart of even after all these years but most importantly Granddad himself we would really like to see you. 

I understand if you do not want to come and see myself, dad or anyone else in the family for reasons I can only assume, but at the very least I think you should go and say goodbye to our Granddad one last time. I have enclosed the details below that are on all of the families social media pages as I am not sure if you have seen them. If you have not then you now have all the right information in order to make an knowledgeable decision about what you would like to do for yourself and I hope you do the right thing as a lot has changed in all these years. 

I have spoken to other family members and they have all said that if you would like they are more than welcome to offer you a lift to and from the funeral, crematorium and wake and this is including myself. 

If you end up deciding that you would not like to come to the funeral for whatever reason, personal or otherwise, then at the very least call the funeral directors and they will be able to organise a time for a personal viewing of the body so it is just you and Granddad where no one else will be allowed in. 

It's up to you at the end of the day but I would like to hope that you would still go and pay your respects to our grandfather who loved us unconditionally and irrespective of our parents and what they did or did not do. 

When everything is said and done, I just wanted to make sure that you had a chance to make an informed decision for yourself as an adult. I love you and if there is anything else I can do or that you would like to discuss them please call me. My number hasn't changed. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting Back on The Bike

Good Evening, 

With myself and a another work colleague wrestling with telephones and battling the emails I to thought myself was it really all worth it. Don't get me wrong I loved the feeling of being under pressure and a good kind of stress. I knew that within a day or two life would be back to normal and the equilibrium would be restored back in the service department of a busy fire and security company. Getting up from my desk, probably the first time in the whole morning, I went in search to get a cup of coffee. Almost on cue my phone rang. It was my Nanny Pumpkin. 

"Hello dear. I just wanted to let you know but your Granddad has gone back into hospital again" she said hastily knowing that she had quite a few other people to call. After more than five years of constant trips to doctors, pharmacies and hospitals myself and the rest of the family were well used to having at these sorts of phone calls just find out that there was no need to worry or stress as he bounced back once more. But there was something different about this time. Something more serious. Something wrong. But with customers queueing on the phones and emails coming out of my ears I have no choice but to return to my desk and see out another day in the office. 

Throughout the afternoon I had more phone calls from Auntie's, Uncle's and even my Dad updating me on his progress or lack of thereof. After work I called around, trying to find out if anyone in the family had been able to contact my brother. It has probably been a good three maybe even four years since we last spoke, and even then it was at a funeral. God knows I didn't want it to be at another one but I needed my brother to know the details for him to make an informed choice like I had about whether he wanted to see my granddad one last time. But on speaking to my mother's sister she assured me that whilst she had fed the message back about just how poorly our grandfather was including details about where abouts he was being looked after in hospital to my brother, it would have appeared my mother was not all that serious about saying goodbye and in turn was preventing my brother from also going, even larking about 'how sick he really was'. 

Later on I discussed my decision about not going to see my grandfather in his final moments with with Mr Warehouse and I seriously worried that I have not made the right decision in going. I can only assume that after the upbringing I have had within the military family background, death is but inevitable along with taxes that is. I pondered on whether my grandfather would want me there but I settled my mind telling myself that he would be so high on drugs he would probably not even know I was there. 'How would I know if I have made that right decision to not see him?' I thought but in reality I knew the answer already and that it would only be clear if and when he was gone. My grandfather and I were never really that close. We chatted whenever I went round to see my Nanny Pumpkin and even shared in a few stories and anecdotes about travelling or dating. He was the person that taught me how to ride a bike all those many moons ago and was the person that taught me a very sure life lesson that would probably make me the person that I am today and that is when you fall off your bike you should always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the worse it becomes when you do. 

Exhausted from a hard few days at work Mr Warehouse and I went to bed early where I quickly fell into a deep sleep. I was only in slumber for a few hours before I was awake once more. On waking I noted about it was still dark and was far from morning. I heard the faint tone of my mobile ringing and trying not to wake the rest of my household I went to go and answer it hoping that it would not wake Mr. Warehouse for he does get ever so grumpy without his beauty sleep. Looking at the time I could see that it was within the hour of 2am. 'Who would be calling at this hour?!' I pondered as I answered the call, expecting it to be a a drunk dial. Answering I heard my dad's voice and he sounded serious. 

"Hi. I am sorry to wake you but I thought you might need to know that your granddad has passed away tonight." My father said. And it was at this point that everything I thought about life and death came into perspective, as crystal clear as a diamond. I don't know for sure exactly what I said although I do remember asking him if he was OK despite very reason we were speaking at such a late hour. A brief conversation as it always ever was with my father he ended the call promising to speak in the morning. I was now shaking. I was freezing cold. Now I was hot. Wait, I'm going to be sick. Nope I need to poop. What the fuck is this. Now I'm cold again but sweating. My hands were clammy as I figure out my way to the bathroom for fear of something unnatural happening to me. Is this shock? Is this fear? 

Sitting on the toilet with my head hovering over the bathtub for at least 30 minutes I became more and more chilly. Head spinning I took a bowl from the kitchen and returned to the safety and warmth of my bed shared with my beloved Mr Warehouse, fast asleep, just as I had left him. But climbing back in bed did not solve my problems. I was pleasantly warm now but the clammy sweaty cold feeling did not leave me. All I could think about was my family and what I may say at the funeral. Would I be asked to say anything? How would we all get to and from the church, service and wake? What would I wear? What would Mr. Warehouse wear? What will the family say about my decision not to see him before he passed? Would the family argue over silly things? All these things that whizzed around my head until I fell back asleep. When I next open my eyes it was morning. My alarm is ringing letting me know that it was time to get up, get ready and get on with the day. As I pulled on some black leggings and a comfy jumper, a staple it seems for my work attire at the moment, Mr. Warehouse awoke, groggy from the Sandman's reign. I told him the news which suddenly seemed to make him perk up and listen. 

"Why are you going in?" Mr. Warehouse asked me, clearly concerned with how I was feeling and possibly worried as was I on how I would handle my workday today, all in the knowledge of what yesterday and the day before brought me. But I had very little choice. If I chose not to go in and stay at home I would just vegetate and watch crap TV which was not really an option when you know that someone else is going to have to pick up the pieces and run an entire five-man service desk team by themselves that was already snowed under and bombarded with constant emails, phone calls and to do lists. And so I went in. Do I regret not going in? Yes probably. Many people and mainly work colleagues told me that I should have probably not gone in that day. But the fact of the matter is that I did and let's be fair in realistic terms what choice did I honestly have. If I had not turned up and for whatever reason my other colleague has not come in also there would be absolutely no one to answer any of the customer complaints, queries or questions. After the week that I have had I could have probably done with not going in. A few close work colleagues and friends of mine had said that family comes first regardless of the job and what I was doing it should have all taken a back burner in order for me to be with my family at what was a difficult time. 

But was it though? Whilst yes what happened in the early hours of Tuesday morning was very sad and upsetting for everyone involved, myself included, unfortunately this was something that we were expecting as a family for some time now. This was far from being out of the blue and a shock to our system. Everyone was apologising and saying sorry. Whilst I did honestly appreciate their condolences, I did consider what I did in the past given the same or similar situation. I too had apologised and said sorry. But I suppose the ironic thing is that I was not sorry at all. I could not take away the pain and sadness as much as they could not take away mine. Alas we are British at the end of the day and it just so happens that we are not that great at talking and dealing with death. I mean you can hardly say "Awwh That Sucks!" when your best friend tells you her Nan died. 

In between my hectic work schedule, barrage of emails and heavy flow of customer calls I was contacted by various members of my friends and family asking me how I was. The truth was that I felt fine. Admittedly. my world was certainly not the same as it was when I went to bed last night and in a small way felt a little emptier than before. The last few days have been difficult and odd to say the least. Work has been exceptionally busy and with a hectic weekend I have barely had a moment to think. Work colleagues, friends and even Mr. Warehouse are telling me that I am taking everything in my stride and dealing with it very well. But I'm just getting on with it. Besides, gotta get back up and on the bike sooner or later?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Welcome to Slim-uary!

Hello, 

So as the chill sets in and everyone appears to be battening down the hatches in preparation for bad weather and a lack of social interaction due to the fact that nobody has any money for at least another fortnight or so. And here I am feeling like I have money to burn. The struggle is real and I am starting to wonder why I ever chose to not book a holiday early this year. You see after all my work colleagues had booked last minute holidays, all of them snatching up all the great bargains and good deals, leaving Mr Warehouse and I in a bit of a tizz as to why we have spent nearly seven-hundred quid on such a holiday that was barely worth half that. 

With this in mind, 2018 will probably be our last big holiday until we own a home. This is why I am looking to go on an all expenses extra kind of holiday. Where to you ask but the thing is nobody knows. Well that is until about six to eight weeks before we fly that is. I would like to go somewhere warm and ideally long haul. Maybe America, Mexico, Caribbean or Hawaii? Who knows I may end up in Thailand eating noodles from some back end bar and having to pull Mr. Warehouse away from the Lady-boys! I am sure that where ever and when ever we book it will be magical and something to treasure whilst we save like squirrels for our house. 

With the weather in England as unpredictable as my my hair colour (Blue, pink, orange, red - You name it we've been there) it is far too early to start thinking about summer yet. Now I am sure that you are just as eager as I am, ready and waiting to strip off, ready to hit the beach in a new bikini and have everyone turn to look at you. However the only reason that I think anybody would be looking my way on holiday is to see what a state I was or to clear the road to the buffet cart. 

OK so I may jest a little about my weight and in no uncertain terms and I taking the piss out of people that heavier or larger. You are beautiful each and everyone of you. Your bodies do fantastic things like keep you alive and bore you children. You should appreciate them and all that they do for you. So why am I hear bashing myself about my own weight you may say. Well, that is because I'm not happy with myself in the dress size I am. For what seems like year after year has now started to turn into decade after decade and despite being only in my mid-twenties, I feel like I dress like somebody ten-years older than me. I want to feel beautiful and for people to compliment me for once and actually mean it. 

Rightly or wrongly I know that people, sadly mostly my family, make passing comments about my weight and have done for many years. My family has always been big especially on my father's side and with the recent deterioration of my grandfather and his health, I can only assume that his lifestyle choices will probably be the end of him. And sadly I have no sympathy for him. Don't get me wrong I fully empathise with his situation and following retirement from what was a very active lifestyle jumping in and out of lorries all day he is now fully bed-bound and in need of round the clock care. It is sad and upsetting to see him in this way especially when he has had such a huge influence on my life. We are not very close by any means but that does not mean that I do not care for him very much and it worries me to think that this time next year he may not be with us. 

Maybe this is why I have joined a local gym and started a better and more healthier eating plan. I have signed up to you and been attending personal training sessions for the last few weeks with some astonishing figures that even I did not expect. In the last 6 weeks I have lost over ten-centimetres off my waist along with over seven-centimetres off my hips and sadly one-centimetres off my bust! Sad Face! And I don't want to be down to a size stupid, pottering around with a head bigger than my daily intake of calories and a waist the same circumference as a tangerine (Which by the way I would not able to eat since it was not vegan friendly, gluten free or multivitamin infused). I would however like to enjoy my summer prancing around in the sunshine, wearing a kitsch tea dress and looking as curvy and cute as I did back in college all whilst cramming down a hot-dog or two. 

I want to enjoy my food as well as my figure and wardrobe. I don't really think that I should have to compromise on either in order to have a good time or indeed enjoy life. I would like to say that by the time the annual family fun day at work is in full swing and Mr Warehouse and I are preparing for another year celebrating a pool and darts tournament in aid of his grandfather I would like to be at least one dress size smaller than I am now. Hopefully I can get there however it will probably be quite a lot of hard work, determination and willpower. Now where did I put my kale and avocado smoothie ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

My Adopted Family

Hello All, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx