Driving uphill with the brakes on

Hi, 

And so there I was, talking last week about how after months of not settling and terrible nights and even worse morning routines, I had an all-round better pup. That was until I came home to yet again more books, magazines and paper shredded into tiny pieces. Puppy ownership has really been a handful and I thought that I would be coming to the end of what was a difficult patch, but now it seems as though Frankenstein is going through an even more destructive phase than before. The last time he was this destructive it was the carpet that was the victim, in the end, something which we have only just got round to changing over to hard floor last week, costing us a pretty penny we could have really kept back for a rainy day ... or maybe just a normal Saturday. 

I had my MOT on Clifford, my Fiat 500L in red back in September and after passing with an advisory to come back in a few months before the snow and get the brakes checked and have a full winter health check I booked in my appointment back then and thought nothing more of it. Looking at my calendar on Saturday morning with a long list of things to do including Christmas shopping for last-minute bits, a trip to the skip to dump the old carpet and seeing family, not to mention at some point putting up the Christmas Dec's, the last thing I needed was an out of the way almost appointment to the car garage. 

Nevertheless, Mr Warehouse convinced me to go, just get it checked and for the ten or fifteen minutes in order to have peace of mind over the winter and into Spring. Allowing Mr Warehouse to drive (he has been doing some lessons and is actually really close to passing hopefully in the new year) we pulled into the garage, the 1.3 litre, 5-door multijet seemed fine and I hoped it would be a quick in-and-out jobbie. Alas, the garage was running low on staff due to sickness so it would be about a couple of hours, so Mr Warehouse and I headed off to the small shopping precinct across the road and grabbed some last-minute pressies, haemorrhaging money left, right and centre. 

A few hours later we started heading back, and just as we headed around the corner I got a call from the garage. It wasn't good news. Made to feel like a complete fucking idiot of a woman I was asked when I had the brake pads changed. I explained that I have only had the car for a matter of a few months now (nine months in total) and have not had any work done on him as yet. the mechanic sounded perplexed. 
"So are you aware that there are brand new brake pads fitted onto what was then very worn and barely legal brake discs?" The Mechanic said. Explaining further some of the other items that needed doing including two front tyres needing as bald and split, I asked for the price, expecting it to be a couple of hundred quid. So when I heard over £780.00 I nearly fell over. 

Trying to take it all in, I hurriedly ended the call saying I would come back immediately. Relaying everything to Mr Warehouse I was worried about the cost. That was something that would wipe me and my savings right out.  Back at the garage, there was no getting away from it. My Clifford was barely legal in places and definitely way below the legal limit in places. All four brake discs needed to be replaced, the front two being the worst and along with this the brake pads needed to be replaced also. But it got worse as the mechanic (and what I can only assume as the manager) explained that with the starting mileage being at just over 31,000 miles and now only just over 39,000 I had done less than 7,000 miles and should not have expected the level of wear and tear on the vehicle in such a short period of time and with the limited mileage taken. 

Information in hand only meant one thing. The company I bought it from, Evans Halshaw Vauxhall in Bedford (who had shipped in the car from their Leicester branch) had not done the relevant checks needed and necessary. In fact, if anything they would have seen that the brake discs needed replacing and either were on the limit or under the legal limit expected and should have been done at the same time as the brake pads. The fact they had only replaced the brake pads revealed that they were not only cutting corners but wasting money, time and mechanics efforts as already worn brake discs would wear away the brand new brake pads far more quickly and mean a costly bill for the customer in the end. 

I had no choice, I had to pay to get my car back. I was advised not to drive away due to the number of defects and problems. With a couple of discounts, the mechanic was able to reduce the bill by about a hundred pounds, although a piss in the ocean with the comparison. And so I paid, opting into a payment plan over the next four months to pay it off. Fuming I sat down for the next three-hours and festered in my aggravation and annoyance, trying my hardest not to try. However, after plucking up the courage and channelling my inner rage at the debacle I called  Evans Halshaw in Bedford, they confirmed that the only work done on the vehicle including a rear cracked fog light and the front passenger seat belt casing that was broken were fixed, which they had. However, they washed their hands of anything mechanical 

Angered at the situation but understanding at Bedfords "cosmetic look over" my 2013 plate car, I called through to the Leicester branch to ask them the same question - Why did you install brand new brake pads on already very worn brake discs and ergo causing me a loss of over £200.00. I called through and pressed the options to get through to a salesperson. I asked simply for a record of works completed on the car prior to me shipping it down from Leicester to Bedford. 
"So sorry I will have to get that to you on Monday as our systems were switched over recently and I will need to export this manually and email over first thing," the salesman said. Reluctantly I obliged and took his name for reference. 

Frustrated that I had to lose out on so much money and the added worry and implications of if I hadn't been persuaded by Mr Warehouse to go what could have happened had I needed to rely on those brakes. The car was less than six years old and these were things that should have been done at the time of it being sold. I was angry at not only the money but the time, I had lost my car for over half a day and been unable to do anything else with my time bar waiting for it to be ready. You can be sure that I will be fighting this all the way. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

One year and a whole lot of change

Hello, 

As a child, I always found it incredibly boring walking around hardware stores, accompanying my parents on an arduous task to find all of the instruments they needed for their DIY Project. Whether it was kitchen tiles or flooring or new wardrobes I would always become irritable and bored out of my brain. And so I always reverted to what was much more fun normally annoying and pissing off my little brother, chasing him around the aisles or throwing soft furnishings at him. Obviously, this would annoy my parents no end and therefore turn into a massive family argument, normally ending with one of us sat in the car by ourselves as punishment. However, on the odd occasion, we were good walking around the store our parents would buy us ice cream from the van situated perfectly between the car park and the exit doors of the DIY store. 

Despite me now being twenty-seven I disregarded the fact that I should be an adult and walk past said ice cream van with little regard for him or his menu. Instead opted for the biggest ice-cream I could find on the board with extra flake sprinkles and source something my parents would have never allowed and disregarded for a lolly or cheaper ice cream. But fuck that. I am closer to thirty than ever before and after my first DIY shop I feel I deserve a treat. 

Mr Warehouse and I had just been shopping for our first decorating job in our new home. Our weekend plans had not started as such and had originally been reserved for making the "Save The Dates" we needed for our wedding which we were meant to be handing out this coming weekend at the annual family gathering the Warehouse's host. But alas I left all of my shit at work including my backup hard drive with all the documents on and since I have not backed them up on my home tablet stupidly I had no other plans. 

With this in mind, Mr Warehouse suggested some DIY and maybe making a start on painting and decorating our hallway or living room. And so we found ourselves in the middle of B&Q searching out wallpaper and paint. However, since we are on a budget we thought it best to use the paint we were given a year ago to do up our flat.  Mr Warehouse and I have been lucky to have friends and family as well as a few work colleagues who have donated different tins and buckets of paint and after a few mid-week paint swatches in several different shades from browns to greens to blues, greens and greys we settled on some good pairings. After settling on what type of colours we wanted in the living room we have decided to opt for a neutral palette for the hallway settling on a Dulux "Cookie Crumble" (a kind of milky coffee colour) and  Homebase "Vanilla Rose" (basically Magnolia). 

As I found myself wandering around B&Q on Saturday afternoon, I thought about the article I had read only the evening before from Huffington Post, "What Happens At 27 That Forces People To Grow Up?" Its a great article and I highly recommend it. I remember the article detailing how being twenty-six and being twenty-seven are very different and I agree. At Twenty-Six it is expected that you’re not going to have your shit together, but it’s cool if you do. Its also not expected to be in a relationship, but also totally normal if you are getting married. At Twenty-Six it is close to being Twenty-Five enough that you can get away with falling out of the club blackout drunk and stumbling home with a Subway in one hand and your heels in the other. At Twenty-Seven, this is not wholly acceptable.

At Twenty-Seven I feel as though I have it together OK. Probably could do with some improvements, a little bit here and a little less there but altogether I think I have it together. I have a house. I have a new puppy (kinda) and my original pooch. I have a fiance. I get married next year and I have a good job. I think I have a good grip on life. Yeah I might get drunk at kids parties (circa just last week) and I may indeed forget my shit all the time, but you give me an afternoon, some paint and my Bae and we have a brand new hallway. Now granted some of the ceiling, has paint on it. Some of the carpet, has paint on it. Some of the other walls have paint on it. But with a little bit of touching up it will be like it was done by a professional. Sort of. Nevertheless, I am happy with my half-arsed plan. I now have a modern and more spacious feeling hallway and whilst Mr Warehouse and I will more likely than not need to send our "Save The Dates"  by post, I have made a start on the redecorating of our new home. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Deposits And Departure Gates!

Heyy, 

In a few days from now, I will be probably writing from you in the hotel lobby or maybe by the pool of our holiday apartment in the centre of Malaga, Spain. Sipping on cocktails and sunning myself in the warmer weather I will certainly be glad of the break, especially since it has been a couple of years since mine and Mr Warehouse's Tenerife break! What with saving for a house, my mental health issues and every spare penny going towards our new home Mr Warehouse and I decided against a summer break in 2018. That being said it was not exactly planned this year either, what with the wedding less than a year and a half away now I expected to be ploughing every penny we had not only into our new home but also towards the wedding of our dreams. That would have been the case until Mr Warehouse gave me an ultimatum back in the dreary depths of March. "What will you do with the money?"

It all started when we moved out of our little starter flat in Bedford town centre. We had just received our new keys when we had noted that days earlier paid our rent for the next month up until the end of November 2018. 
"Don't suppose you could give us half of it back and we can be out in a fortnight?" I asked my Landlord cheekily. He didn't agree, although I knew he wouldn't. I had, along with my new fiance, a month to move our things out and clean the property ready for the Landlord's new tenants. Clearing most of our stuff in one weekend we made sure to give the flat a good solid three days worth of cleaning, scrubbing every skirting board, every wall, every tile to make sure it was spotless. 

I had been relying on my £400.00 deposit money coming back to me before we had bought a lot of the home stuff we needed and as Christmas approached it would have been nice to maybe go somewhere or just have a more enjoyable festive period, especially after the year Mr Warehouse and I had just battled. And on checking out with the Landlord everything seemed to go swimmingly. There were a few items that needed to be collected and taken care of furniture wise however on returning the keys the Landlord mentioned that the carpet may need changing and he agreed that he would find a few quotes and be in touch with a price so I knew how much of my deposit would be used, something we reluctantly agreed to. As the festivities got underway Mr Warehouse and I was able to even steal a weekend away to Bournemouth with our eldest. Soon enough Christmas arrived as did New Years and without a moments thought I realised it had been well over six weeks and I had still to hear anything from my ex-landlord regarding my deposit and what he thought was appropriate for a carpet that needed replacing waaaay before I moved in. 

I called and called and called but nothing; texting every time I left a voice mail, just in case he was out of the county or not able to answer a call. After several weeks I tried emailing, however the email I had just kept bouncing back. Hell, even Mr Warehouse had gone round to the Flat after work some nights just on the off chance he may be there but still nothing. Clutching at straws at the beginning of January this year I called the estate agents that originally dealt with me in letting the penthouse flat in the same block. They were helpful and put me in contact with the DPS, Deposit Protection Scheme. Since April 2007, a landlord must put the deposit for the property you are renting into a government-backed tenancy deposit scheme (TDP). This gives the landlord or letting agent's assurance that the tenants will meet the terms of the tenancy agreement, not cause damage to the property and pay the rent/bills. 

Finding out where my deposit was the first thing, next was trying to get it back. I found out, again through the helpful lettings agent, that my landlord must have returned my deposit within 10 days of us both agreeing how much you’ll get back. Since it was January and I had heard absolutely nothing since I handed back my keys there was only one thing left to do - Raise a dispute. I was told it would be pretty easy since it was clear that I had made every effort to try any other means of getting this resolved and had the texts and phone calls to prove it. And so I put pen to paper (well fingers to keyboard really) and filled in the online application form with ease. A few days later I had a response and was told that the Landlord / Agent would have a right of reply and that this would be allowed up until the beginning of February, three-weeks away. Should what I thought the inevitable would be and that there was no response from the Landlord then the DPS would look in favour to the tenant and in most cases award the full amount back to me. I was anxious but confident I had done everything I could. 

Within a day or two of logging a deposit dispute, I had a text from my ex-landlord, asking if we could meet at the property the following day to discuss the deposit issue and collect the "piles of post that was building up". I explained that the following day was not convenient and since I had been trying to get ahold of him for months now that he would have to wait until the weekend when Mr Warehouse and I would be free. I never heard back. 
Friday afternoon of that week came and I received another text message asking about the time Mr Warehouse and I would be meeting my ex-landlord at the property. I explained that since I had not had confirmation that I had assumed it was inconvenient and had made other plans for the weekend. I had instead agreed that I could meet him at the property, along with my fiance after work that day but that we needed to be finished by a certain time as we had somewhere to be, a lie but I didn't want to be waiting around for hours. 

Incidentally, on arriving at the flat, rushing there from work in 4pm traffic, my ex-landlord still did not show up for a further forty-minutes, only to arrive and announce he had forgotten the keys so needed to return home to fetch them, delaying the meet by a further half hour or so. During which time I took a look through the windows of my once precious abode. I was horrified to see that in the darkness of that January evening my ex-landlord had completely decked out my old gaff with new carpets and even painted the walls. Terrified he was going to try and charge me all of this, I thought it best to call the TDS and get some advice on how best to proceed, considering I had already filed a dispute. They explained that despite the ex-landlord fully fitting the flat out he would not be able to put that charge to me, even if they were cashmere carpets and golden paint (of which they were certainly not)! 

It was at this point that I also found out to my shock that legally my ex-landlord could not ask for any of the deposit to be used on the downstairs flat. You see, when I first moved into the block I rented the top floor 1-bedroom apartment and loved every moment of it. I paid a £400.00 deposit and then a year or so later when the ground floor property came up for rent I initiated a conversation to my Landlord and asked if I could have the first refusal. He agreed and since I had been a good tenant and always paid my rent on time with never any issues he agreed that the deposit for the penthouse apartment would simply be used for the ground floor one and so nothing more was said. Although that had not been the case as the Landlord have never moved the deposits over and for the sake of a letter at the end of the numerals (I moved from A to B), there was nothing he could do. 

And so as the van pulled into our old street again for the second time that evening I was relieved to know I had the upper hand and that every penny of that £400.00 I scrimped together for back in 2013 was coming back to me one way or another. A snotty and rather uncomfortable chat with the ex-landlord ensued, something in which I sound recorded on my phone simply for evidence should I have needed it. He accused Mr Warehouse and I of not cleaning the flat and leaving it in a "diabolical state" claiming that there were holes left in walls, paint jobs messy (from the tenant before me I must add) and that the carpets were threadbare and in need of replacement since they smelt like dog and were damaged. Offended I explained about how difficult it was to get hold of him and he brushed it off stating that it was "no excuse for how you left it". Some bully tactics took place and at one point he asked us about coming back to clean the oven, which in all fairness we had forgotten totally about until he brought it up. 
"Well," I started, knowing I was fully going to fucking win this. "Considering we had not been able to reach you for several weeks that had turned into months, I was not wholly confident you were going to turn up this evening and even then I was not sure what to expect so, therefore, have not come equipped with any cleaning tools, however, if you would like both of us to come back at a later date and clean this and anything else we would be more than happy to do so." I finished. This caught him off guard completely and maybe expected me to roll over and just agree to be billed. It was at this point he made some excuse about not wanting the hassle and that he would just arrange it himself. On getting down to the crunch however my ex-landlord reeled off the long list of thing we had left for him to clear and clean up, mainly redecorating works which needed to be done really in order for the property to be let again in a reasonable state. 

"I have had to pay out over £400.00 for the work I have done here and I would say I am being fair in only asking for half of it back from your deposit? Don't you agree?" the ex-landlord ushered to Mr Warehouse. My fiance, big and strong, chest puffed out like a peacock stood his ground and reiterated what I had said time and time again stating that this was out of our hands and that it was going through a deposit dispute with the TDS. 
"Well, we only have to tell them what we want them to know," the ex-landlord said slimily trying to claw back some money from his crappy paint job and cheap carpet. 
"Besides, who are they more likely to believe?" he ended. Then, awkward silence. 
"We need to think about it" I ended the long period of silence with explaining it was now a joint decision and that I needed to discuss it with my new fiance and come back to him knowing full well I wouldn't and would eventually walk away with my money, rightfully mine. 

And true to that, I did. A few weeks later I received an email in my inbox stating that despite timeline and numerous attempts to contact the Landlord /Agent even past the cut-off date for a right of reply, I was being awarded my full deposit back to me. The money landed in my account within a few hours. A couple of days after the TDS settled the claim I received a call from my ex-landlord. I was in the hairdresser's chair so could have answered but in any instance, I would have been at work and so screened the call. I listened to the polite and slightly sinister voice mail, demanding I contact him as a matter of urgency regarding the "damage" to his property and to discuss the "deposit issue" suffice to say that I did not return his call. Instead, I blocked his number and booked a holiday! Malaga here we come!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Things Will Be A Little Different This Year!

Hello,

I always knew that this Christmas would probably be the hardest that I had in a long time. Not only will Christmas Day be spent with the family missing one important member in particular, my grandfather, but also that I am without my best friend who is over five-thousand miles away in LA. 

On Friday, before of debauchery of our Christmas parties with our work colleagues, Mr Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I met at a local restaurant for dinner. You see our normal tradition of going out on Christmas Eve to celebrate the final few hours before the big day was not possible this year as Miss Tweedle-Dee was flying out to LA to spend Christmas with the American newlyweds Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb. As such our normal Christmas Eve meal had to be brought forward as she flew out today and so we now found ourselves in a quiet corner of a gorgeous fine dining restaurant in a posh end of "The Shire". Exchanging gifts felt as though we were missing someone out of the loop. Obviously this was not the case as I had already wrapped and packaged Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb's package to post out the following day as Miss Tweedle-Dee was not able to take with her. 

With one thing or another taking over as life normally does I had found myself at the post office this evening and after being rather disorganised making myself several days late for posting the precious Christmas parcel, I was then informed that the parcel itself was quite heavy and large therefore would cost quite a bit to post out to the states! Devastated I asked for the damage and nearly fell over when I was informed by the post office clerk that it would be nearly £80.00! Deflated I returned home to Mr Warehouse only for him to ask why I was still carrying around the Christmas parcel. After explaining my difficulties to him he suggested that we should open it up again and split it down into smaller and lighter packages that would be much cheaper to transport. 

This was certainly not what I wanted. I already had visions of my parcel that I had been hugging since I had finished wrapping it being delivered to the sunny Los Angeles apartment that she and her new hubby occupied, opening it with glee and excitement, probably not even anticipating any presents that were not being handed through Miss Tweedle-Dee. I had already imagined what the Skype or WhatsApp video call would have been like whilst Mrs Tweedle-Dumb read out the clues and jokes that accompanied each and every little present. Disappointed I decided to have a look into other courier companies that may be able to ship for a little less, however after a short search online using the trusted Google homepage I was unable to get any quote less than £50.00. 

Almost bordering on giving up I started to search on Amazon and eBay for more Christmas presents I could purchase for Mr Warehouse, maybe even hoping for a last minute deal on a game he has been after for months. But that is when it suddenly occurred to me that Amazon is a worldwide company and whilst eBay may have difficulty in delivering a parcel to the US when the billing address and card are registered to the UK, I was certain that I would not encounter the same problems with Amazon. And so I gave it a go and low and behold it worked, at least I think so anyway?! Fingers crossed it actually arrives with the recipient! 

Whilst I was sad to see my best friend off to a whole new world and life in sunny L.A, I do sometimes feel upset that she isnt here. I am sure that Mrs Tweedle-Dumb feels the same and when I bought my first home and gave house tours and threw my first house party and got engaged and all of that she wishes she was back here as much as I would be to be out there. Nothing will ever replace my first ever best friend. I felt ashamed and guilty of my selfish thoughts before when I thought about Mrs Tweedle-Dumb moving away with her new hubby, partly because I would not have given a flying fuck about who was left behind or what they were feeling - I would have been long gone, but partly because I wanted her to do the same. 

Since Mrs Tweedle-Dumb left, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I have been just fine back here because we know that despite how hard it will be finding a good connection for WhatsApp Video calls or messaging at odd hours of the day and night; Our friendship will be OK. As much as it makes me feel devastated to think of my life here in England without her, I need to remember that it is not all bad and I am sure Mrs Tweedle-Dumb will be home soon, in the flesh rather than the fun that we will all have trying to successfully achieve a (three-way) Skype session or FaceTime . 

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 here and neither will my Tweedles, off living their best lives in sunny L.A. But this year has brought many good things too - I have a new Fiance and a New Job as Marketing Coordinator but most of all, I have a swanky new home to hang my stocking and hope Santa fills it with all that resides on my ever growing wish list! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Blood Makes You Related, Love Makes You A Family

Hello,

Waking up on Saturday morning was probably the most relaxed I think I have had any morning waking up in my new home thus far. The last week or two had been strained to say the least and contributed to me losing my bag a few times with Mr Warehouse. Still in a bit of pain I was dropping him to work and picking him up every day which was starting to grate on me without having any of my own free time. Nevertheless a weekend away from it all and a quick calculation of our first mortgage payment and few bills that are coming in make it look and feel as though things will not be as tight as initially thought in the first few months of home ownership. Whilst I may well be math's dyslexic I am however quite good with working out financially whether something is a viable option or not, especially so when looking at our savings for the house and now going forward for the wedding. 

Hearing my fiance watching TV downstairs probably with the dog by his side made me grin with happiness as I rolled over to welcome in the brightness from outside. Now that is not to say that Saturday was at all a gloriously sunny or beautiful day for weather. If anything it was Far flung from that and was overcast, grey, drizzly and quite windy. Perfect weather for a Gazebo! Knowing that Mr Warehouse had probably silenced my alarms a few hours ago it was certainly time to get out of bed. Trundling down the stairs, still in my pyjamas and rubbing my eyes and waking myself up along every step, I wondered about coffee, only to hear the Bae call in from the lounge down the hallway that he put the kettle on a few moments ago anticipating my arrival. Such a sweetie! I think that the only way this morning could have possibly been any better is if he had brought it to me in bed. But today was not a day for lounging around in your duvet with a coffee in hand. Oh No! Today was the day that it finally felt all so real. I was engaged. I was a home-owner. And I was about to celebrate it all with the ones I loved most. 

Rushing around like a headless chicken, Mr. Warehouse and I didn't even stop for a cuppa or breakfast, soldiering through to put up the gazebo, lay out food, make the house presentable and decorate for a party! As the afternoon broke, we had our first guests, Momma and Pappa Tweedle-Dee. Unfortunately Miss Tweedle-Dee already had prior commitments with her cousins and so was unable to make it but I was so glad when her parents turned up to warm us into our new home as our first proper guests. Showing them round they kept saying how proud they were of me and also of my fiance and how lovely it all was. 

Soon after the next set of guests arrived, my Auntie and eldest cousin. Again the house tour began and after about the third or fourth I was glad for Mr Warehouse to take over a little with the hostessing as I mingled with our house now full of guests. "OK so maybe a few too many invites went out" I thought as I pondered what would have happened if more of the people who were meant to come had not of dropped out. Where would they go?! Probably that gazebo! Door goes again and I think about how I swear there was a TV comedy sketch show about doors constantly going and people piling on in. Regardless I welcomed them all in, Nana's, Uncles, Aunties, Cousins and friends. 

As the afternoon worn on so did the guests, and with every glass of Prosecco Mr. Warehouse topped me up with the more fuzzy I felt. Most of my side of the family stayed, a good majority of the afternoon and into the evening, mingling and chatting with each other and catching up after the more somber occasion of my grandfathers funeral earlier in the year. Taking a look around I was overwhelmed, as I always am with how many people really do love and support me. No matter what I do, or say or don't do even, they all love me unconditionally. Regardless of their opinions on what I wear or how I conduct my life they accept me for who I am and love and support me no matter what. That is truely what family is. Coming together to celebrate the good and comfort in the bad. It was at that moment I knew that I was content, at least for the time being and that I in a way had officially "made it". Out of everything that I have and are going through, I can honestly say that the hard work has paid off. Time to relax into our new home in time for Christmas ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Do Not Look Back, You're Not Going That Way ...

Heyy, 

Almost settled into our new home in the countryside Mr Warehouse and I decided to embark on a weekend away with the dog. Nowhere particularly fancy just a hotel by the seaside in Bournemouth for a couple of nights. And truth be told honestly I think we needed it. 

Following the stress and pressure from every angle over the last few months on top of my poor mental health of late has certainly not helped our relationship blossom as best it could given the fact we are newly engaged. For me anyway I think the fact that I am mentally preparing myself for a monumental life-changing event and inadvertently my focus has been on that rather than my relationship with my fiance. I suppose I just thought that after getting engaged and moving into our first home together it would be a time for constant banging, laughs and giggles all the way. I suppose in a way things have been difficult a little bit since Mr Warehouse had his motorcycle accident. 

Our first morning in our new home was meant to be something special. I would wave of Mr Warehouse as he went to work meanwhile I would be safe and sound in my cosy bed having a much needed lay in before getting up to unpack the rest of the boxes strewn about the house after my normal day off routine of coffee, toast with posh jam and a dose of Holly and Phil on Pre-Recorded This Morning and maybe a cheeky Homes Under The Hammer. But less than twenty-minutes after Mr Warehouse had kissed my forehead and wave me goodbye from the bedroom door I had a phone call. Answering in my croaky slumber I was pretty sure that the phone call was not for Good News. Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone it sounded panicked and in pain. They sounded scared and we're asking for my help. 

"It hurts. Everything hurts" was all that I could remember Mr. Warehouse telling me before I started getting my shit together. Jumping out of bed I explained as calmly as I could to Mr Warehouse to stay still and make sure he does not move a single muscle in the knowledge that he could well paralysed himself or even worse. Taking a very brief note of what hurts and where I hurriedly threw on some clothes including leggings from the night before and the most quick and conveniently easy to put on top half; Nope not a T-Shirt, a button down shirt ladies and gents. For some odd reason I thought that opening up my wardrobe and grabbing a Chequered shirt with buttons was my best option rather than my embarrassingly large collection of slogan Tee's.

Running down the stairs and out the door shoving on trainers I have gone for the last three days non-stop and grabbing at a first aid kit not knowing what level of injury would await me on arrival. In my bleary half asleep moments I locked the house said goodbye to the dog and started the car all in a few moments. As I started my short journey through the empty Village that chilly morning I decided that it would probably be a good shout either way to call an ambulance and I am glad that I did for when I arrived within four-minutes of the initial first phone call from Mr Warehouse he was refusing all medical treatment and was despite my instructions to stay still, he was up on both feet and walking around, talking to another biker who had seen the abandoned motorcycle and pulled over to check he was OK. 

Within a couple of minutes the motorcyclist had gone on his merry way and Mr. Warehouse and I stood shocked and blurry eyed at each other, shivering from cold and shock. Nothing was cut or broken that I could see however I thought that my Fiance may have dislocated his shoulder or even his name in the crash. As the ambulance pulled up I made sure to inform them of everything I knew up until that point including any medical history or medicine I could record that he was taking for his eczema and asthma. Although after giving Mr Warehouse the once over the paramedics thought that it would be best practise to take him into A&E template down to the fact that there was pain in the neck, shoulder and back areas. As Mr Warehouse went to lay down on the splint ready for the ambulance I knocked on a nearby thatched cottage door. No one answered at first however I decided to bide my time as I knew that with the sun coming up someone soon would be up for school. Awaiting a moment or two I knocked again and this time a little frail old woman came to a nearby window and asked how she made help me. 

After explaining what had happened right outside her front door she kindly let me hoof my Fiance motorcycle into a safe area of her large front garden in order to keep safe whilst we went to hospital. Knocking on the Ambulance door, one of the paramedics finally came out to explain that they would be going to Bedford General Hospital and that I should probably follow in the car as I could not leave it on the side of the road due to the safety of other drivers. Almost bouncing into autopilot mode I jumped back into the car and headed to the hospital in advance of the ambulance. Thinking in a more rational sense I stop at a local McDonald's to pick up a coffee in order to avoid the high costs at the hospital canteen and made my way to the Accident and Emergency room just in time for Mr Warehouse's arrival in his own private waggon. 

Rolling him through to the reception and checking in desk I could tell that my beautiful gorgeous boyfriend was definitely on something for the pain. In agony and clearly confused he dried out asking for me unbeknownst that I was by his side all along. The following few hours were spent running back and forth to the car in order to put more money in the machine, calling around family to let them know what had happened and the seriousness of the accident itself and what seemed to be a never-ending scrolling of Pinterest. All the while Mr Warehouse was seemingly unaware of what was going on around him, pumped full of Ketamine and Morphine for the pain, coupled with the stronger Entonox (Gas and Air) in the hospital, he was away with the fairies most of the seven hours we were their. Finally though after a CT scan, CAT scans and X-ray's, we were allowed to go home and with his arm in a sling to help ease the pain on his shoulder and elbow, Mr Warehouse left bruised, battered and shaken but alive. 

A week or so on Mr Warehouse is OK, although I think mentally he is still challenged by his accident and has had several wobbles when on it, struggling to ride past the point in which he came off and barely even looking at his motorcycle let alone using it. It may take some time to get back on the Horse, so as to speak, but I am confident that in time he will be alright. I suppose in a way, in that moment, two lovers separated by a thin blue curtain in a busy A&E department on a cold November Monday morning following what could have been a quite serious RTC, nothing else mattered. The house. The boxes. The lay in and the TV. Nothing else mattered by my Beau and getting him better. Money couldn't help him, neither could Love or anything material. But hope could and with all that I am I stayed with him through everything I could or was allowed to and if I couldn't I was only behind a thin screen, and although he probably won't or maybe ever will remember, I was yelling to him like a soccer mom just how much I loved him and how everything would be OK. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Country-Bumpkin Here I am!

Bonjour Mon Ami! 

We. Are. In. And apologies for last weeks missing post as I am sure you were all gripped onto your screens just waiting to here when and what was happening - Unfortunately Country Bumpkin life means signal is poor and Internet is poorer! 

Ahh Yes - The moment has come when Mr. Warehouse and I are now fully moved into our new home! I am officially broke and terrified of Adulting! Shit just got real! After multiple handover's and changes and problems galore, including a whole mess up with our housing plans, dimensions and specifications, we are finally in. Nevertheless, after receiving the devastating news that our entire property had been mis-sold, Mr Warehouse and I received an email from the Housing Association detailing that nearly a week earlier than planned, they had taken handover of the property and after consulting our solicitor we finally agreed upon a date! Five days on from then we would be picking up the keys and becoming home owners for the very first time! 

Now I am hardly going to lie to you and say that the move or dismantling and remaking of furniture was difficult and fraught with arguments aplenty. I am sure that IKEA has been cited as a cause on many a divorce paper for failure to evoke pleasantries between loved ones! Mr Warehouse has continued to stress out throughout the entire process of moving home and is not making it any easier for himself when it comes to finding an item in particular. Buried under boxes and boxes of furniture and worldly possessions for the last few months I was certainly glad as I thought that this day would never come but I am so I am incredibly happy to be in my nice new, clean home with straight walls and no nooks or cranny's to try and keep clean. No pot smoking neighbours upstairs with their scatty ratty dog and barking at all hours of the day and night. No more living on one level with only a few steps between the whole property. No more patio or grubby garden. Thank the heavens for heard work and determination for I was laughed at the beginning of the year when I said to Mr Warehouse that I would buy a property in 2018. And you know what. I fucking did it. 

We have been in the house now for a week or so officially and still have yet to put up a few more shelves and lots of pictures to make it feel more homely. I am positive that this will happen within the coming days as I am in preparation for mine and my Husband-To-Be to host our very first party. The first of many I hope - Although don't tell him that, he'll have a shit-fit. Ever since Mr Warehouse proposed to me on a cold autumn afternoon walk with Pooch in a wooded car-park I simply couldn't wait to tell everyone so they can share in the news and celebration of our engagement together. But on top of that we have just moved into our first home and would like to also show this off too. The Babe said that I was not allowed to have either party let alone two of them so I have combined them together to give us an Engagement Warming - Half Engagement Party, Half House Warming. 

And so here we are. All settled into the idyllic countryside estates of Cranfield! Just dress me in Wellies or Tweed and call me a Country-Bumpkin! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

The Key To Our Future

Ola Senors! 

Finally the day has come where Mr. Warehouse and I are within touching, tasting and smelling distance of our new home! To that in less than 24 hours I will be officially a homeowner, joining the league of people who end up staying at home binging on box sets and not going out on the lash for lack of money as every penny is been eaten up as they have joined the mortgage club. 

Gone are the days of controversial blog posts about "The Story of a Generation Robbed" and Wish I Was Born In The 80's! where I felt like a disadvantaged generation that has to fight for everything just to make ends meet. The world has moved on from the days of past generations and whilst I am now able to pay for just about anything using my mobile phone and share my opinion on something called "social media", my generation still struggles with the simple things such as getting a fair wage in the workplace and a decent place to live - Rented or Mortgaged! However, a few weeks ago I had a phone call from the Housing Association stating that the list of snagging given to the builders the last time over a fortnight ago had not been done at all and now we were to be expecting a provisional new Handover of 31st October 2018. But on top of all that was the bombshell that the floor plans we were initially shown at the point of sale were wrong. And not by a little either. 

The plan that my Fiance (I still like saying that) and I were sold was that on the ground floor as you come in the front door you would be greeted by the staircase on your right hand side. To your left would be the kitchen in a horse shoe shape with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall. Next door on the left hand side would be the downstairs bathroom which would include a privacy window facing out to our driveway. Entering through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be rectangular Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and leading out into our large garden through a patio door which would also have an adjacent window. Whilst the layout of the ground floor still contains the staircase on your right hand side and the same horse shoe shaped kitchen with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall, the downstairs bathroom was now to be positioned under the stairs on the right rather than the left meaning that a privacy window would not exist. Continuing through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be a now "L-shaped" Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and eating into the area where the downstairs bathroom was supposed to be. 

Upstairs on the first floor following on from the stairs positioned on the right-hand side of the property, we were expecting to have the main bathroom right in front of us with a large privacy window so as to allow for natural light, followed by the two double bedrooms to the front and the back of the property. Although this had changed from our initial plans and now will be the main bathroom sandwiched between the two double bedrooms and will not include a privacy window potentially making it dark and unnaturally lit.

After getting over the fact that the Housing Association knew all along that the floor plans, initial dimensions and specifications for the house had changed in the very early days of the build process, even before any bricks had been laid, I calmed explained that Mr Warehouse and I will need to view the property in person before we make any snap decisions. 

Of course she obliged and despite asking for months and months for a viewing of the property in whatever condition or state it was in within a few hours and by end of play that day we had a two hour slot to visit our new home and it's all new layout. Our contact at the Housing Association assured us that because of all of this that we would be well within our right to withdraw from our contract to buy going on to state that the responsibility would also live with the housing association in order to make payments to our solicitors, mortgage lender and mortgage broker, reimbursing us totally for our cost and making us at ground zero again. The other option we have is to suck it up and live with it, literally. 

Once my future Hubby and I had seen the property and had a chance to measure up not just the windows but also every nook, cranny and corner in order to draw up our own floor-plan we were already in the knowledge that both of us were highly committed to this purchase and with such a huge investment, the biggest any one person or couple will ever make in their lifetime, every penny of our savings we had was in this. The next few days myself and Mr Warehouse consulted our solicitor and further legal advice in order to ascertain what our next steps would be. With this in mind though, we did not have much choice but quite frankly selling us a house that was built completely wrong and not in the specified way we were told it would be is not on and I was angry. Still between decisions, I received an email from the Housing Association detailing that, nearly a week early, they had taken handover of the property finally and that we should probably consult our solicitor with a date for completion and move. 

A slightly presumptuous move I thought given the fact that we had not even accepted the property in its current new format, however after months of handover dates being missed, moved and postponed coupled with constant snagging and the odd issue thrown in for good measure, we finally had some good news! After looking at a couple of properties online and making the conscious decision that if we were to live in the flat much longer we would go insane or end up killing each other Mr Warehouse and I decided to take the adults decision and accept the property as it was. 

And so here we are with less than a fortnight left in our old, 18th-century-converted one-bed flat just outside the heart of Bedford Town Centre, I will soon be reporting to you from the idyllic countryside estates of Cranfield! Within the next twelve-hours money will be transferred several times over eventually ending up in the solicitors hand ready to go and for Mr Warehouse and I to finally get our hands on those stainless steel set of keys to our first ever home ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Drain-Pipe Dreams

Hiya, 

I suppose, as it is for most engaged couples another weekend in paradise and another wedding fayre Mr Warehouse and I are off to! What with having to call out breakdown yet again for no less than a third time in less than six weeks for my little Vivienne who was unable to start because of battery troubles and Mr warehouse encountering at very much a similar scenario with his motorbike stuck on a building site, outside our new home in the middle of the Bedfordshire countryside for nearly five hours as he awaited to be recovered back home we were certainly ready to have a relaxing couple of days off. After the week me and my Fiance (still love saying that) have endured we were more than excited to wander round wedding fayres at overly priced venues, sipping champagne to pass our time despite the miserable weather outside. 

Although I came crashing down to reality this morning when I received a phone call from the housing association. Answering I heard a familiar although melancholy voice on the other end of the line. Over the last few months the house had slowly ground to a halt in terms of any updates. After jumping through several hoops and bending over backwards in order to get our Mortgage Offer back in July of this year, Mr Warehouse and I was told that our initial handover date when the builders would have fully completed the property, inside and out, ready to hand over to the housing association that we were purchasing half of the property with would be mid-August. With this in mind we hoped that we would have a completion date and moving in prior to Mr Warehouse's birthday, plenty of time to move our stuff in and get settled with even a few moments to steal in our new garden before the sun eventually made its departure for the winter. Handover Date Move Number One! I was told that it would be another couple of weeks or so and with that Mr Warehouse and I prepared for a move around or even on the Bank Holiday Weekend in August!

However after hearing nothing and following the long weekend off, I spoke to the gentleman who had initially sold us our new home but sadly he did not have the news that we were hoping for and that the properties had not been handed over. Handover Date Move Number Two! In fact, what had happened that morning was a rather important and integral meeting between the builders and developers of the plots and the housing association. The local housing association had basically said that they were not happy with the standard of homes they were being given and that given the amount of snagging that needed to be done it may be some time before they would accept any sort of property from the builders and developers. Unfortunately the estate agents were not privy as to what the snagging was or how long it could potentially be. The reality was that it was all internal and nothing structurally was wrong with the build, theoretically meaning that the snagging could simply be down to the fact that the paint job isn't done to a high enough standard or that a screw isn't screwed in properly to a door handle. 

I asked for a new handover date so our little family could try and calculate a rough idea of a completion / exchange date and therefore a move date so we could organise things like TV, broadband and get some quotes or book a removal company for the big day. Again, I was told that it would be about a week and with that crap news returned to my desk and emailed the Boyf the bad news and although Mr. Warehouse and I had a few things planned on the run up to my birthday weekend we were still looking forward to moving into our new home shortly. 

However as we neared our third provisional handover date from the builders and developers to the housing association I had another phone call. Handover Date Move Number Three! It was at this point I nearly dropped the milk as the new handover date was being pushed until the end of December 2018. Frustrated and angry I had to keep calm and remember that I was in a lucky position that I would be one day able to afford my own place of safety, tranquillity and warmth; something that many people across the globe even tonight will not have. 

The following morning I checked my emails only to see a reply from the housing association, apologising profusely for the fact that they would have to postpone the handover date although with this came a small silver lining. Handover Date Move Number Four! The email did go on to say the new handover date was to be expected on the 28th of September 2018, three-months earlier than anticipated the day before. Mr Warehouse and I were assured that this would be the final change and hopefully everything would be handed over and we would be in our home just in time for Halloween! 

But sure as sure can be, as the date grew closer I had another dreaded phone call. Handover Date Move Number Five! As before I was told our new handover date would be would be postponed another week due to snagging and lack in quality that the Housing Association were expecting. Trying to hammer down an exact reason as to why the snagging was still continuing to be an issue and so I tried a softer approach in order to try and get a definitive handover date that would not move - Friday 5th of October 2018. 

As the next few days passed in a blur of meetings, I had a frantic phone call from Mr Warehouse asking if I had seen the most recent email from the housing association. I had not. On opening up my emails I could see what he was so upset and angry about. Handover Date Move Number Six! With less than 48 hours to go until we were expecting handover to take place, I was now reading an email that stated this would not be the case. Our new handover date? Over a fortnight away on Friday 19th of October 2018. Fuming and almost on the brink of losing my rag with everyone involved in our house buying process I called my contact at the housing association and asked her what gives. She basically told me in not so many words what I was reading between the lines of her email to me and the other future-neighbours on the street in that the list of snagging issues that had been brought to the attention of the builders had not actioned appropriately. Nothing more to say or do I ended the phone call and informed Mr Warehouse to keep him in the loop.

With the whirlwind of family dramas, wedding planning and my mounting workload I was looking forward to potentially having a week off to move into our new home, although cutting it fine for the spooky season of Halloween and "Trick-Or-Treat-ers". Only this morning I answered a phone call I had been hoping wouldn't come. Handover Date Move Number Seven! As with the last times the postponing was as a result of poor quality of work, although this time my Housing Association contact was not so coy with her responses. She blatantly admitted that the list of snagging given to the builder the last time over two-weeks ago had not been done at all and now we were to be expecting a provisional new Handover of 31st October 2018. But wait - There was more ... 

Continuing our conversation I could sense that the person on the other end of the phone line was nervous and anxious about something. It was then that she dropped the bombshell! Turns out that the floor plans that we were initially shown at the point of sale with the building specifications and dimensions were wrong. And not by a little either. The plan that my Fiance and I were sold was that upstairs on the first floor following on from the stairs positioned on the right-hand side of the property, we were expecting to have the main bathroom right in front of us with a large privacy window so as to allow for natural light, followed by the two double bedrooms to the front and the back of the property. Although this had changed from our initial plans and now will be the main bathroom sandwiched between the two double bedrooms and will not include a privacy window potentially making it dark and unnaturally lit.

On the ground floor as you come in the front door you would be greeted by the staircase on your right hand side as before. To your left would be the kitchen in a horse shoe shape with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall. Next door on the left hand side would be the downstairs bathroom which would include a privacy window facing out to our driveway. Entering through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be rectangular Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and leading out into our large garden through a patio door which would also have an adjacent window. Whilst the layout of the ground floor still contains the staircase on your right hand side and the same horse shoe shaped kitchen with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall, the downstairs bathroom was now to be positioned under the stairs on the right rather than the left meaning that a privacy window would not exist. Continuing through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be a now "L-shaped" Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and eating into the area where the downstairs bathroom was supposed to be. 

Shocked and Gobsmacked I asked about the reasons why this had happened and how out had only been now, several months down the line into buying our first time that we were finding these details out. Furious I was ready to call the builders and rip them a new arsehole. That was until my Housing Association contact explained that in actual fact the floor plans, initial dimensions and specifications for the house had changed in the very early days of the build process. The house builders and developers themselves had actually been very upfront with their decisions and had explained fully to the housing association the builders change in plans and layout. Unfortunately it would have appeared that this information was not passed through to the sales people within the housing association itself and that our property and our Semi'd neighbour were sold the properties on the basis of the homes being a completely different layout to what they were being built as. 

Taking it all in I ended the phone call and called Mr Warehouse immediately to try and discuss our options. The contact at the housing association of was sincerely apologetic for the fact that there had been a huge fuck up and had explained that because of all of this that we would be well within our right to withdraw from our contract to buy going on to state that the responsibility would also live with the housing association in order to make payments to our solicitors, mortgage lender and mortgage broker, reimbursing us totally for our cost and making us at ground zero again. 

The other option we have is to suck it up and live with it, literally. The fact of the matter was that Mr Warehouse and I were already highly committed to this purchase and with such a huge investment of most if not every penny of our savings we will have not much choice. Obviously in a way it is nice to see a housing association company as large as this one looking out its future customers, making sure that the homes are up to scratch and safe (even if it is on selfish terms as if anything was to go wrong we would be calling up the housing association to come and put it right rather than the builders or developers) but quite frankly selling us a house that was completely built not in the specified way we were told it would be is not on. 

And there I was saying that buying a house was not stressful at all. Where we go from here I don't know but one thing is for certain and that is that me and Mr Warehouse will need to view the property in person before we make any snap decisions. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx