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
Showing posts with label Lanzarote. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lanzarote. Show all posts
Monday, 19 June 2017
Monday, 11 July 2016
Welcome To My Inate Fear Of Children ...
Hello,
And so I am home, back in Blightly where it has rained at least once a day for every day I have been back. But lets start from the beginning shall we. The evening following the Chinese calamity, The Tweedles and I headed to somewhere a bit fancier for dinner, and this time I got some change. After spending the following remainder of the holiday frolicking by the pool, enjoying long beach tanning sessions and trying in vain to haggle for a faux handbag I was starting to feel the lull that is missing home. I did not realise this at first but I soon thought how nice it will be to get back to reality, back to my desk and back to the dog. Oh and Mr. Warehouse of course. Whilst I was missing the creature comforts of my little one-bed, there are many other things that come from a holiday abroad with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, majority of them good.
You can almost certainly predict that along with the holiday staples of a night out getting pissed somewhere, bugs, a market day trip and boating excursions, there will also be arguments. Sometimes its about how grey the McDonalds is, sometimes its about who wouldn't come and look at a handbag with me or sometimes it was over the floor in the bathroom being wet. Either way I thought I had managed to have a holiday without the raised voices and hours of stubborn silences, that was until we left to catch the transfer bus. Of course I say we in the loosest of terms as I was not part of said 'we' since Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb headed to the transfer bus without me, not saying anything at all. After a few heated words and some attempts at making good of the situation in hand we arrived at the airport and boarded our very, very late flight home. Obviously I am over it now and I am sure, as with most of our arguments, we can laugh about them later in life.
Arriving home at three-thirty in the morning and trundling down the path to the flat, trying to be quiet but my cases were making as much noise as they could against the cemented gravel. I soon heard a familiar growl, deep and menacing. It was my darling pooch; Well, half adopted-mine anyway. At least I could say that if there was an intruder then she was doing her job, guarding her home and mine. Coming through the house, making as little commotion as possible not to wake Mr. Warehouse I gave a big cuddle to the dog and climbed into bed besides my boyfriend. The following morning (or maybe just a few hours later) I awoke briefly with a kiss on my forehead as Mr. Warehouse headed out to work with promises of seeing each other that evening.
"Remember you have a driving lesson at ten" Mr. Warehouse said as he headed out the door. Rolling over I muttered something of a goodbye and fell into a deep sleep.
Phone blaring I went to turn off my alarm in the next room, only to hear a voice as I turned back towards the bedroom. It was my driving instructor. 'Fuuuuuuuuuuuu' I thought. Answering back to the familiar voice I lied about not forgetting, throwing on some clothes and heading out to the awaiting vehicle. The lessons? They're going well. I have finished learning most things now, including a three-point-turn, parellel parking and reversing round a corner. I can now after my last lesson on Friday morning add into the mix learning what and how to do an emergancy stop. They are kinda exhilerating and fun, but I am almost certain that given a situation in real life whereby it would need to be used I wouldn't feel so "pumped" afterwards.
Enjoying my day off Mr. Warehouse soon returned home and we talked of my holiday and how even still, my phone is not fixed. If anything it has got worse. Since last weeks post, not only does it shut down, restart and freeze automatically it also conducts a full factory reset without authorisation which, in turn, deletes everything in its path - Music, contacts, Apps and holiday photos. All. Gone. So as Mr. Warehouse and I discussed our plans for the weekend we decided we would go and visit Momma Warehouse and the new edition to their family. Mr. Warehouse's newest nephew was a week old and had been born whilst I was away holidaying it up and drinking cocktails by the beach.
So after a whole day of waiting and hearing back about how Samsung were going to fix my beloved Samsung Galaxy Note4, we headed back to Marston Mortaine, Starbucks and Krispy Kreme in hand. The following day had been dedicated to seeing the newborn baby boy. Would this one day be my nephew rather than just Mr. Warehouse's? I don't know but with Mr. Warehouse in the knowledge already with how unpractised I am around children he relayed this through to his mother on the walk over, explaining in detail the physical restrictions I go through whilst in the presence of a young human.
I don't know what is wrong with me. My family never really had babies around as my brother was the youngest for a long while and when my cousins were born I wasn't really around a huge amount when they were tiny, tiny. All I need is the gurgle or a creak of a babies cry and I am on edge. I think it is the fact that they could cry at any moment. And they're only a baby so they can't tell you whats wrong. I mean you wouldn't get a week-old-child saying "Excuse me mother but my bottom is wet and I am afraid I may have shit myself. I will require either yourself or some other poor soul ro empty this sack of mine and replace with a fresh one, and none of this leaving me to roll around waiting for you to get your crap together, organise the nappy-station before commencement of operation poopy-nappy." It will just cry. And cry. And cry. And cry. Nothing will console the child. Mr. Warehouse and other more experianced personel tell me that I should approach a crying babe as a matter of elimination in four simple steps.
1. Is it wet/squishy-bottomed: If yes - Change its bum. If no - Move to question 2.
2. Is it hungry: If yes - Feed it. If no - Move to question 3.
3. Is it sad or upset: If yes - Cuddle it. If no - Move to question 4.
4. Is it tired: If yes - Cuddle it and try to put it to sleep. If no - Start process again.
Sounds simple but in reality would it really work? Truth be told, I don't know as when presented with said newborn it was asleep and continued to be throughout the duration of our encounter. I was completely rigid until the moment it was out of my arms. I think I need to work on my relaxation around babies. They're like horses right; They can smell fear? I was certainly fearful but whilst I looked after this tiny, tiny baby in my arms, sleeping soundly, I did think about my life. I am now of an age where drinking so heavily that you end up outside a nightclub, hair a mess, missing one shoe and throwing up into an ashtray is unacceptable behaviour. Equally though whilst I reluctantly need to accept that my late-teens and early-twenties days of drinking the weekend away in a blind haze of Jagerbombs and Sambuca shots, I don't know if I am fully ready for settling down and starting to build the foundations of a future family life. Not going to lie though, I knew as I looked into Mr. Warehouse's eyes as he held his new nephew the he was getting broody and suddenly it wasn't me who was watching their fertility-watch. Not going to lie though, I did enjoy the cuddles.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
And so I am home, back in Blightly where it has rained at least once a day for every day I have been back. But lets start from the beginning shall we. The evening following the Chinese calamity, The Tweedles and I headed to somewhere a bit fancier for dinner, and this time I got some change. After spending the following remainder of the holiday frolicking by the pool, enjoying long beach tanning sessions and trying in vain to haggle for a faux handbag I was starting to feel the lull that is missing home. I did not realise this at first but I soon thought how nice it will be to get back to reality, back to my desk and back to the dog. Oh and Mr. Warehouse of course. Whilst I was missing the creature comforts of my little one-bed, there are many other things that come from a holiday abroad with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, majority of them good.
You can almost certainly predict that along with the holiday staples of a night out getting pissed somewhere, bugs, a market day trip and boating excursions, there will also be arguments. Sometimes its about how grey the McDonalds is, sometimes its about who wouldn't come and look at a handbag with me or sometimes it was over the floor in the bathroom being wet. Either way I thought I had managed to have a holiday without the raised voices and hours of stubborn silences, that was until we left to catch the transfer bus. Of course I say we in the loosest of terms as I was not part of said 'we' since Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb headed to the transfer bus without me, not saying anything at all. After a few heated words and some attempts at making good of the situation in hand we arrived at the airport and boarded our very, very late flight home. Obviously I am over it now and I am sure, as with most of our arguments, we can laugh about them later in life.
Arriving home at three-thirty in the morning and trundling down the path to the flat, trying to be quiet but my cases were making as much noise as they could against the cemented gravel. I soon heard a familiar growl, deep and menacing. It was my darling pooch; Well, half adopted-mine anyway. At least I could say that if there was an intruder then she was doing her job, guarding her home and mine. Coming through the house, making as little commotion as possible not to wake Mr. Warehouse I gave a big cuddle to the dog and climbed into bed besides my boyfriend. The following morning (or maybe just a few hours later) I awoke briefly with a kiss on my forehead as Mr. Warehouse headed out to work with promises of seeing each other that evening.
"Remember you have a driving lesson at ten" Mr. Warehouse said as he headed out the door. Rolling over I muttered something of a goodbye and fell into a deep sleep.
Phone blaring I went to turn off my alarm in the next room, only to hear a voice as I turned back towards the bedroom. It was my driving instructor. 'Fuuuuuuuuuuuu' I thought. Answering back to the familiar voice I lied about not forgetting, throwing on some clothes and heading out to the awaiting vehicle. The lessons? They're going well. I have finished learning most things now, including a three-point-turn, parellel parking and reversing round a corner. I can now after my last lesson on Friday morning add into the mix learning what and how to do an emergancy stop. They are kinda exhilerating and fun, but I am almost certain that given a situation in real life whereby it would need to be used I wouldn't feel so "pumped" afterwards.
Enjoying my day off Mr. Warehouse soon returned home and we talked of my holiday and how even still, my phone is not fixed. If anything it has got worse. Since last weeks post, not only does it shut down, restart and freeze automatically it also conducts a full factory reset without authorisation which, in turn, deletes everything in its path - Music, contacts, Apps and holiday photos. All. Gone. So as Mr. Warehouse and I discussed our plans for the weekend we decided we would go and visit Momma Warehouse and the new edition to their family. Mr. Warehouse's newest nephew was a week old and had been born whilst I was away holidaying it up and drinking cocktails by the beach.
So after a whole day of waiting and hearing back about how Samsung were going to fix my beloved Samsung Galaxy Note4, we headed back to Marston Mortaine, Starbucks and Krispy Kreme in hand. The following day had been dedicated to seeing the newborn baby boy. Would this one day be my nephew rather than just Mr. Warehouse's? I don't know but with Mr. Warehouse in the knowledge already with how unpractised I am around children he relayed this through to his mother on the walk over, explaining in detail the physical restrictions I go through whilst in the presence of a young human.
I don't know what is wrong with me. My family never really had babies around as my brother was the youngest for a long while and when my cousins were born I wasn't really around a huge amount when they were tiny, tiny. All I need is the gurgle or a creak of a babies cry and I am on edge. I think it is the fact that they could cry at any moment. And they're only a baby so they can't tell you whats wrong. I mean you wouldn't get a week-old-child saying "Excuse me mother but my bottom is wet and I am afraid I may have shit myself. I will require either yourself or some other poor soul ro empty this sack of mine and replace with a fresh one, and none of this leaving me to roll around waiting for you to get your crap together, organise the nappy-station before commencement of operation poopy-nappy." It will just cry. And cry. And cry. And cry. Nothing will console the child. Mr. Warehouse and other more experianced personel tell me that I should approach a crying babe as a matter of elimination in four simple steps.
1. Is it wet/squishy-bottomed: If yes - Change its bum. If no - Move to question 2.
2. Is it hungry: If yes - Feed it. If no - Move to question 3.
3. Is it sad or upset: If yes - Cuddle it. If no - Move to question 4.
4. Is it tired: If yes - Cuddle it and try to put it to sleep. If no - Start process again.
Sounds simple but in reality would it really work? Truth be told, I don't know as when presented with said newborn it was asleep and continued to be throughout the duration of our encounter. I was completely rigid until the moment it was out of my arms. I think I need to work on my relaxation around babies. They're like horses right; They can smell fear? I was certainly fearful but whilst I looked after this tiny, tiny baby in my arms, sleeping soundly, I did think about my life. I am now of an age where drinking so heavily that you end up outside a nightclub, hair a mess, missing one shoe and throwing up into an ashtray is unacceptable behaviour. Equally though whilst I reluctantly need to accept that my late-teens and early-twenties days of drinking the weekend away in a blind haze of Jagerbombs and Sambuca shots, I don't know if I am fully ready for settling down and starting to build the foundations of a future family life. Not going to lie though, I knew as I looked into Mr. Warehouse's eyes as he held his new nephew the he was getting broody and suddenly it wasn't me who was watching their fertility-watch. Not going to lie though, I did enjoy the cuddles.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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