House Of Cards!

Hello, 

Sitting at my desk I finally plucked up enough courage to look at the clock only to see that it was gone 10am. And with that I knew that Mr & Mrs Tweedle-Dumb would be high in the skies over England, possibly the Atlantic at the moment, jetting off to start the adventure of a lifetime with her new husband in L.A. I was suddenly very sad at the simple prospect that we were not even sharing the same airspace anymore. Although to be fair it could have been a lot worse than it was at my desk on Friday morning. Only a few hours earlier after Face-Timing in the car with Miss Tweedle-Dee following a lovely evening meal out together I drive home thinking nothing more of it. Suddenly, then as I pulled off the A421 and headed down into the Suburbs of Bedford, a much enjoyed song of mine played over my car stereo. The Song in question was James Arthur's 2016 hit "Say you wont let you go"! 

As I started letting the emotions - happy, sad, everything wash over me I became completely and utterly overwhelmed with sadness and heartbreak. The sobs began to get caught in my throat and slowly turned into gasps of air. Hot, wet tears rolled over my cheeks as I struggled to control myself. For a moment it crossed my mind how difficult it was to drive and cry at the same time. I thought about pulling over but it worried me that I simply would not be able to pick myself up and carry on, with that carrying on down the road slowly making sure that I turn in every right direction to get me home as soon as safely as possible. Pretty much parking the car, turning off the engine and running into the flat by this stage I was a hyperventilating mess. I stood in front of Mr Warehouse who was sat on the edge of the bed, bawling my eyes out and struggling to get the words out of my mouth. It was only the fact that he sternly asked me what had happened as he thought that I had run over a dog or maybe been in an accident of sorts. Finally I pulled myself together enough to tell him that it had finally hit me. My best friend had gone. 

And as if life hadn't kicked me in the face enough the last week, following my most recent appointment with the doctor, they had advised to continue my medication whilst I awaited an appointment where I can be seen through the NHS for counselling. However things don't seem to be getting easier and the pressure that I am feeling from loved ones is becoming a little too much to bear. I know I need to sort out these issues but first of all I need to sort myself out. Trust me when I say that it is simply a long story that I may share with you another time, but for the meantime I am doing as well as can be and battling it through to make the best out of what I have. 

Although hopefully fingers crossed we might be able to add a home to the list of things that we have in our Arsenal to make life a bit better! But with the house slowly coming to an end (I hope) we finally had the Mortgage Offer. At the beginning of last week I had several frantic phone calls from the estate agent. Making excuse to make tea and coffee for the team I headed to the kitchen and returned their call. Answering within a few rings I spoke to the gentleman who had initially sold us our new home. Sadly he did not have the news that we were hoping for and that are keys have not been handed over. In fact, what had happened that morning already was a rather important and integral meeting between the builders and developers of the plots and the housing association that we were eventually going to be sharing ownership of the property with. 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. I suppose in a way it is quite nice to see a company as large as that one looking out its future customers, even if it is all about selfish terms that if anything was to go wrong I would be calling up the housing association to come and put it right rather than the builders or developers. 

Unfortunately the estate agents were not privy or of the knowledge as to what the smoking 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. Not really the best news that you want to hear over a coffee on a Monday morning I asked when the handover date was being pushed back until. It was at this point I nearly dropped the milk - 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. 

Tuesday morning I checked my emails only to see a reply from a contact I have at the housing association. She had apologised profusely for the fact that they would have to postpone the handover date a few more weeks due to snagging and lack in quality that they were expecting. With this in mind however, she did go on to say that the new handover date was to be expected on the 28th of September 2018, three-months earlier than anticipated yesterday. And there I was saying that buying a house was not stressful at all. Excited for the news that we would still be able to have Halloween, Bonfire Night and the lead up to Christmas all in our new home, I rushed home from work to tell Mr Warehouse. As yet we have not had any clarity on what else we need to do in the meantime however we have exchanged contracts which I think in basic terms just means that we are going into business. I am getting itchy and frustrated with not being able to move in yet but I am sure the time will come quicker than expected - Ready for the next dip in my Rollercoaster?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Snowmageddon

Hello one and all! 

So with the new found confidence I discovered in a bar last week down in Bedford's grim town centre of a Friday night I battled the storms and winter weather just as everyone else did admit Storm Emma and the dreaded Beast from The East. England and the rest of the UK was in for a chilly reminder that winter is yet to be over this last week and whilst it is nearly Easter and should be all spring time sunshine, flowers, bunnies and lambs - This is far from the reality of Blighty weather. 

With apply named Beast from The East, the colder weather coming across from Russia being blown by Siberia and picking up some icy chills on the way the temperatures plummeted to rival the sinking of the Titanic and blizzard snow's hampering travel plans and all manner of daily activities life for some across the British Isles this week has not been great. All was but for a minor inconvenience until Storm Emma forcing the MET Office to issue a red weather warning foreboding to a loss of life should people be caught up in the outside winds of 70mph coupled with the already existing polar vortex from Beast from The East with forecasts for -15C wind chills and snowdrifts nearly as tall as you. Yes you! 

As the snow fell carnage descended as shelves were left empty as shoppers (and general idiots) grabbed everything they could (including wiping one Tesco I went into completely of cake) in order to brave the potentially long winter nights ahead. Delays of two hours were a pleasant surprise for some people where others were stuck for hours or sometimes a couple of days on end in the middle of motorways and A-roads up and down the country. 

Call me cynical and don't get me wrong I don't live very far North of London so weather here in the comfy Home-Counties was not adverse by anyone's standards but I just don't get it when people freak the fuck out about a little bit of the white stuff. I mean it is to be expected, we are an island off the coast of some of the coldest places in the entire world; Russia, Siberia, Iceland and the Artie just to name a few, and that's not including places right on our door step like Scotland, Norway and Sweden all suffering from much snowier weather during the winter months. But they deal with it in a much better way. Heated paths and walkways so people don't slip over and better public transport that doesn't just break under the strain of a few snowflakes. I understand that for the UK the methods used in other countries are both costly and something that would not necessarily be beneficial for the people of England, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland but it does question about how they seem to have got a grip on things over there when the weather gets bad. 

Now I get that not everyone was that lucky enough like me and Mr. Warehouse to have the snow disappear on Saturday Afternoon as it did in Bedfordshire. I understand that to be in a car for over sixteen-hours potentially with a newborn baby with little or no water or food and only a blanket to keep warm or if you were stuck at home awaiting an ambulance to come and help you when you need it most it is not ideal and when weather is poor it only exasperates the situation and makes it worse. I, like others, have watched the news and listened to the radio hearing stories of wonderful community spirit and people being labelled as Snow Angels for the acts of heroism from John O'Groats to Lands End and everywhere in-between. And it is those moments that make me proud to be British, regardless of the weather - Come rain or shine we all stick together!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Burning Love

Hi-Dee-Hi, 

Landing in Stansted after what seemed like the longest day ever I was more than ready to go home and get a well rested nights sleep before work the next morning. After yet again trawling round Christmas Markets and the city sights of Prague, picking up the few last little bits and bobs, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had spent the rest of our day hanging out in Cafe's and bars. Getting up and out was a rarity over the last few days in Prague and I think the earliest we made it out on any day was eleven and that was only because it was our first morning. 

Nevertheless I was glad to be home, even if it was more than fifty miles away. Battling through the airport and passing through Passport control with nothing more than a few questions and a check that I hadn't come in on an illegal document. Sparking up our last Cigarette, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I revelled in how much of a good time we had on our mini trip to the European Christmas market / City Break. "Maybe a nice cup of coffee and another cigarette before I head home to my pooch and boyfriend?" I thought to myself as we stood in the cold awaiting Papa Tweedle-Dee to come pick us up from the collection points. Just as I finished my Cigarette my phone started to ping. Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping! Not bothering to answer straight away, assuming they were Facebook or Twitter notifications I ignored them, joking with the Bestie that it might even be Mr. Warehouse worrying if I have been kidnapped or held up in some sort of terrorist attack. 

Soon Miss Tweedle-Dee's phone started pinging as well, although more conscience of her online presence she responded and looked alarmed when she unlocked the screen. 
"Its the boyfriend. He says you need to call him urgently there is a problem!" Miss Tweedle-Dee read off from the message he had sent her. I called just as Papa Tweedle-Dee pulled up. Thinking maybe it was something to do with the dog or maybe Momma Warehouse or maybe another one of his clan I worried as I dialled his number. 
"So What is the urgent emergency, do you miss me?! Ill be home soon you kno-" I asked as I was cut off mid sentence. Answering back in hysterics was Mr. Warehouse. Thought the chesty coughs and panicked voices I could hardly make out what he was saying. 

"Don't Panic but there has been a fire!" Mr. Warehouse started, in between unconvincing coughs. Everything was not OK and I needed to get home pronto. Explaining on the car journey back up the motorway, Mr. Warehouse explained that as normal he had put the washing on with the intention it would be done by the time I got home, and ergo ready for a overnight dry in the tumble-dryer. Unfortunately after having it on for just a matter of minutes, maybe ten at most whilst walking our eight-year old (Labrador that is) the boyfriend and the pup arrived home to a flat thick with black smoke. Opening the front door it billowed out into the fresh night air he said, probably no later than nine at night. Instincts kicking in he ran back into the flat, with hope of stemming the buyer and making sure it wasn't to damage anything else in its path. 

As stupid as that sounds there is some method in his Madness. You see when Mr. Warehouse was younger, maybe in his early teens, and long before our little pooch was born; him and his mother were involved in a very serious, maliciously intended arson attack by someone close to the family. Traumatised, I couldn't believe the things that I was hearing when we first started dating and he told me the story of how he had nearly died. It was serious and Mr Warehouse and his mum lost almost all of their worldly possessions and were left with pretty much the clothes on their backs. It was about the same time of year as I remember Mr. Warehouse detailing how cold it was on his feet the ground whilst fire fighters fought the blaze. Obviously it is something that would seriously mess with someones head, let alone a kid. Momma Warehouse and a much younger Mr. Warehouse had to start a fresh start, begging, borrowing and stealing (OK maybe not that far) anything to try and make a home together and get back to normality. 

So you can imagine what last Tuesday night's event brought back for my dearest Mr. Warehouse. Acting as he had not been able to as a pre-teen he went back into the property, ordering pup to stay outside. Finding the source of the smoke in the kitchen (stupidly) he went to open the door, emitting more smoke to the already toxic atmosphere. Cough throughout Mr. Warehouse was able to lift out the burning clothes, mangled together but hot, molten plastic and metal, smouldering in his very hands. dumping them into the bath tub (luckily next door to the kitchen) Mr. Warehouse dowsed them in water from the shower and returned to the smoke filled kitchen in order to get to the electrics of the machine. Pulling it out with all his might through limited vision he was able to disconnect the machine and unplug it from the mains in order to stop the fire from spreading. 

Outside he came to his senses and after checking that our little lady was OK he tried to call me. But I was 35,000 feet in the air, probably over France or Europe somewhere. Instead he sat tight for over an hour until I had landed before calling me. Terrified as to what I would come home to I rushed back, not stopping for my coffee or last holiday cigarette with Mama and Papa Tweedle-Dee. The entire journey home I raced as fast as I could, speeding all the way I am not proud to admit it,, hitting hundred on the A421 back home. I needed to be with my little family. They were the ones that mattered the most. 

But the thing is that we order it don't we we put on our washing machines, tumble-dryers, dishwashers and even microwaves and simply get on with our lives. Those sorts of household appliances are the ones that you leave to do their job whilst you do yours. You do it. Your neighbour does it. Heck your Nana probably does it. No one in their right mind would have the time to sit and watch the washing machine go round and round or their dishwasher whirl away. It is probably something that you and I have done a thousand times before - Put the machine on and go to bed or head out for the day. But boy am I glad all the facts about Mr. Warehouse was only out ten-minutes. I dread to think at the possibilities that I could have returned home to from Prague. This was serious. 

Everything else can be replaced; books, pictures, clothes and documents can all be had again, but family can't. Mr. Warehouse was my start of something special and he had risked his life tonight, not only putting himself in danger but also the other residents and tenants in the block. Thankfully after those stern words Mr. Warehouse agreed with me that he should not have gone back in but with the circumstances from last time he felt it his duty to protect what little we had since he was unable to do that before. Luckily no one was hurt and after getting everyone checked out, including the dog, we are all safe and sound. 

The fire brigade concluded that it was something to do with a heating element or component in the machine that had become faulty which makes me wonder about some of the issues we had earlier in the year in relation to the tumble-drying part of the washer-dryer our landlord had installed, but alas I trusted his judgement in getting it fixed and ever since have been using the household appliance as a washing machine only, relying on a separate tumble-dryer to help after the wash was completed. 

Thankfully there has been no smoke damage and nothing was majorly burnt or broken in the process apart from the contents of the machine which was numerous jumpers (on of them being my favourite), some towels, work uniforms and a couple of expensive football shirts which just helped to melt everything together in one toasted, charred lump. I was pleased that I had renewed my home contents insurance just days before setting off for Bath a few weeks ago and now will have to go through the rigmarole of setting up a claim in order to get back our lost items which the Landlord will help with. 

A week on we are conscience of the lingering acrid and smokey scent that still hangs in the air, but with little if any at all ventilation down our Fritzl type corridor of our flat, there is little that we can do. If I could move out tomorrow I would and now it is more important than ever to get someone of our own. I am just glad that I didn't come home to a dead family. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

That Old Chestnut ,,,

Hello, 

Leaving work early today I was excited at the prospects of the next hour and as Mr. Warehouse and I trundled down the road in Vivienne I could barely contain my excitement. Indicating right, slowing down and pulling into the gravel lane that lead to the back of some very quaint Railway cottages we had arrived. Looking like the back end of a chocolate box with friendly locals and what appeared to be a communal car parking space where everyone I imagined looked forward to seeing their neighbours and having a chit-chat over the garden fence, maybe even sharing in some sugar or two. Getting out of the car Mr. Warehouse could already tell I was falling form the old-ye-worlde charm of the place. 

Wandering around the outhouses, sheds and barn or two we were called over by a rather warm looking estate agent who ushered us inside before explaining the details of the house. It was a two-bedroom cottage with a garden courtyard which I just knew would not please Mr. Warehouse as he wanted some grass that his dog could disintegrate with her piss but I thought that the walled courtyard would be perfect to enjoy BBQ's in the summer and a hot toddy and blanket to watch the stars when it got colder. As we entered the home through the back door, we came into a large kitchen enough to host dinner or a party with plenty of room for a dining room table and all the bits and bobs a kitchen would need (although we found out later that the white good were not included). Trying my might to get Mr. Warehouse's eye, I wanted to point him towards the kitsch little stable door to the back of the property that would lend itself to a form of proper country living and something I had in all honesty always dreamt of having. Snapping out of thoughts of me entertaining guests through the half-hatched door or having our pooch learn to lean up and beg for some treats after wandering out round the garden, the estate agent took us through to a large living room. Nicely decorated our large chaise-sofa would have fit several ways round and we were surprised to learn that the gorgeous book case would be staying so as to house all manner of DVD's, Books and Games as well as all the pictures and memento's Mr. Warehouse long to put on display. It was here I began to let myself truly think about living here, cosy nights in front of the TV cuddled up on the couch watching shite telly whilst the wind and the cold breezed outside. 

Opening a wooden door lead to the enclosed staircase whereby we ascended to reveal a huge bathroom with enough space for a massive bath tub set into the stone floor, a separate shower, toilet and sink with plenty of room for cabinets and storage for bathroom items. I was in love. The high ceilings and character of the property was something I had absolutely fallen head over heels for, but looking at Mr. Warehouse I could tell that something was not right. Looking through into the first room, what turned out to apparently be the smallest of the two still housed a large double bed, a desk and work station and even a double wardrobe big enough to be a triple for even more storage options. This was a room I would be proud to put guests in and even with a little tweaking could accommodate a half man-cave, half craft room. It was everything I wanted from a spare room and more with the potential of it being more that just a guest bedroom in the future. The master bedroom was similar in size although with the alcoves cut into the wall following the destruction of the original fire place and with added space over the stairs there would have been plenty of room in their for both our wardrobes and drawers including a comfy new bed maybe. It even had a secret little window to shout down for your morning coffee. 

With the fluff and prancing around over and done with we got talking on the landing and down to business. After asking all the relevant questions Mr. Warehouse and I were ready to talk money. £1,100 for the deposit of six-weeks up-front. £240 background agency and referencing fee. £120 tenancy drafting and inventory fee. £100 pet policy agreement fee. In total Mr. Warehouse would be talking over three-grand before we have even got the keys. Five minutes later the reality started to settle in with the conversation that had just been held and as the estate agent went off to make some phone-calls back to the office the reality started to settle in. We had a couple of hundred quid saved and a credit card or two, but no way did we have that sort of money. Who did? 

I could understand the pet deposit and I will be honest I am surprised it was not more given the fact that they charge nearly £300 per couple for copying and pasting an already existing tenancy agreement and handing you a pen. and then there is the inventory list that need to be done, again something that would have been done less that a year ago when the property was last on the market. The hundred-and-twenty quid for the referencing fee, just for little estate agent to sit at her desk of an afternoon and make a couple of phone calls in order to check we have no bad financial history of not paying or leaving the place in a state. It was an absolute joke. And all in order to pay someone else's mortgage. Walking out of the property I was siked about what the conversation would be in the car on the way to our "old home". 

Alas the journey was quiet as we had not even turned the engineer on in our dear Vivienne before and argument broke out. Everything had been so positive before and now working out the figures I was sure that we were not to live happily ever after in our little cottage of joy. I would never serve drinks from my stable hatch or get to bathe in my floor-set bath tub. Never would I be able to refer to the two outhouses as the cow and coal sheds, nor will I shout down to the cozy sitting room for a cup of char of a Sunday morning before a nice brisk walk along the country roads. Indeed it was a very quiet journey home that I just became more and more agitated with the fact that Mr. Warehouse agreed to see the property with me, so why wasn't he open to putting down roots. I questioned his commitment for the first time tonight. 

For the value that we would be paying I thought it was a steal and with the fact we could potentially live there way past marriage and our first child it was something I was ready to say yes to right there and then. Having said that though, I couldn't help think that the boyfriend was waiting on something else. Something that might never come along and that even if it did it would still not satisfy him fully and tick every one of his boxes. Would it have the grassy garden for the dog? Would the rent be affordable and something we can manage? Would it be somewhere for a while and not for a moment? Would the bathroom please his every need and would there be room for this and room for that? There is always something that just isn't right enough for my dear, dear Mr Warehouse and unfortunately his lack of imagination and creativity cannot be applied in order to see what it could be like and not what it is at face value within a property. And I thought I was hard to please!?

Now I know we were and are still both luck to have the good jobs we do and food in our bellies and a roof over our heads especially more-so as it came into the harshness of winter and in a bid not to sound ungrateful I just with that there was a way out of this somewhat hopeless situation. A couple, mid-twenties that are stuck suffocating between an affordable rented property that they are hotly growing out of, although not in a position to rent somewhere bigger and better but neither in a position to buy. How do people do it? Well I know how, it usually a helping hand or a big win, usually the former. Government schemes such as help to buy mortgages, shared ownership and lifetime ISA's only help the fortunate to save. What about those like Mr. Warehouse and I who can fully afford a mortgage on a good home but can barely scrape together the deposit and fees and all because we are paying our own way in life already. The fact is that buying for Mr. Warehouse and I will take years, and probably close to a decade to save for, even where we are now with the rent and bills we pay. Renting for Mr. Warehouse and myself, yes, is an option, however this would lend itself to a higher cost of living with bigger rents and bills and no where for spare cash to go towards a house. So what do we do? 

After arriving home and cleaning the small flat in separate areas for nearly an hour, we met in the Fritzl (our aptly named corridor after Joseph and Elizabeth Fritzl due to how small, narrow and long it is). Bellies rumbling and sadness from either party I knew I couldn't stay angry at him for being a realist, although I hated him for it. I soon realised I have been very selfish and my constant talk of holidays or luxurious travelling or buy a house or renting somewhere new is neglectful of my responsibilities as a girlfriend and to be supportive in an emotional way to someone else other than me. Whilst my urge for moving is getting greater I need to acknowledge that Mr. Warehouse earns less than I do, only by a fraction, but still enough to make him feel even less hopeful than me at ever getting out of our pokey one-bed. I love our little flat, but don't get me wrong, if someone offered me tomorrow a property that ticked all the boxes and I had the money to move immediately, I would. I just hope that Mr. Warehouse waiting on something better to come along pays off ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Another Week, Another Christmas Party ...

Hello, 

Saturday night I rolled up late (as usual) to my new work's Christmas do, dressed to the nines and looking hopefully like a sparkly black and red Christmas cracker. Don't worry I was actually invited to this one. Eating my meal and mingling I wondered how it compared to the last Christmas party I attended less than a week earlier. But that was an unfair comparison. I had only been in my new role a few weeks really and knew few by name let alone face yet. And whilst I had a wonderful time I couldnt help think that next year will be better once I have established myself in the group of colleagues I have now and learn my place. I am loud and brash and sometimes can be quite drunk so will need to learn how best to mold myself to this new environment of sophisticated and seriously adulting individuals. I have come to realise that most of my work colleagues that are the same age as me are very grown up and have their shit seriously together - Buying houses, travelling and getting married and here I have a fucking FOMO when I can't get my eyeliner "on fleek" in the morning. I think if my new colleagues and job have an any influential change on me in the past few weeks it will have taught me that now it the time to hand back the bottle of Vodka, hang up the heels and become someone a little less full on. The new year will hopefully bring about some changes and see me starting to act my age and not the Gin-Princess I was last weekend. OK well the thought was there at least ...

But as the hours melt away and the big day fast approaches I am getting increasingly more excited about Christmas. And just when I thought I had peeked too early by singing Christmas songs before I turned twenty-five. Suffice to say that even before people started asking the questions of  "Are you ready for it?" and "Have you finished the shopping yet?" both Mr. Warehouse and I were more than ready, even as far to say that for both of us and our extended list of loved ones to buy for, we were done before we went to York in mid-November. I think I like it that way. I can get a feel for what I want to buy people towards the end of summer, and after my birthday is over and done with (not that it should sound like such a chore of course) I start buying the items that have been sat in my online baskets. 

Now I'll admit it that this year, I have spent less but have bought from many, many different retailers I would have never thought about going to before I had Vivienne (my car). I have been to Hobby Craft, The Works, Tesco and Argos all in the hope that what was in my bags from the high street and arriving in the post from Amazon were going to be something they loved. I am glad of the presents I have picked up for friends and family as whilst they are well thought out, creative and something they will enjoy, they are also well priced and if anything a bargain. And all because I plan in advance. 

My best advice to people is that funnily enough, Christmas is on the twenty-fifth of December next year. And it may sound crazy but its the same the following year, and the year after that and the year after that. It shouldn't be a big surprise that as soon as the leaves start turning brown you panic buy socks and Milk Trays in bulk. Plan ahead. Hit the sales in January and pick up the knock off Christmas Deck's, baubles and lights. Find the wrapping paper you loved and the cards that made you chuckle all at rock bottom prices. Become a chipmunk and squirrel stuff away in a Christmas box. Presents, gift wrap, and ornaments. Everything either you or someone else would want that year. Our Harry Potter AKA the cupboard under the stairs is a great place to start and hosting a boot sale to clear out the crap is the best way forward. Out with the old crap and in with the new crap. That's what Mr. Warehouse says. 

But as it gets closer to the end of summer, start thinking about people and their personalities and what they would want but don't they want. I have a spreadsheet and honestly I live my life on it. Colour-coded, key-enabled organised chaos is how I manage everything and most of all Christmas. I keep track of what I have bought people for Christmas the past two years, so as not to buy them the same wonderful gift again and work out financially what I have and what I can get for it. Its all about knowing the value not only of stuff generally and where to buy it cheap, but also that you have to work with what you've got. Everyone would love to give their husband, wife, mom, dad, nan, best friend or dog an eight-bedroom yacht called "Rosie" with enough petrol (or whatever boats drink) in it to head off to the Bahamas for a turkey dinner on the beach. But reality is we all have budgets for a paper boat made out of yesterdays Daily Star. 

Whatever your budgets though and whatever you have brought people this year, as well as whatever you have got for yourself; Just remember where you are. You are protected by four walls and a roof, in a warm home, surrounded by people who love you (probably), eating and drinking and being merry. Some people across the world don't have any of that. Some people that are right in your town, maybe even only a few moments from where you are now that have nothing. Just remember that you are extremely luck and all of us should remember that its about being grateful and thankful for what we all have and not being consumed by the consumerism and gumpf that Christmas pretends to be about. Christmas is family and love and warmth. So spend it with your loved ones and have a very Merry Christmas. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Thankful for Everything - Tangible or not!

Good Tidings MonAmie, 

Hearing my phone going berserk with its Christmas ring-tone I leaped from my bed to answer it but as I placed it to my ear I heard a familiar voice that sprung my slumbering eyes wide open. It was Christmas Eve and the manly voice on the end of the phone was my Boss. I was fully naked with not a stitch on me, blinds open, bag barely packed for staying at my Dad's and Mr. Warehouse's over Christmas and to top it all off I was due to start work in eleven-minutes. Good thing my Boss had called then, only problem was that he was currently a few streets away trying to find my flat and as a result would be turning up very, very shortly. Snatching at a cringe-worthy Christmas Jumper, jeans and some pants I struggled them on all whilst talking to my Boss and explaining that it didn't matter he was running late, I was just waiting patiently watching the news. Seeing him pull up outside my ground floor flat I knew I didn't have long to grab a few things, sling them in my mini-case and head out the door, not forgetting the lemon cake I had made especially for Christmas-Eve-do-fuck-all-at-work-day. Loading myself into the vehicle I tried not to make eye contact for I was yet to do my make-up and had only just thrown my hair into a messy bun - The stylish 'do for anyone who has a similar time keeping schedule as the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. 

Face made up in the harsh bathroom light of the office I headed to my desk wishing Merry Christmas to all whom I met along the way. After a few hours of milling around trying to look as busy we were all told to log off and head home for the Holidays. Although as what seems to be a Christmas tradition at our place (I can only judge on last year and this year being with them) that everyone crams into someones car, usually the smallest and heads to Bedford Town Centre to see in the grey area between lunchtime and dinnertime with drink, drink and more drink. Last year, as was last year, there was five hours worth of drinking to be done, and whilst we all must have parted our separate ways at around four-ish this year, I was still fairly sozzled, despite it still being light outside. This didn't help as Mr. Warehouse, the new-ish girl at work and I stood in line for our tickets and on realising that my beloved Starbucks wasn't open I transcended into a full blown drunken-toddler break-down and all because I couldn't have my Eggnog Latte! 

At my Dad's I had sobered up slightly from the fresh air walking and coffee that was awaiting me. Warm and toasty sat in front of the fire, Mr. Warehouse and I snuggled up after our Chinese takeaway and enjoying a Christmas film, Miracle on 34th Street. As it approached midnight Mr. Warehouse and I headed up to bed to await the big man in the morning. But after a god-awful nights sleep in my old spring-fucked double bed I was less than ready to start the day. But with my Dad's forceful encouragement I got out of bed and was washed, dressed and with hair and make-up done by eight-thirty, just in time for my favourite breakfast - Eggs Royale with coffee and Orange Juice. The only way this could have been better is if it was my cherished Eggnog Latte from Starbucks. 

Finishing off breakfast I was eagerly prompted by Father to start the proceedings on opening presents. Wonderful gifts from my Dad and His Girlfriend came first a mixture of all sorts from baking goods and ingredients, a T-shirt, a much needed tool kit from IKEA, some gorgeous Christmas Smelling Yankee Candles I had been after for ages, a weird fish thing that sucks up egg yolks, Lily O'Brien's chocolates and even a Rape Alarm?! I mean thanks and all, I don't want to seem un-courteous or anything or rude, but really - a Rape Alarm?!?! I suppose in a way all of them helpful, handy and practical, which I suppose in a way is good, but after on learning that more had been spent on other people in the extended family than me, his own Daughter I wont lie, I did second guess some of the things I was bought. Not selfish or ungrateful, just confused slightly. 

As I watched everyone else unwrap their gifts I watched as the excitement in the room evolved. Daddy had bought my Mr. Warehouse a bar of Guinness flavoured chocolate which matched with the bottle of Guinness flavoured ale I had bought him also. But Mr. Warehouse doesn't like Guinness. On closer inspection of his presents my darling boyfriend started to clock something wasn't right. A shamrock keyring?! A feather boa coloured green, white and orange - Supposedly "the colours of Arsenal's away kit yeah" I blagged hoping he wouldn't cotton on?! Then came the final present. As Mr. Warehouse opened the package he turned to me and said it was a letter for me. I took it, looked at it and returned it to him asking him to look inside. But as Mr. Warehouse went through the six return train tickets to Birmingham International he still looked confused. 

"Bless him" I thought "Time to put him out his misery!"

And so, handing him his a red envelope he opened it cautiously. Inside he slid out two A4 pieces of paper and turned them round. Face cracking into a shocked but confused smile I explained that for the past three-months I had been keeping a secret that I had not only bought Mr. Warehouse tickets from Bedford to Birmingham International Airport, Flights to Dublin and a £200.00 hotel for four-nights over Valentines day 2016. He was overwhelmed I could tell. Speechless he sat there as he looked at everyone. 

"And Yes, they all knew dear. Everyone from your mom to the guys at work - We had all kept it a big secret!" I explained, getting up to give him a big hug. For the rest of the day he was silent, or at least slightly subdued with the thought that what our initial £125.00 budget was and he had for the most part stuck to, I was smashing with just one present. But it wasn't about the money. It was about the life experiences and cramming in another holiday to the already packed year ahead of us both. 

What did I get in return from my adorable Mr. Warehouse? Well I was bought some things that whilst were not on my list I doubt I could have bought them better myself. Several books on modern day serial killers and psychotic criminals, a DVD on John Wayne Gacy (Only because the John Wayne Gacy artwork I had asked for was slightly out of price range and wouldn't have arrived from America in time), some Tassimo Coffee and Hot Chocolate pods for my Tassimo Coffee Machine (Bought for me a few evenings before by Miss Tweedle-Dee as my Secret Santa gift - FYI: Haven't even had a chance to switch it on yet but love it already! Thank you Miss Tweedle-Dee). Along with a beautiful shabby chic jewellery box, Diamond Heart earrings, Pandora Safety Catch and some gorgeous home-ware pieces I think the boy did good! 

But it didn't stop as when we arrived back at Mr. Warehouse's mother's house that evening after a rather monotonous yet hectic Christmas dinner with my Dad and his girlfriend's family. A bright blue-stoned silver necklace, vouchers, perfume, chocolates, a Hedgehog Pandora Charms and even more smelly candles and home-ware, all gifts that made me realise I was a very luck little madam, not to include the range of alcoholic gifts I got from work and money I had received from other Aunts and Uncles I have seen over the Christmas/New Year Break. 

And by being so absolutely spoilt this year has made me realise just how lucky I am. Some people are not half or even an eighth luck to have what I have. Even now as we speak there are people on the streets, hungry, cold and lonely. Whilst it may not be Christmas for another year, please, I ask for you, as I did, to think of those that aren't as fortunate to have friends, family, gifts, food or something simple like a roof over their head and a warm bed for the night to sleep in. Because in reality its the little things that matter and we are all only a few pay-cheques away from being on the streets. 

Merry Christmas and A Happy and Safe New Year 2016! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx