Hello everyone,
I suppose we have had a rather quiet weekend in comparison to last. No Parties and no worrying over BBQ's and finally no more wondering if Frankenstein is OK in his baby grow or if he would rather the cone. Following his last Vet check on Friday, he was given the all-clear and was ready for some more strenuous exercise, not that he had calmed down mind. With that in hand, I had mentioned to the Vet about possibly enrolling him into agility classes as he has so much energy and is a quick learner. She had agreed and suggested some local groups and classes which I will be sure to hit up, however, I think I will start to show him this year, especially since I will have a few on my doorstep. Who knows we might just win!
What with it being the Bank Holiday here in the UK as well this weekend, the last one before Santa comes, Mr Warehouse and I applied ourselves well and have done the garden. Well, at least some of it. You see most Bank Holidays in the UK are drizzly, wet and grey - If you haven't already noticed. However on the contrary, this one has been blisteringly hot, one of which my future husband and I can enjoy whilst not being as sun burnt as the last time there was a heatwave here.
Saturday Mr Warehouse was working the morning for some extra pennies so I decided to head out for the afternoon, popping by to my seamstress to see if she could work some magic by adding sleeves to my dress for a family event coming up soon. That night we looked after my future niece and nephews whilst their parents were out. Sunday I had reserved for hitting the shops in the hope of finding that elusive rattan garden corner sofa furniture set. And so leaving the pups at home in the coolness of the house Mr Warehouse and I headed out into the 30-something-degree weather and popped by a few stores picking up a much-needed hose for our newly acquired tap, some compost and numerous reduced flowers and bulbs, ready to pot. I was quiet surprised with myself as I sat back and looked at all our hard work for a Sunday afternoon, flowers and plants potted, garden watered and grass cut. Very well done us and as Mr Warehouse said as we settled in for the night that it really is starting to look a bit more like home. I just hope that my green-fingers don't ruin the plants as I am known for not being able to keep most plants in my life alive. Well, apart from that one cactus that looked like a penis and just kept growing?!
I remember thinking as we walked around garden centres and DIY shops as a child that this was the height of boring and that peaking as an adult was when you had been to or had any dealings with a DIY shop and gardening, well, that was just another hell I forced myself through in order to get pocket money. I didn't enjoy it and hated the fact that there were bugs everywhere, it was tough thick clay type mud which was never easy to work with and that it was arduously long work making me ache and hurt by the end of it all. I think it was probably at that point that I vowed, whilst my front garden, and even my back one, in my childhood home looked beautiful and people always commented on it, I would always choose to have my plants in pots, moreso for convenience.
Today however as Bank Holiday Monday, our extra day out of the office and away from work has been less productive. It started off well, however, with promises of getting the Save the Dates done and ready to post out, however, instead we searched for a suit for Chris, again for the family occasion and scoured several shops in again soaring temperatures only to then buy online as there were limited sizes and styles. It started to lag however when we started the inventory of the wedding items we have purchased in preparation for next year, slowly wilting under the inescapable heat. Finally, I cracked and snoozed for longer than anticipated in the late afternoon. Since then we have set up the printer, and the laptop and printed out what our draft was, however on closer inspection there are some slight changes we probably will need to make before sending out, and that will be left now probably for a couple of weeks as Mr Warehouse will be preoccupied with other, more matrimonial duties and events ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Hot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hot. Show all posts
Monday, 26 August 2019
Monday, 19 June 2017
Can't Take The Heat
Evening Amigos!
It was only this time last week that I was talking of cooler break away, but oh how in need I am right now of something, anything cold! Bedford today was nearly 35 degrees and over the course of the weekend it was not far short of that temperature either. To say that I was struggling was an understatement and so to put it into context I experienced heat that was hotter than Barbados, Mumbai and Thailand.
The thing is that I don't really do heat very well in fact most people will tell you that I turn into a right bitch when the mercury soars. And oh boy was this weekend one of those moments! Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have already experienced this on our many annual holiday and I have had heat-induced melt-downs in several countries across Europe. Not entirely sure if that's a good thing however I do know that afterwards that my tantrums can be very funny to look back on and when it is all said and done we can all have a good giggle about how much of a princess I am (sometimes)!
Like that moment on holiday in Fuerteventura when I had a full blown temper tantrum because Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb didn't want to come and look at a bag with me to give their opinion. Incidentally, Miss Tweedle-Dee ended up coming to look at said bag with me, however after the big hoo-ha I decided that in actual fact I no longer wanted it and instead sulked whilst we tried to hail a taxi in broken Spanish back to the hotel.
There was also that time when, after watching a gig in the roughest part of Downtown Las Vegas, far from the glitz and the glamour of the strip I thought it might be a good idea to get a cab home to the hotel. Unfortunately the Tweedles refused and also harshly declined the offer the nice barmaid had made to drop us back to the main strip after her shift, which was within the next few minutes. But alas, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knows better so out we went into the darkness, google-mapping our way back to the strip by walking through dodgy neighbourhoods and eventually winding up at a bus station that wouldn't have looked out of place in a creepy horror film. Suffice to say that we got home, eventually, but not in the safest of manners I would have liked.
Or how about in Lanzarote when I went to buy some quick last minute purchases before heading home and when I got back to our hotel lobby that the Tweedles had said they were waiting for me in, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had already pissed off to the bus stop to get the coach home without me and I then refused to speak with them the entire journey to the airport and throughout our lengthy journey home, only making polite answers to their pointless efforts to be friends again. I mean I swear they do it to just grind on my wick sometimes in order to have a holiday memory to look back and laugh on.
And whenever there is a beach involved you can always expect me to be the one whose getting Aggy about sand getting everywhere. I wouldn't be so bothered if it just dusted off at the end of the day but it gets everywhere - In your hair, in your bag, in your pants, in your foof and even worse than all those put together in between your toes, making them dry and eventually cracking your skin so bad the creases in your piggies split. Yeah, Ouch!!!
Needless to say that I can get a bit ratty when the heat is on and this weekend was no different. Throwing my hands in the air and huffing and puffing my way around the bedroom I was hot, sticky and swollen with nothing to wear and everything looking awful on me anyway because I was the size of a blue whale in the sweltering weather. But something strange was happening. Mr. Warehouse wasn't biting. Not that I wanted him to react in any particular way but I wanted and needed attention and that was all I was doing it for. Isn't it funny how I can psychologically assess myself and analyse the fact that I am just a pretentious little arse when it gets above twenty-five degrees. I am not proud of my toddler tantrums but in a way I am glad that Mr. Warehouse never pandered to my efforts and frazzlings of being too hot. He simply grinned and got on with it. Now that is the kind of man that is a keeper but will Tenerife be a test with highs of late thirties and early forties!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
It was only this time last week that I was talking of cooler break away, but oh how in need I am right now of something, anything cold! Bedford today was nearly 35 degrees and over the course of the weekend it was not far short of that temperature either. To say that I was struggling was an understatement and so to put it into context I experienced heat that was hotter than Barbados, Mumbai and Thailand.
The thing is that I don't really do heat very well in fact most people will tell you that I turn into a right bitch when the mercury soars. And oh boy was this weekend one of those moments! Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have already experienced this on our many annual holiday and I have had heat-induced melt-downs in several countries across Europe. Not entirely sure if that's a good thing however I do know that afterwards that my tantrums can be very funny to look back on and when it is all said and done we can all have a good giggle about how much of a princess I am (sometimes)!
Like that moment on holiday in Fuerteventura when I had a full blown temper tantrum because Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb didn't want to come and look at a bag with me to give their opinion. Incidentally, Miss Tweedle-Dee ended up coming to look at said bag with me, however after the big hoo-ha I decided that in actual fact I no longer wanted it and instead sulked whilst we tried to hail a taxi in broken Spanish back to the hotel.
There was also that time when, after watching a gig in the roughest part of Downtown Las Vegas, far from the glitz and the glamour of the strip I thought it might be a good idea to get a cab home to the hotel. Unfortunately the Tweedles refused and also harshly declined the offer the nice barmaid had made to drop us back to the main strip after her shift, which was within the next few minutes. But alas, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb knows better so out we went into the darkness, google-mapping our way back to the strip by walking through dodgy neighbourhoods and eventually winding up at a bus station that wouldn't have looked out of place in a creepy horror film. Suffice to say that we got home, eventually, but not in the safest of manners I would have liked.
Or how about in Lanzarote when I went to buy some quick last minute purchases before heading home and when I got back to our hotel lobby that the Tweedles had said they were waiting for me in, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had already pissed off to the bus stop to get the coach home without me and I then refused to speak with them the entire journey to the airport and throughout our lengthy journey home, only making polite answers to their pointless efforts to be friends again. I mean I swear they do it to just grind on my wick sometimes in order to have a holiday memory to look back and laugh on.
And whenever there is a beach involved you can always expect me to be the one whose getting Aggy about sand getting everywhere. I wouldn't be so bothered if it just dusted off at the end of the day but it gets everywhere - In your hair, in your bag, in your pants, in your foof and even worse than all those put together in between your toes, making them dry and eventually cracking your skin so bad the creases in your piggies split. Yeah, Ouch!!!
Needless to say that I can get a bit ratty when the heat is on and this weekend was no different. Throwing my hands in the air and huffing and puffing my way around the bedroom I was hot, sticky and swollen with nothing to wear and everything looking awful on me anyway because I was the size of a blue whale in the sweltering weather. But something strange was happening. Mr. Warehouse wasn't biting. Not that I wanted him to react in any particular way but I wanted and needed attention and that was all I was doing it for. Isn't it funny how I can psychologically assess myself and analyse the fact that I am just a pretentious little arse when it gets above twenty-five degrees. I am not proud of my toddler tantrums but in a way I am glad that Mr. Warehouse never pandered to my efforts and frazzlings of being too hot. He simply grinned and got on with it. Now that is the kind of man that is a keeper but will Tenerife be a test with highs of late thirties and early forties!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 16 May 2016
Still Got It!
Hiya!
Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking.
Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor.
After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway.
As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart.
Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?
Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?
I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!
I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking.
Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor.
After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway.
As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart.
Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?
Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?
I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!
I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 7 September 2015
Adieu France!
Bonjour,
Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert.
Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call.
Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton.
Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you.
Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home.
Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert.
Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call.
Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton.
Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you.
Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home.
Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 29 June 2015
Taco's Ham Sandwiches and Bread Rolls!
Hallo,
So as I sit here at my little angular window in my pent house apartment near town I wonder as to what I write about this week. As I glance over to an empty cider bottle from the weekend I recall the fun and games that were had.
Friday night was more than warm as I finished work and arrived outside Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother. Sun beating down and the day still bright I was hoping that the rest of the weekend would be blessed with the same weather. Tumbling into the higgledy-piggledy village home I said hello to the dog and struck up a conversation with Momma Warehouse. But as the evening rolled on I could see how anxious Mr. Warehouse was getting. You see Mr. Warehouse (Creepy Warehouse Guy) had invited me, Mr. Warehouse and the rest of the office out for a few drinks at the local village pub. There was a cider festival on all weekend and I wasn't about to say no to some flat and probably rather potent scrumpy.
And so, as I donned my completely inappropriate heels, Mr. Warehouse and I walked into the pub, gossiping as we went. Greeted by not only a very sozzled Mr. CWG who had been drinking from the moment he got out of work at 3pm, but also some of Mr. Warehouse's family that were visiting for the weekend. But as the band started to play and the sun began to set I realised that not only were my feet hurting but I also felt a little out of my depth. With not much to say or people to mingle with I attempted to join in conversations that I had no clue about.
Nevertheless the whole evening was not like that and to my own recollection we ceased drinking and went home just after a conversation about how a female vagina is also known as a "Taco". Why? I don't know. What I do know is that that is an awful phrase to use. When I think of Taco's I think of everything falling out, the crisp cracker's betraying you as the buckle under the weight of the cheese, sauce and meat. Taco's are messy and spicy. Everything that I think about Taco's is the complete opposite when I think about Fanny. If we are in comparison with food stuffs and female genitalia then surely it would range from a poorly made ham sandwich, whereby the ham is falling out all over the place thus making it slightly less desirable than say a neatly shaped piece of Gnocchi, or my personal favourite - a carefully sliced roll. Obviously everyone's vagina is lovely and perfect in their own special way but for me and the lads that were left it all made for a very hysterically conversation.
Saturday morning I awoke to the lawnmower going and a quick succession of sneezes, coughs and snotty tissues. Ahh yes, the grips of Hayfever! Don't you just love it! Popping my pills I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to some toast and jam. Two, somewhat productive hours later and Mr. Warehouse and I had finally booked the hotel for our end of Summer getaway to Lyon, which may not be as rosey as we once thought, especially upon hearing of what one disgruntled employee did to one of his bosses - See News - But then again with some of the places I have worked in the past, I can easily see how you can be pushed too far. Afternoon Tea with Grandma-ma was next though and stepping out into the sunshine I could tell that the day was going to be good. After a cracking natter about most things including getting old, sharting and the current economic crisis in Greece I think we were done for the day. With the promises of seeing each other soon I waved her off and headed back to get ready for a memorial service with a twist.
Mr. Warehouse's Granddad had passed away some years before I came along and every year since then the whole family comes together to celebrate in his death and the life he once lead. And to honour the matriarch of the clan we all drank, ate and played as much pool and darts until our little hearts were content. I have discovered that I am not terrible at pool especially since the last time I played was in High School and even then it was to impress the boys! Darts I did well at too and although no one was injured in the process I did discover that just because you hit the bullseye once (or twice in my case) does not mean you automatically win. So in between cuddles with babies, sipping on alcopops and forging a friendship between myself and a group of 10-year-old nieces belonging to Mr. Warehouse and his family I enjoyed the weekend and somewhat put into perspective for me what the future could hold if I allowed this future to happen.
And so my weekend pretty much has been spent with family. Some of them my own but the majority of them not. At least not yet anyway. But that's an inside thought. So Shhh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So as I sit here at my little angular window in my pent house apartment near town I wonder as to what I write about this week. As I glance over to an empty cider bottle from the weekend I recall the fun and games that were had.
Friday night was more than warm as I finished work and arrived outside Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother. Sun beating down and the day still bright I was hoping that the rest of the weekend would be blessed with the same weather. Tumbling into the higgledy-piggledy village home I said hello to the dog and struck up a conversation with Momma Warehouse. But as the evening rolled on I could see how anxious Mr. Warehouse was getting. You see Mr. Warehouse (Creepy Warehouse Guy) had invited me, Mr. Warehouse and the rest of the office out for a few drinks at the local village pub. There was a cider festival on all weekend and I wasn't about to say no to some flat and probably rather potent scrumpy.
And so, as I donned my completely inappropriate heels, Mr. Warehouse and I walked into the pub, gossiping as we went. Greeted by not only a very sozzled Mr. CWG who had been drinking from the moment he got out of work at 3pm, but also some of Mr. Warehouse's family that were visiting for the weekend. But as the band started to play and the sun began to set I realised that not only were my feet hurting but I also felt a little out of my depth. With not much to say or people to mingle with I attempted to join in conversations that I had no clue about.
Nevertheless the whole evening was not like that and to my own recollection we ceased drinking and went home just after a conversation about how a female vagina is also known as a "Taco". Why? I don't know. What I do know is that that is an awful phrase to use. When I think of Taco's I think of everything falling out, the crisp cracker's betraying you as the buckle under the weight of the cheese, sauce and meat. Taco's are messy and spicy. Everything that I think about Taco's is the complete opposite when I think about Fanny. If we are in comparison with food stuffs and female genitalia then surely it would range from a poorly made ham sandwich, whereby the ham is falling out all over the place thus making it slightly less desirable than say a neatly shaped piece of Gnocchi, or my personal favourite - a carefully sliced roll. Obviously everyone's vagina is lovely and perfect in their own special way but for me and the lads that were left it all made for a very hysterically conversation.
Saturday morning I awoke to the lawnmower going and a quick succession of sneezes, coughs and snotty tissues. Ahh yes, the grips of Hayfever! Don't you just love it! Popping my pills I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs to some toast and jam. Two, somewhat productive hours later and Mr. Warehouse and I had finally booked the hotel for our end of Summer getaway to Lyon, which may not be as rosey as we once thought, especially upon hearing of what one disgruntled employee did to one of his bosses - See News - But then again with some of the places I have worked in the past, I can easily see how you can be pushed too far. Afternoon Tea with Grandma-ma was next though and stepping out into the sunshine I could tell that the day was going to be good. After a cracking natter about most things including getting old, sharting and the current economic crisis in Greece I think we were done for the day. With the promises of seeing each other soon I waved her off and headed back to get ready for a memorial service with a twist.
Mr. Warehouse's Granddad had passed away some years before I came along and every year since then the whole family comes together to celebrate in his death and the life he once lead. And to honour the matriarch of the clan we all drank, ate and played as much pool and darts until our little hearts were content. I have discovered that I am not terrible at pool especially since the last time I played was in High School and even then it was to impress the boys! Darts I did well at too and although no one was injured in the process I did discover that just because you hit the bullseye once (or twice in my case) does not mean you automatically win. So in between cuddles with babies, sipping on alcopops and forging a friendship between myself and a group of 10-year-old nieces belonging to Mr. Warehouse and his family I enjoyed the weekend and somewhat put into perspective for me what the future could hold if I allowed this future to happen.
And so my weekend pretty much has been spent with family. Some of them my own but the majority of them not. At least not yet anyway. But that's an inside thought. So Shhh ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 23 June 2014
The Significance Of A Role Mat
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Hello There,
Finishing a long and uneventful week at work I donned some orange lippy and made my way out into the thick warm air of a late Friday afternoon in June. This is not like Britain I thought to myself as usually June is a rainy month whereby we are reaching for the wellies not the wayfarers - Uh I love a good pair of wayfarers! Any way. The reasons for my summery ensemble was due to the fact I was off to the Henlow Dog Races with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's little sister, who really is not so little any more at the ripe old age of eighteen.
Arriving at the racecourse parched and promptly on time in fact early, which is odd for me, I waited for the little blue bubble car to speed round the corners of the Bedfordshire countryside. Soon enough there it was, best friend at the wheel with her passengers waving eagerly. Excited I skipped over to where they were parked, nearly falling over on the gravel in my long orange skirt. Welcoming them and striking up conversation I sensed that a long week had finally come to an end for all of us and the luxury of the weekend was finally upon us, if you can call our plans for the weekend anything but luxurious! Settling down with our race cards and bets placed we watched as the svelte greyhounds whizzed round the tracks chasing after an unconvincing looking Hare wearing what appeared to be either an eighties styled bomber jacket or just a Hi-Vis work men's vest. Laughing away at inside jokes and the other people around us I felt somewhat uneasy given the last time we had all been together under my intervention. Nevertheless I put the thought to the back of my mind and did what I do best, smile and pretend that I'm not at least a little bit lost inside. I thought to myself as we stood beside amorous couples that Dog racing would be a good idea for a date; Maybe not the first date, but maybe a second. The thrill of the pounding paws, the yells and screams from betters and handlers alike, the celebratory hugs and kisses and the commiserating cuddles would be the perfect way to get just that little bit closer to them. Hmmm ...
Finishing the night overall with a win of under a tenner between the four of us we headed home, pockets empty and sides stitched from laughing. Saturday morning I made my way to Leagrave where I met up with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and after briefly stopping by at Miss Tweedle-Dee's house we headed out to lunch. Pulling into Buddies we were all looking forward to engorging ourselves on towered-high burgers and sticky BBQ ribs. And we were not to be disappointed. On entering the establishment I noted of the all-American diner paraphernalia mimicking that of a 1950's roadside stop along Route 66. My thoughts couldn't help but turn to the Vegas trip I was never invited on and how I wish that whilst I plan to save in time to go, I still will never know if I was really ever fully invited. Nevertheless, we were soon greeted by a young waitress who showed us to our table which happened to be across from a first date with a difference. These first-dater's were not in their 20's or 30's, not even in their 70's or 80's. They were probably not even eleven and with the accompaniment of their watchful mothers on the other side of the eatery they were engaging in their first experiences of the dating scene. Eyes glazing over as I watched them from the corner of my vision, I pandered as to how simple it all was and how I longed for the simplicity in my own love-life.
Hunger avenged Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I, so after scanning the menu as we had all week at our desks we ordered the recommended ribs and a burger each. Three burgers, two cheesy chips and a soda float later we were ready for our beds. But we had to buy them first. Yes! Myself and the Tweedles had come to the conclusion that if we plan to scrap our annual debauchery that is our Summer Holiday and brave the bog that is Reading Festival 2014 then we should probably get familiar with our home for those five days. After purchasing a tent earlier in the week all we needed to do was put it up and fill it. Easier said that done I can tell you. We finally finally left Buddies and headed to the shops narrowly avoiding Miss Tweedle-Dumb's attempts to throw up that heart attack lunch of a sugared-ring-doughnut-burger-hold-the-lettuce. Racing through the aisles I had no idea what the rush was. The I knew. The shopping list that I had compiled was now unachievable due to the lack of stock. I needed a role mat (Although I am not quite sure why I bought one that was so thin I could pretty much make sushi out of) and a camping chair and a sleeping bag. I chose not to buy a chair for I know I could probably find one cheaper online, however the sleeping bag situation was voided as there was only two left and guess who got there first! And so as I arrived at the check-out, friends spiting my lack of purchases I bought a role mat that I knew would be useless and some confectionery that added up to more than the foamy bed itself. I think I knew then what sort of night I was in for I just didn't realise how much of a night it would really be. Flopping onto the sofa at Miss Tweedle-Dee's house we watched some trash TV until the weather had cooled slightly enough that we could put the tent up easier. More than an hour and a half later and we had finally erected our abode, although the occupancy of bugs and creepy crawlies was not appreciated. David Attenborough we are not, so take your six legs and exoskeleton bodies to the outside of our blue villa of canvas and be gone! Note to self: BUY BUG SPRAY!
Due to my late night the previous evening and succession of late evenings prior to that I slowly slipped into a slumber on the black stickiness that is a leather sofa in the lounge of Miss Tweedle-Dee's front room. However this was not to last as Miss Tweedle-Dumb thought that it would be a good idea to spank me awake! Aha yes, the wonders of a girlie sleepover! After abruptly waking me we proceeded to order some food only to discover that when the man arrived with my chicken, chips and sauce that he refused to give me the right change. Standing there on the doorstep of a house I had known all my life, wearing a jumper loaned to me by the occupier of such premises I continued to row with the delivery driver regarding the one, singular English pound he owed me. I did not get it and was told to consult my on-line booking of said order. Slamming the door and now in an increased fowl mood from being woken to not being given my money back, I called the takeaway company to have a pop. I was told that someone would deliver my change right away and that the duty manager would call me back the following day. I did not receive my Great British Pound and it is safe to say that more that forty-eight hours on, I shall not be getting a phone call back from the duty manager either. Tired and full of chicken and chips, myself and the girls prepared for bedding down in the tent. After nearly coming to blows with Miss Tweedle-Dee regarding my pungent pumps I climbed into my pod like a bear with a sore head. Thinking it would be a good idea, Miss Tweedle-Dee decided that the wilderness of a back yard in Dunstable was the place to start telling ghost stories. I recalled an event in Miss Tweedle-Dee's brother's house a few years back after Mr. Workaholic and I separated whereby my feet were held by an unknown entity and in turn made them flash freezing cold then burn constantly red hot. An odd occurrence for most, but I have always felt as if there is something there watching over me or with me. Maybe not all the time but sometimes she will be made known. I say she as I get the impression she is an old lady who just wants to have a little fun with the living. I humour her sometimes although I wish she would use some of her special spooky skills to make better my lactose situations of late.
After a restless nights sleep I awoke with some odd flashing memoirs of a unicorn yelling about mildew as a dark figure tried to get to the toilet without wetting themselves. Turns out that it was just Miss Tweedle-Dumb wearing her Unicorn onesie and Miss Tweedle-Dee screaming about the condensation build-up preventing her to making it to Brown-Town. Oh what a fun night we had in our tent of dreams! Safe to say that sitting in the blistering heat of a Sunday afternoon, sipping on wine and munching on juicy black cherries we needed to make some improvements to our up coming festival experience. So what have we learnt this weekend; Air beds are now mandatory, tents are best put up by girls not boys and never trust a man from a chicken shop when he says he will come back with your change!
This weekend also taught me other things too. I now understand that things are never great and that sometimes the ground in which you lay is rough and bumpy and hard. You have to try out the role mats in life before you make improvements and as humans that's just how we learn. So maybe the same can be applied when meeting with Mr. Cheese on Wednesday this week. And yes, there is a very good reason I have not mentioned him in this week's post up until now. Things are detrimental and I am struggling to cling onto the last shred of what we have left. I shall not say too much and ruin what has been an enjoyable evening writing to you all but for now I'm holding my head above the water and staving off that all too familiar sickening feeling knowing that with every hour that ticks by I await the fate of my relationship that is swinging terrifyingly in the balance ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hello There,
Finishing a long and uneventful week at work I donned some orange lippy and made my way out into the thick warm air of a late Friday afternoon in June. This is not like Britain I thought to myself as usually June is a rainy month whereby we are reaching for the wellies not the wayfarers - Uh I love a good pair of wayfarers! Any way. The reasons for my summery ensemble was due to the fact I was off to the Henlow Dog Races with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's little sister, who really is not so little any more at the ripe old age of eighteen.
Arriving at the racecourse parched and promptly on time in fact early, which is odd for me, I waited for the little blue bubble car to speed round the corners of the Bedfordshire countryside. Soon enough there it was, best friend at the wheel with her passengers waving eagerly. Excited I skipped over to where they were parked, nearly falling over on the gravel in my long orange skirt. Welcoming them and striking up conversation I sensed that a long week had finally come to an end for all of us and the luxury of the weekend was finally upon us, if you can call our plans for the weekend anything but luxurious! Settling down with our race cards and bets placed we watched as the svelte greyhounds whizzed round the tracks chasing after an unconvincing looking Hare wearing what appeared to be either an eighties styled bomber jacket or just a Hi-Vis work men's vest. Laughing away at inside jokes and the other people around us I felt somewhat uneasy given the last time we had all been together under my intervention. Nevertheless I put the thought to the back of my mind and did what I do best, smile and pretend that I'm not at least a little bit lost inside. I thought to myself as we stood beside amorous couples that Dog racing would be a good idea for a date; Maybe not the first date, but maybe a second. The thrill of the pounding paws, the yells and screams from betters and handlers alike, the celebratory hugs and kisses and the commiserating cuddles would be the perfect way to get just that little bit closer to them. Hmmm ...
Finishing the night overall with a win of under a tenner between the four of us we headed home, pockets empty and sides stitched from laughing. Saturday morning I made my way to Leagrave where I met up with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and after briefly stopping by at Miss Tweedle-Dee's house we headed out to lunch. Pulling into Buddies we were all looking forward to engorging ourselves on towered-high burgers and sticky BBQ ribs. And we were not to be disappointed. On entering the establishment I noted of the all-American diner paraphernalia mimicking that of a 1950's roadside stop along Route 66. My thoughts couldn't help but turn to the Vegas trip I was never invited on and how I wish that whilst I plan to save in time to go, I still will never know if I was really ever fully invited. Nevertheless, we were soon greeted by a young waitress who showed us to our table which happened to be across from a first date with a difference. These first-dater's were not in their 20's or 30's, not even in their 70's or 80's. They were probably not even eleven and with the accompaniment of their watchful mothers on the other side of the eatery they were engaging in their first experiences of the dating scene. Eyes glazing over as I watched them from the corner of my vision, I pandered as to how simple it all was and how I longed for the simplicity in my own love-life.
Hunger avenged Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I, so after scanning the menu as we had all week at our desks we ordered the recommended ribs and a burger each. Three burgers, two cheesy chips and a soda float later we were ready for our beds. But we had to buy them first. Yes! Myself and the Tweedles had come to the conclusion that if we plan to scrap our annual debauchery that is our Summer Holiday and brave the bog that is Reading Festival 2014 then we should probably get familiar with our home for those five days. After purchasing a tent earlier in the week all we needed to do was put it up and fill it. Easier said that done I can tell you. We finally finally left Buddies and headed to the shops narrowly avoiding Miss Tweedle-Dumb's attempts to throw up that heart attack lunch of a sugared-ring-doughnut-burger-hold-the-lettuce. Racing through the aisles I had no idea what the rush was. The I knew. The shopping list that I had compiled was now unachievable due to the lack of stock. I needed a role mat (Although I am not quite sure why I bought one that was so thin I could pretty much make sushi out of) and a camping chair and a sleeping bag. I chose not to buy a chair for I know I could probably find one cheaper online, however the sleeping bag situation was voided as there was only two left and guess who got there first! And so as I arrived at the check-out, friends spiting my lack of purchases I bought a role mat that I knew would be useless and some confectionery that added up to more than the foamy bed itself. I think I knew then what sort of night I was in for I just didn't realise how much of a night it would really be. Flopping onto the sofa at Miss Tweedle-Dee's house we watched some trash TV until the weather had cooled slightly enough that we could put the tent up easier. More than an hour and a half later and we had finally erected our abode, although the occupancy of bugs and creepy crawlies was not appreciated. David Attenborough we are not, so take your six legs and exoskeleton bodies to the outside of our blue villa of canvas and be gone! Note to self: BUY BUG SPRAY!
Due to my late night the previous evening and succession of late evenings prior to that I slowly slipped into a slumber on the black stickiness that is a leather sofa in the lounge of Miss Tweedle-Dee's front room. However this was not to last as Miss Tweedle-Dumb thought that it would be a good idea to spank me awake! Aha yes, the wonders of a girlie sleepover! After abruptly waking me we proceeded to order some food only to discover that when the man arrived with my chicken, chips and sauce that he refused to give me the right change. Standing there on the doorstep of a house I had known all my life, wearing a jumper loaned to me by the occupier of such premises I continued to row with the delivery driver regarding the one, singular English pound he owed me. I did not get it and was told to consult my on-line booking of said order. Slamming the door and now in an increased fowl mood from being woken to not being given my money back, I called the takeaway company to have a pop. I was told that someone would deliver my change right away and that the duty manager would call me back the following day. I did not receive my Great British Pound and it is safe to say that more that forty-eight hours on, I shall not be getting a phone call back from the duty manager either. Tired and full of chicken and chips, myself and the girls prepared for bedding down in the tent. After nearly coming to blows with Miss Tweedle-Dee regarding my pungent pumps I climbed into my pod like a bear with a sore head. Thinking it would be a good idea, Miss Tweedle-Dee decided that the wilderness of a back yard in Dunstable was the place to start telling ghost stories. I recalled an event in Miss Tweedle-Dee's brother's house a few years back after Mr. Workaholic and I separated whereby my feet were held by an unknown entity and in turn made them flash freezing cold then burn constantly red hot. An odd occurrence for most, but I have always felt as if there is something there watching over me or with me. Maybe not all the time but sometimes she will be made known. I say she as I get the impression she is an old lady who just wants to have a little fun with the living. I humour her sometimes although I wish she would use some of her special spooky skills to make better my lactose situations of late.
After a restless nights sleep I awoke with some odd flashing memoirs of a unicorn yelling about mildew as a dark figure tried to get to the toilet without wetting themselves. Turns out that it was just Miss Tweedle-Dumb wearing her Unicorn onesie and Miss Tweedle-Dee screaming about the condensation build-up preventing her to making it to Brown-Town. Oh what a fun night we had in our tent of dreams! Safe to say that sitting in the blistering heat of a Sunday afternoon, sipping on wine and munching on juicy black cherries we needed to make some improvements to our up coming festival experience. So what have we learnt this weekend; Air beds are now mandatory, tents are best put up by girls not boys and never trust a man from a chicken shop when he says he will come back with your change!
This weekend also taught me other things too. I now understand that things are never great and that sometimes the ground in which you lay is rough and bumpy and hard. You have to try out the role mats in life before you make improvements and as humans that's just how we learn. So maybe the same can be applied when meeting with Mr. Cheese on Wednesday this week. And yes, there is a very good reason I have not mentioned him in this week's post up until now. Things are detrimental and I am struggling to cling onto the last shred of what we have left. I shall not say too much and ruin what has been an enjoyable evening writing to you all but for now I'm holding my head above the water and staving off that all too familiar sickening feeling knowing that with every hour that ticks by I await the fate of my relationship that is swinging terrifyingly in the balance ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 2 June 2014
Flirting With Feminism ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 4 June 2013
Time For A Little Sunshine...
Hey everyone,
So I am currently writing to you from the very sunny and beautiful island of Majorca in Spain. Slightly chilly out but still, the sun is shining and I don't have work.
The past week has been fun although not much has happened in the way of anything, apart from having to comfort a very glum and self-destructive Mr. Mot after I had a phone all at one in the morning. I attempted to pamper his ego as much as possible and make him feel better about himself especially what with his current situation, but it was all in vain as he still carried on in the same self-loathing he had started the conversation with. After an hour and a bit of trying to make him feel better I gave up and ended the call. Nevertheless the following day he was as right as rain and back to his cheery, if a little crude and flirtatious self. Mostly this week though has been preparing for this week. Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have been stressing about packing and departure times and such like all week, where as I have been as cool as a cucumber and have been relaxed, that is up until the wax...
So after my appointment at my local college being booked in on the half-term holidays in the south of England and so therefore being unavailable I found myself a little salon near where I work. Reasonably priced and with the schedule open I booked without hesitation. Upon arriving to said venue some minutes late due to the train being cancelled I was ready to be de-fluffed! Little did I know that walking over hot coals would have been a more pleasurable experience. If you are thinking about it ladies and gentleboys; DON'T - It hurts! Thinking it would be a good idea for holiday is one thing but then carrying it out with a women who you don't even know is another. I mean firstly there was the fact that I had bought new jeans previously and that the dye had rubbed off onto my legs so I looked like an overgrown Smurf. Secondly, less than ten minutes in and because my legs are made of 99.9% cellulite, she spilled hot wax all over me as the roller machine that she was using got trapped in one of my fat pockets. And then there was the sheer fact that she had a looked and touched something that a guy only gets to after he's taken me for dinner. Bareing (no pun intended) this in mind, my legs are still smooth ... ish. Definitely not worth it for the money, the pain or the bite marks on the back of my hands as a result.
Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I arrived mid morning after a long morning spent traipsing round the airport looking for a coffee shop so that all three of us could function properly as it was like three in the morning. The flight itself was pretty straight forward, but as we were taxing down the runway, for some odd reason I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss someone. To be honest I felt a bit emotional going on holiday again. I always do though. I suppose it doesn't help that I feel this way every time I go away because it was the last time I went on holiday with Mr. Workaholic that he decided to make his own mind up about our relationship. Regardless of that though, I am having a splendid time already. Miss Tweedle-Dumb is having a nap before we head out to dinner. So far there have been no arguments although I have had to seclude myself onto the balcony as Miss Tweedle-Dee is making so much random chitter chatter by talking to herself that I can barely hear myself think.
And so after a fun and vibrant day in Majorca, Spain it's time to clock off as I am starving and Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I still have to hunt out dinner. Need to wake them up first which shall be a task and a half as Miss Tweedle-Dumb is already snoring. Uhh, she also just farted, how classy of her slumbering self. This will be an interesting few days to watch out for next week.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx
Tuesday, 16 April 2013
Casting A Line ...
Hello,
Bloggers Note: This post has been changed as per Wednesday 15th May 2013 as a result of some advice given to me regarding
subject matter. Don't worry I am sure I will update your more at a later date :) - - - Love A.Lou xx
What a week! Well there has been alot going on in the wonderful world of me this week. Now as I am sure you are aware I recently went for a casting in London a few weeks ago. (See Lights, Camera, Action!) So at the end of last week I had a phone call from a very enthusiastic young women who told me I had been short-listed and asked if I would be able to come down to the city for filming. Brilliant news and something I have been both excited and unusually nervous about.
So for the past seven days or so I have been scouring the high street for the perfect 'me' look that says that I am an intelligent individual who loves to have fun whilst being sexy but without saying 'how much do you charge an hour?' After going shopping with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb on Saturday, supposedly for a holiday shop - Part one of many I might add; the girls and I found a perfect outfit that said classy and sophisticated yet playful and cute. Collapsing onto my bed back home I was exhausted, but looking up and my minty green dress and smart blazer I convinced myself that it was perfect, but not for something that is meant to represent more 'me'. After talking to my parents I decided to hit the shops before work the following day and found the perfect outfit for under fifty-quid. Pleased as punch I grabbed a coffee and headed to work at my new job.
Finally the day rolled round where I was due to go and film. Forgetting half of my outfit at home in the morning I scrambled around the rails at the store where I bought it from praying they would have an identical one in my size. All in vain though as I had grabbed the last one off the shelf a few days prior, but there was another similar styled garment in my size so I dashed to the counter with it in toe, knowing that in less than a week I would probably be bringing it back. Rushing around like a headless chicken I made it too the station on time and hopped on the first train to the capital. I never realised how damn hot it is on a tube, I mean I'm a warm individual and am always cold, but the temperature in those tin can's on wheels is unbearable. I'm surprised people were not getting their kit off! Regardless, arriving in central London and having no clue where I'm going I started to walk in the soggy weather to the address given, pondering the fact that every time I come to London its always raining. I mean for once can it not just be nice weather. I do find it funny though how the weather reflects the mood in London - literally no-body smiles, its like they've had there happy-gland taken out and a pole up their arse in a bid to replace it. Slightly late although in one piece I looked around at the rows of houses wondering ideally how much it would cost to buy one. I know I could never afford one, but its always nice to dream.
Upon walking into the spacious and well decorated hallway a gentleman appeared and lead me downstairs to the studio's. To be honest, it reminded me of all the set-up we used to make in college. Straightening my skirt and sitting down on a plastic chair I knew I would carefully have to peel my self off later, I looked around curious at what will happen next. A bearded man appeared and proceeded fiddle with stuff but just as soon as he appeared he had gone again. I wasn't left alone for long though and soon after a tall, bald man introduced himself and he started to tell me a little about what would happen. It was reassuring being in his company and he made me feel less nervous and brought out the shine in myself that is only comes out when I am centre of attention. We went through the same questions as we did in the first casting and things went swimmingly until we came to the subject of my mother (I will get around to telling you what happened one day, its just there are more important things to talk about than 'her').
Awkwardness cast aside and a few harrowing minutes later I was back to bubbly and happy Abbey-Lou. The rest of the questions we sailed though on; discussing my blog (TATOATS), where I see my writing career going and what I want from life but then came an odd question. "Do you ever have somebody or something in your head telling you stuff, almost like a little voice?" said Mr. Bald. I smiled but only because it was true. In fact at that revise moment my 'voice' was telling me about how Mr. Bald's wrinkly forehead looked funny against his round face. Pushing that thought to the back of my head I replied with a simple 'yes' and some small anecdote, one not including wrinkles. In hindsight, wrinkled foreheads remind me of Mr. Workaholic's Dad and his scrunched up head-rolls. I continued and as the filming came to a close Mr. Bald said that he had some inside information to show me. Now, anyone that has been able to get a glimpse of my 'Virgin' post of Casting A Line ... before it was reviewed will know of this secret information but for now unfortunately I have to keep it a mystery. Rest assured though, I will be able to reveal all at a later date!
Leaving said address and walking out into the wet evening weather of the city I started to feel like things were maybe moving faster than expected. It still even as I am writing seems so surreal. So were all set for this coming weekend. It will be a busy one as I have holiday shopping part two on Saturday during the day, a blind date Saturday evening, early Sunday morning Ive got a boot sale to do with Miss Chocolate and then Sunday afternoon I'm visiting family for my granddad's seventieth birthday BBQ - If the weather holds out.
Now, speaking of BBQ its making me hungry so off I go to raid the fridge ... Shhh, don't tell dad!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Bloggers Note: This post has been changed as per Wednesday 15th May 2013 as a result of some advice given to me regarding
subject matter. Don't worry I am sure I will update your more at a later date :) - - - Love A.Lou xx
What a week! Well there has been alot going on in the wonderful world of me this week. Now as I am sure you are aware I recently went for a casting in London a few weeks ago. (See Lights, Camera, Action!) So at the end of last week I had a phone call from a very enthusiastic young women who told me I had been short-listed and asked if I would be able to come down to the city for filming. Brilliant news and something I have been both excited and unusually nervous about.
So for the past seven days or so I have been scouring the high street for the perfect 'me' look that says that I am an intelligent individual who loves to have fun whilst being sexy but without saying 'how much do you charge an hour?' After going shopping with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb on Saturday, supposedly for a holiday shop - Part one of many I might add; the girls and I found a perfect outfit that said classy and sophisticated yet playful and cute. Collapsing onto my bed back home I was exhausted, but looking up and my minty green dress and smart blazer I convinced myself that it was perfect, but not for something that is meant to represent more 'me'. After talking to my parents I decided to hit the shops before work the following day and found the perfect outfit for under fifty-quid. Pleased as punch I grabbed a coffee and headed to work at my new job.
Finally the day rolled round where I was due to go and film. Forgetting half of my outfit at home in the morning I scrambled around the rails at the store where I bought it from praying they would have an identical one in my size. All in vain though as I had grabbed the last one off the shelf a few days prior, but there was another similar styled garment in my size so I dashed to the counter with it in toe, knowing that in less than a week I would probably be bringing it back. Rushing around like a headless chicken I made it too the station on time and hopped on the first train to the capital. I never realised how damn hot it is on a tube, I mean I'm a warm individual and am always cold, but the temperature in those tin can's on wheels is unbearable. I'm surprised people were not getting their kit off! Regardless, arriving in central London and having no clue where I'm going I started to walk in the soggy weather to the address given, pondering the fact that every time I come to London its always raining. I mean for once can it not just be nice weather. I do find it funny though how the weather reflects the mood in London - literally no-body smiles, its like they've had there happy-gland taken out and a pole up their arse in a bid to replace it. Slightly late although in one piece I looked around at the rows of houses wondering ideally how much it would cost to buy one. I know I could never afford one, but its always nice to dream.
Upon walking into the spacious and well decorated hallway a gentleman appeared and lead me downstairs to the studio's. To be honest, it reminded me of all the set-up we used to make in college. Straightening my skirt and sitting down on a plastic chair I knew I would carefully have to peel my self off later, I looked around curious at what will happen next. A bearded man appeared and proceeded fiddle with stuff but just as soon as he appeared he had gone again. I wasn't left alone for long though and soon after a tall, bald man introduced himself and he started to tell me a little about what would happen. It was reassuring being in his company and he made me feel less nervous and brought out the shine in myself that is only comes out when I am centre of attention. We went through the same questions as we did in the first casting and things went swimmingly until we came to the subject of my mother (I will get around to telling you what happened one day, its just there are more important things to talk about than 'her').
Awkwardness cast aside and a few harrowing minutes later I was back to bubbly and happy Abbey-Lou. The rest of the questions we sailed though on; discussing my blog (TATOATS), where I see my writing career going and what I want from life but then came an odd question. "Do you ever have somebody or something in your head telling you stuff, almost like a little voice?" said Mr. Bald. I smiled but only because it was true. In fact at that revise moment my 'voice' was telling me about how Mr. Bald's wrinkly forehead looked funny against his round face. Pushing that thought to the back of my head I replied with a simple 'yes' and some small anecdote, one not including wrinkles. In hindsight, wrinkled foreheads remind me of Mr. Workaholic's Dad and his scrunched up head-rolls. I continued and as the filming came to a close Mr. Bald said that he had some inside information to show me. Now, anyone that has been able to get a glimpse of my 'Virgin' post of Casting A Line ... before it was reviewed will know of this secret information but for now unfortunately I have to keep it a mystery. Rest assured though, I will be able to reveal all at a later date!
Leaving said address and walking out into the wet evening weather of the city I started to feel like things were maybe moving faster than expected. It still even as I am writing seems so surreal. So were all set for this coming weekend. It will be a busy one as I have holiday shopping part two on Saturday during the day, a blind date Saturday evening, early Sunday morning Ive got a boot sale to do with Miss Chocolate and then Sunday afternoon I'm visiting family for my granddad's seventieth birthday BBQ - If the weather holds out.
Now, speaking of BBQ its making me hungry so off I go to raid the fridge ... Shhh, don't tell dad!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
Teenage Kicks
Hello,
Now as I explained in my last post, I had been invited somewhere important. At the time I couldn't divulge much more as other attendees are avid followers and would have foiled my plan. So, a few weeks ago I got talking to an old school friend of mine who also happens to be in a band with and close friend of Mr. Coffee's - I know, I know; Just bear with me on this one. So after we had done away with small talk I started discussing booking him and the band for a charity fundraiser event I am planning on hosting in the coming months. He agreed and I said that I would get back to him with some of the details. Anyway, I heard nothing from him until I had a social-networking invitation to an event where by his band was playing ... along with none other than Mr. Coffee himself. In a flap I immediately messaged Miss Chocolate, knowing that she would probably not give me a lecture about 'going back to old flames' as much as Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb would. And so a plan was conceived that Miss Chocolate and I would go on a bar crawl for St. Patricks Day, which would just happen to end up at the same location as the gig and at precisely the right time. All week, cunningly planning and plotting what to wear and how to have my hair, thinking up a good alibi and what to say. Now this would not have been such a big deal had it not bee for the earlier incident of bailing on me, (See post 'Time to Say I Told You So ... ') but regardless as the week flew by yet again, Saturday night loomed ever closer.
After waking up at sparrow's fart to go shopping with Papa and spending all day pampering myself into oblivion I was finally ready. Strangely Papa dropped me to the station and was concerned about how I was getting home, who I was going out with and all the other things a parent worries about. I do love him sometimes, but on this occasion I think he knew I was up to something and was just digging around for the scoop! As I sat on the train gulping down Orange Juice and Vodka it took me back to my teens and reminded me that there has never really been a point in life where I haven't been obsessed or fixated with something or someone, usually multiples of different things at the same time. And Saturday night was no different. Although, reading this back in my head does make me look a tad infatuated and preoccupied by Mr. Coffee and his participation in the evening. I'm not. To clarify, I am merely interested in pursuing him further. I would, after my resent encounters with Mr. Coffee, like to confront the coward and ask him what the hell he was playing at and how he feels about me. Well I got my chance didn't I ...
After arriving in town and heading pretty much straight to pub in which Mr. Coffee and his band were playing, Miss Chocolate and I settled into the bar stools to have a drink. However, Miss Chocolate is more of the clubbing and pubbing type, not usually accustomed to loud rock music in a small, stuffy pub. Regardless of those factors she embraced it with every bit of muster the girl had and towards the end of the session, I even caught her singing along and dancing with the best of us. I am proud to say that I broke her gig-virginity! As we were sitting at the bar having a chat, I was tapped on the shoulder by another old school friend who just happens to also be Mr. Coffee's best friend and fellow band-mate. I introduced him to Miss Chocolate and asked why he was hear, fully knowing the answer before I even asked it. He explained that he was here with 'the band' and that they were scheduled for 9pm. After a few tid-bits of small talk he left. Miss Chocolate and I mooched around for a bit, having a cigarette, complaining about the wet and 'inappropriate' rain before my shoulder was yet again disturbed by an important person. Mr. Coffee! So it seems that after bumping into most of his band-mates, a few mutual friends and his step-dad, Mr. Coffee had came over to say hello. But I had more for him than hello! I was fully ready to turn around and give him a big piece of my mind, but as I turned to greet him all hope of controlling the hormonal teenager in me dried up. Deep brown eyes, dark floppy hair and a smile that I needed my RayBan's for. Even better looking that I remembered I tried to compose myself and we started the standard conversation. My alibi worked a treat but there was still an elephant in the room to confront.
"Why didn't you turn up?" I asked as Mr. Coffee's face went cold and fearful. He knew what he was in for. "I'm so sorry. I was scared and panicked. I just thought that you wanted something more than I was willing to offer you. I really am so sorry. You must think I am a dick?" was his reply. I was fuming, yet still on cloud nine. Odd feeling that - Wanting to throw your drink on someone but knowing that if you do your just going to add to their sexual-appeal. Mr. Coffee shuffled from foot to foot for a while just repeating himself over and over, apologising constantly. I had told him in the past that I didn't want anything serious like the last train wreck of a relationship, but just wanted some fun and to share the coming summer with and I felt that I needed to reassure him of this again. The conversation of a NSA relationship came into the chat's limelight only to be stamped on by his band being called up. "Will you stay?" Mr. Coffee asked, pleading me to stay. "You know I have always wanted you to see me play with the guys." I turned to Miss Chocolate and her face said it all. I had to compose myself and become hard and cold - Show him whose boss and that I am still upset with him. "Mmm, I don't know, my friend wants to head on to a nightclub now so I don't know, I might." I replied as my legs resumed from their jelly-like state. After accepting this, Mr. Coffee turned to walk away, tail between legs.
As Mr. Coffee began to play I took a prime position in the already large crowd and for the next half hour I was propelled back to being fifteen again, admiring a band I knew well, shaking my hair and singing to what words I knew. I concentrated hard as I watched Mr. Coffee's eyes frantically search the crowd for my face, not knowing weather I stayed to watch or not. After a few songs I caught his eye and Mr. Coffee sent me a wink which nearly killed me. I felt like I was in the front row at a Elvis Concert. If I wasn't ready to blow before - I sure as hell was now! Annoyingly though there was a young Polish man standing behind me and throughout the whole set he was trying to kiss me and talk to me. I just smiled as I couldn't fully understanding a word he was saying, given the noise and language barrier. Looking back now my intoxicated state he looked like a blonde lab rat and, and as I couldn't hear him I just continued to smile which only seemed to cement in his head that I was his for the evening. At one point I think he even asked "If I buy drink for you, you come home with me, yes?" and in a flap I promptly pointed to the tall, dark and handsome musician onstage and said that I was dating Mr. Coffee. Instantly his hands flew up in the air and he apologised, however, knowing that Mr. Coffee was already struggling to see me, I decided to play and flirted with the foreigner, hoping that Mr. Coffee would see and sweep me off my feet, saving me from this manic stranger.
Once the band stopped playing I got ready to leave, but not before Miss Chocolate had something to do with it. As Mr. Coffee stepped off stage I was pushed forward into his arms. After I had composed myself and stepped out of his bubble the flood gates opened and I gushed about how much I enjoyed his performance. We stood around for ages nattering before I got the eye from Miss Chocolate, indicating that it was time to leave. I explained to Mr. Coffee that I have to go and asked him several times to come along to the nightclub and continue the party, but lack of finances gave that idea the boot. Reluctantly I bid farewell and turned to leave. But then I remembered a task I had been asked to do earlier on in the evening by my drinking buddy. I turned back to the hot musician. "My friend says that were not leaving until we kiss and make up" I said boldly to which Mr. Coffee replied with some lame excuse that he would never be able to live it down in front of his friends and step-dad who were just on the table next to us. As I pulled away from a hug our eyes met, earthy brown matched with sea green. But just as I was about to turn and leave Mr. Coffee pulled me in close for a quick kiss on the lips. Sneaky, cheeky and throwing all inhibitions to the wind! I loved it. Following a swap in numbers I skipped out of the pub with his lips still burning on mine.
So where are we now. Well after gaining advise from the all power love-goddess that is Miss Chocolate I am being told to play it cool and text him mid-week which is tomorrow, so I shall keep you all posted on this as it unravels but I'm not hold my breath, especially after last time! But it wasn't just me who got lucky on Saturday night, Oh no! The luck of the Irish stuck Miss Chocolate when she met up with a guy she had met online. Safe to say that his profile picture was probably Catfished from a search engine!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Now as I explained in my last post, I had been invited somewhere important. At the time I couldn't divulge much more as other attendees are avid followers and would have foiled my plan. So, a few weeks ago I got talking to an old school friend of mine who also happens to be in a band with and close friend of Mr. Coffee's - I know, I know; Just bear with me on this one. So after we had done away with small talk I started discussing booking him and the band for a charity fundraiser event I am planning on hosting in the coming months. He agreed and I said that I would get back to him with some of the details. Anyway, I heard nothing from him until I had a social-networking invitation to an event where by his band was playing ... along with none other than Mr. Coffee himself. In a flap I immediately messaged Miss Chocolate, knowing that she would probably not give me a lecture about 'going back to old flames' as much as Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb would. And so a plan was conceived that Miss Chocolate and I would go on a bar crawl for St. Patricks Day, which would just happen to end up at the same location as the gig and at precisely the right time. All week, cunningly planning and plotting what to wear and how to have my hair, thinking up a good alibi and what to say. Now this would not have been such a big deal had it not bee for the earlier incident of bailing on me, (See post 'Time to Say I Told You So ... ') but regardless as the week flew by yet again, Saturday night loomed ever closer.
After waking up at sparrow's fart to go shopping with Papa and spending all day pampering myself into oblivion I was finally ready. Strangely Papa dropped me to the station and was concerned about how I was getting home, who I was going out with and all the other things a parent worries about. I do love him sometimes, but on this occasion I think he knew I was up to something and was just digging around for the scoop! As I sat on the train gulping down Orange Juice and Vodka it took me back to my teens and reminded me that there has never really been a point in life where I haven't been obsessed or fixated with something or someone, usually multiples of different things at the same time. And Saturday night was no different. Although, reading this back in my head does make me look a tad infatuated and preoccupied by Mr. Coffee and his participation in the evening. I'm not. To clarify, I am merely interested in pursuing him further. I would, after my resent encounters with Mr. Coffee, like to confront the coward and ask him what the hell he was playing at and how he feels about me. Well I got my chance didn't I ...
After arriving in town and heading pretty much straight to pub in which Mr. Coffee and his band were playing, Miss Chocolate and I settled into the bar stools to have a drink. However, Miss Chocolate is more of the clubbing and pubbing type, not usually accustomed to loud rock music in a small, stuffy pub. Regardless of those factors she embraced it with every bit of muster the girl had and towards the end of the session, I even caught her singing along and dancing with the best of us. I am proud to say that I broke her gig-virginity! As we were sitting at the bar having a chat, I was tapped on the shoulder by another old school friend who just happens to also be Mr. Coffee's best friend and fellow band-mate. I introduced him to Miss Chocolate and asked why he was hear, fully knowing the answer before I even asked it. He explained that he was here with 'the band' and that they were scheduled for 9pm. After a few tid-bits of small talk he left. Miss Chocolate and I mooched around for a bit, having a cigarette, complaining about the wet and 'inappropriate' rain before my shoulder was yet again disturbed by an important person. Mr. Coffee! So it seems that after bumping into most of his band-mates, a few mutual friends and his step-dad, Mr. Coffee had came over to say hello. But I had more for him than hello! I was fully ready to turn around and give him a big piece of my mind, but as I turned to greet him all hope of controlling the hormonal teenager in me dried up. Deep brown eyes, dark floppy hair and a smile that I needed my RayBan's for. Even better looking that I remembered I tried to compose myself and we started the standard conversation. My alibi worked a treat but there was still an elephant in the room to confront.
"Why didn't you turn up?" I asked as Mr. Coffee's face went cold and fearful. He knew what he was in for. "I'm so sorry. I was scared and panicked. I just thought that you wanted something more than I was willing to offer you. I really am so sorry. You must think I am a dick?" was his reply. I was fuming, yet still on cloud nine. Odd feeling that - Wanting to throw your drink on someone but knowing that if you do your just going to add to their sexual-appeal. Mr. Coffee shuffled from foot to foot for a while just repeating himself over and over, apologising constantly. I had told him in the past that I didn't want anything serious like the last train wreck of a relationship, but just wanted some fun and to share the coming summer with and I felt that I needed to reassure him of this again. The conversation of a NSA relationship came into the chat's limelight only to be stamped on by his band being called up. "Will you stay?" Mr. Coffee asked, pleading me to stay. "You know I have always wanted you to see me play with the guys." I turned to Miss Chocolate and her face said it all. I had to compose myself and become hard and cold - Show him whose boss and that I am still upset with him. "Mmm, I don't know, my friend wants to head on to a nightclub now so I don't know, I might." I replied as my legs resumed from their jelly-like state. After accepting this, Mr. Coffee turned to walk away, tail between legs.
As Mr. Coffee began to play I took a prime position in the already large crowd and for the next half hour I was propelled back to being fifteen again, admiring a band I knew well, shaking my hair and singing to what words I knew. I concentrated hard as I watched Mr. Coffee's eyes frantically search the crowd for my face, not knowing weather I stayed to watch or not. After a few songs I caught his eye and Mr. Coffee sent me a wink which nearly killed me. I felt like I was in the front row at a Elvis Concert. If I wasn't ready to blow before - I sure as hell was now! Annoyingly though there was a young Polish man standing behind me and throughout the whole set he was trying to kiss me and talk to me. I just smiled as I couldn't fully understanding a word he was saying, given the noise and language barrier. Looking back now my intoxicated state he looked like a blonde lab rat and, and as I couldn't hear him I just continued to smile which only seemed to cement in his head that I was his for the evening. At one point I think he even asked "If I buy drink for you, you come home with me, yes?" and in a flap I promptly pointed to the tall, dark and handsome musician onstage and said that I was dating Mr. Coffee. Instantly his hands flew up in the air and he apologised, however, knowing that Mr. Coffee was already struggling to see me, I decided to play and flirted with the foreigner, hoping that Mr. Coffee would see and sweep me off my feet, saving me from this manic stranger.
Once the band stopped playing I got ready to leave, but not before Miss Chocolate had something to do with it. As Mr. Coffee stepped off stage I was pushed forward into his arms. After I had composed myself and stepped out of his bubble the flood gates opened and I gushed about how much I enjoyed his performance. We stood around for ages nattering before I got the eye from Miss Chocolate, indicating that it was time to leave. I explained to Mr. Coffee that I have to go and asked him several times to come along to the nightclub and continue the party, but lack of finances gave that idea the boot. Reluctantly I bid farewell and turned to leave. But then I remembered a task I had been asked to do earlier on in the evening by my drinking buddy. I turned back to the hot musician. "My friend says that were not leaving until we kiss and make up" I said boldly to which Mr. Coffee replied with some lame excuse that he would never be able to live it down in front of his friends and step-dad who were just on the table next to us. As I pulled away from a hug our eyes met, earthy brown matched with sea green. But just as I was about to turn and leave Mr. Coffee pulled me in close for a quick kiss on the lips. Sneaky, cheeky and throwing all inhibitions to the wind! I loved it. Following a swap in numbers I skipped out of the pub with his lips still burning on mine.
So where are we now. Well after gaining advise from the all power love-goddess that is Miss Chocolate I am being told to play it cool and text him mid-week which is tomorrow, so I shall keep you all posted on this as it unravels but I'm not hold my breath, especially after last time! But it wasn't just me who got lucky on Saturday night, Oh no! The luck of the Irish stuck Miss Chocolate when she met up with a guy she had met online. Safe to say that his profile picture was probably Catfished from a search engine!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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