Good Evening,
Standing in the lounge at my Dad's Girlfriends I was more than eager to get home and start searching but in the back of my mind I knew that what was being proposed was simply a fantasy for my generation. Everything was much easier in the 80's with high wages and low costs of living and banks offering money to everyone! I'm talking about the property ladder and the fact that whilst a lot of my friends have no real hope at all of even renting somewhere with rent soaring in the UK to new highs, making most places in and out of the towns near on impossible to find the money for, there are always a few that don't realise just how good they have got it.
Firstly there is the deposit, and even with the best mortgages on the market asking young people looking to buy their first home, even 5% is a big ask for people who are on some of the lowest incomes in society. The average two-bed house in Bedford rental wise anyway is close to £850 per calendar month and with this comes the absolute heartache that you cannot even begin to save for your first home because your paying into someone else's with the extortionate high monthly bond. Saving the value you would need even on a cheap home, probably worse condition and location than your currently living in would take nearly 3 years for myself and Mr. Warehouse and even then it would be nothing near what we want or dream of.
One of the only ways that myself, Mr. Warehouse or any of my friends would ever own our own home would be if we came into the money in some way, either winning the lottery, getting a big payout from compensation or dare I say, it having someone close to them to pop their clogs. It sounds awful really, but if your not from a rich or at least middle class family, you will have not a chance in hell to save for a deposit. Some got their money from family members or the bank of Mom and Dad, but that is just not possible, at least not for Mr. Warehouse and I. Between us we only have the one parent theoretically and even they individually couldn't help with the vast sums of money that is needed for a deposit now-days.
A saving grace for most of my friends is that they either still live at home, that majority of them at least, or they have bagged themselves a council house paying reduced rent in comparison to the rest of us. And hey, if you can get away with it and live with the 'rents whilst saving for a pad of your own or better still save the money that would otherwise go to a greedy landlord then you go guys! I would suggest doing it until your able to do it no more, because living alone or even with a boyfriend or other person is hard. The bills are expensive, the forms are sometimes complex for different companies and the countless things that need to be shelled out for are seemingly never-ending.
But on the plus side you have your own little space and for those that have gained accommodation through the local councils you are in the best position. Something goes wrong, you get the council and their teams to come fix it and all whilst paying much less than the same property on the private rental market. It means you have the opportunity to save, even if its a little, so that one day you wont be reliant on the state. But the thing with Britain is that since my parent generation, council houses and government funded homes have dwindled to virtually none. Only the most neediest (or clever enough to swindle the system) get a home and this leaves such a gap that is only getting bigger with the years. Soon I would not be surprised if people are all scrabbling over a pokey studio apartment for nearly £1000 per calendar month on the open market.
More needs to be done to protect people who rent from sky-high rent, toppling agency fees and unscrupulous landlords who are nothing but a drain on society. I have been very lucky that my landlord, whom I have been renting from for nearly five years comes and fixes things when they need doing (most of the time), is easy-going and always helpful. Some people aren't so lucky and I have been on the end of a few mean, thoughtless landlords and agents in my time.
It all just seems so un-affordable at the moment and with Mr. Warehouse looking to our future more than ever with holidays, celebrations and hopefully a move at the end of this year to a proper house with a garden (and FUCKING PARKING!!!) I couldn't think of a better time to start getting some financial advise for the future. Maybe one day I can have that picket fence and suburban, red-brick castle of mine!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Living. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Living. Show all posts
Monday, 27 February 2017
Monday, 22 June 2015
Material Girl
Hi everyone,
So last week we heard some extracts from my Diary as a Teenager, something I like to think of as the beginnings of my writing career, if you can even call it that. I have decided that on the odd occasion I am going to share some more of my prepubescent ideas and philosophies with you all as I think that they are both hilarious and ridiculous. Let me know if you would like to hear more from Little 'Baby Moi'!
So this week I had a old friend from college write to me about some issues he was having with his group of lads and how whilst he knew in himself he was being silly and jealous of the situation he found himself in he still couldn't shake these feelings of insecurity and anxiety surrounding him and the circle of friends he was in. Honoured that he thought of coming to me I tried to comfort him in a way that would make sense of the situation and allow him to come to his own determinations on what to do. But this got me thinking about jealousy and insecurity with myself.
Now its a rare thing (Some would say even more rare than rocking-horse shit) that I am one of those girls that is always whining about being too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. I am in most respects happy with my body but there are many hundreds upon thousands of things that people get jealous and anxious over. For example; I am at one with my body and love it for all the amazing things it helps me to do everyday even though I despise its wobbles every time I step into the changing rooms of the local High Street Stores. The fact I am far from the size I was in High School makes me doubt in myself sometimes, making me a timid, quiet mouse from my usual grand, Lioness self. With body anxiety and problems surrounding appearances and aesthetics comes the feelings of low self esteem and the desperate longing for something that is in many cases unobtainable immediately. A full bust, tiny waist and curvy silhouette is what every girl wants and whilst some have it, others don't and to get something even close to what is deemed perfect by most peoples eyes is either with a knife, drugs or with a whole heap of hard work, many of us choosing the first options over sweating like a pig at the gym.
For some people however it is about the material things in life rather than a cracking body, shiny hair or flawless skin. Money talks but so do people and the more money, power or fame someone has the more other people envy them. I can also be very materialistic and whilst I think that this has improved a lot since I was younger I know it is still a mammoth part of who I am. I know that in many ways the lifestyle I want for my future will never be something I can realistically achieve alone. I will need a hard working partner in crime with a good job and and a salary to match. As for myself I want to be a high earner. I want to afford my children a holiday every year to somewhere exciting. I want them aged twelve or thirteen to be enrolled in one of the best private schools that the local areas has to provide and to come home to a wonderfully decorated and well-maintained home, complete with all mod-cons. I want a nice shiny car and Christmases to be filled with presents, family and laughter. But I know in some respects that mine and my husbands combined income would have to be in the region of £50,000.00 per year.
I know in myself feel that, as with the last section and the one before that, I can be arrogant, selfish and egotistical one moment and the next being completely insecure in my body and how I look. Same being with finances, money and material items, I can be wanting of a long list of lustful items, not realising how lucky I am to have what I already possess.
But it should never really matter about these thing should they? We all should be so very grateful for what we have, besides whilst there are some people above us on the food chain that have much, much more that you or I, there are also some people that have nothing at all. And as I close off this week I leave with you a thought that here in Bedfordshire, the lush and somewhat affluent areas of the Home Counties, as it rains intermittently, there are still people with no home to go to. No family or friends to confide in or seek advice. No food to settle their growling bellies. No money to buy new shoes. Nothing. We all should be thankful for what we have. You never know how close you are from slipping down that life ladder ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So last week we heard some extracts from my Diary as a Teenager, something I like to think of as the beginnings of my writing career, if you can even call it that. I have decided that on the odd occasion I am going to share some more of my prepubescent ideas and philosophies with you all as I think that they are both hilarious and ridiculous. Let me know if you would like to hear more from Little 'Baby Moi'!
So this week I had a old friend from college write to me about some issues he was having with his group of lads and how whilst he knew in himself he was being silly and jealous of the situation he found himself in he still couldn't shake these feelings of insecurity and anxiety surrounding him and the circle of friends he was in. Honoured that he thought of coming to me I tried to comfort him in a way that would make sense of the situation and allow him to come to his own determinations on what to do. But this got me thinking about jealousy and insecurity with myself.
Now its a rare thing (Some would say even more rare than rocking-horse shit) that I am one of those girls that is always whining about being too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. I am in most respects happy with my body but there are many hundreds upon thousands of things that people get jealous and anxious over. For example; I am at one with my body and love it for all the amazing things it helps me to do everyday even though I despise its wobbles every time I step into the changing rooms of the local High Street Stores. The fact I am far from the size I was in High School makes me doubt in myself sometimes, making me a timid, quiet mouse from my usual grand, Lioness self. With body anxiety and problems surrounding appearances and aesthetics comes the feelings of low self esteem and the desperate longing for something that is in many cases unobtainable immediately. A full bust, tiny waist and curvy silhouette is what every girl wants and whilst some have it, others don't and to get something even close to what is deemed perfect by most peoples eyes is either with a knife, drugs or with a whole heap of hard work, many of us choosing the first options over sweating like a pig at the gym.
For some people however it is about the material things in life rather than a cracking body, shiny hair or flawless skin. Money talks but so do people and the more money, power or fame someone has the more other people envy them. I can also be very materialistic and whilst I think that this has improved a lot since I was younger I know it is still a mammoth part of who I am. I know that in many ways the lifestyle I want for my future will never be something I can realistically achieve alone. I will need a hard working partner in crime with a good job and and a salary to match. As for myself I want to be a high earner. I want to afford my children a holiday every year to somewhere exciting. I want them aged twelve or thirteen to be enrolled in one of the best private schools that the local areas has to provide and to come home to a wonderfully decorated and well-maintained home, complete with all mod-cons. I want a nice shiny car and Christmases to be filled with presents, family and laughter. But I know in some respects that mine and my husbands combined income would have to be in the region of £50,000.00 per year.
I know in myself feel that, as with the last section and the one before that, I can be arrogant, selfish and egotistical one moment and the next being completely insecure in my body and how I look. Same being with finances, money and material items, I can be wanting of a long list of lustful items, not realising how lucky I am to have what I already possess.
But it should never really matter about these thing should they? We all should be so very grateful for what we have, besides whilst there are some people above us on the food chain that have much, much more that you or I, there are also some people that have nothing at all. And as I close off this week I leave with you a thought that here in Bedfordshire, the lush and somewhat affluent areas of the Home Counties, as it rains intermittently, there are still people with no home to go to. No family or friends to confide in or seek advice. No food to settle their growling bellies. No money to buy new shoes. Nothing. We all should be thankful for what we have. You never know how close you are from slipping down that life ladder ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 27 April 2015
Giving the Gift of Life!
Evening all,
So last week I was talking of learning to drive and slowly but surely scraping the money together in order to afford my motorcycle licence, and whilst still important something caught my eye as I was reading a newspaper the other day on my morning commute.
About a year ago, childhood sweethearts from Cardiff in South Wales gave birth to a little baby boy called Teddy and his twin, Noah. Teddy was poorly and after a few hours he sadly past away. A story widely covered by the British media I was in awe of how little Teddy's parents handled the traumatic ordeal as after much deliberation they allowed his tiny frame to be donated in the aid of helping others through being a donor. I believe that both his heart and his kidneys were used in helping someone else live a day that this brave little bear couldn't have.
I was shocked to learn that since the 1st of April 2015, there are over six-thousand people awaiting a organ in the UK. That means that every single one of those people, in the majority of circumstances, are awaiting a death to bring them life. In the last twenty-seven days since the beginning of the month, sixty-eight people have donated something in aid of helping another person to live on which is fantastic, but in comparison to the one-hundred and seventy-one people who took a transplant or donated organs its sad to see that people are more willing to take than they are to give. And this got me thinking about me. And as I stared out the window at the oncoming traffic and the trees and buildings passing me by I thought about what I would do in that situation. In all honesty I would like to think that everyone would act in the same way, giving up parts of their child so another human life can be saved. I would like to think that I could do this, however if faced with the circumstances I don't know if I would truly be able to go through with it. I have always said that organ donation should be an opt into service as opposed to the current, opt-in system we have here in the UK. If I don't want my organs being shipped out across the country, possibly even the world, then I should be within the power to say no before that happens. I am currently on the donor register in England and Wales and am proud to know that if I sadly die (unfortunate I know) that I could potentially save multiple lives, and thus ending and preventing the grief for their families, at least for a short while anyway. I have donated, at least registered them for donation should anything happen to me, some of my most medically sought after assets including my Liver, lungs and Kidneys ... Just like Teddy!
There is a line whereby I draw and say enough is enough. I would have certain rules on who gets a piece of me, I mean there isn't that much "brilliant" for everyone! I would ask that my organs are never given to anyone who failed to look after their own, for example my lungs to an inherent smoker for the past thirty years or to a alcoholic whose liver had packed up from all the White Ace and Frosty Jacks. No, I would insist that my items go to someone whom will love them as much as I have and cherish them as they're own. As well as that, out of the list of donated items you can gift someone I have only two exceptions; My eyes and my heart. My eyes, or moreso my Corneas which are of most value to people can bring the magic of sight, yes, however I would want them kept in tact as I head to the grave, in the knowledge that no-one will every see some of the most beautiful, and sometimes heartbreaking things. My heart on the other hand I am grappling with. On the one side you have the fact that it is something all the more metaphoric and symbolic. With my heart I have loved many (you have seen the amount of Mister's I go through) and may there be many, many more to come. The phrase "Listen to your heart" is one I think sometimes I have done too much in the past but worry that in the future I will look back and regret I never did enough of. But then on the other side of the coin you have the simple scientific and biological fact that it is just tissue and muscle and a organ that powers my entire being. Without it my existence would be nothing and I would quite frankly be dead!
Death is horrible to think of and about, but it is as natural as nature intended. From the moment we are born we are dying (and in some cases a Monday afternoon can escalate that feeling all too well some may say) but one thing is for sure that as we take our first breath's as babies, screaming for air, we are destined for a life of unknown fortune and fate! Its not nice to have that conversation with Granny or Grandpa but sometimes I really do feel like you have to. In order to preserve and respect their wishes beyond the grave you have to talk about it when you have the chance, after all you wont get any answers from a cold corpse and I would hope that my friends and family would know what I want and help me in achieving that after I am gone.
I would hope that I could make it into my nineties before I die. I would like to get a letter from the Queen (or King by that point) congratulating me on my 100th birthday. I would like to see my children, have children, who in turn will have more children. I would like to fart and blame it on a dog I don't have and get away with it just because I am old. But if that day doesn't come, and I am called away on business by another entity then I am safe in the knowledge that I can not only spread humour and laughter through my story telling and wit, but also through helping others, because its not every day you can say you saved not one, but many lives, maybe even created a few in the process of giving something un-giveable.
To find out more, please visit: http://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/ and don't just think about it, register and start saving lives as soon as yours has ended. Thank You.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So last week I was talking of learning to drive and slowly but surely scraping the money together in order to afford my motorcycle licence, and whilst still important something caught my eye as I was reading a newspaper the other day on my morning commute.
About a year ago, childhood sweethearts from Cardiff in South Wales gave birth to a little baby boy called Teddy and his twin, Noah. Teddy was poorly and after a few hours he sadly past away. A story widely covered by the British media I was in awe of how little Teddy's parents handled the traumatic ordeal as after much deliberation they allowed his tiny frame to be donated in the aid of helping others through being a donor. I believe that both his heart and his kidneys were used in helping someone else live a day that this brave little bear couldn't have.
I was shocked to learn that since the 1st of April 2015, there are over six-thousand people awaiting a organ in the UK. That means that every single one of those people, in the majority of circumstances, are awaiting a death to bring them life. In the last twenty-seven days since the beginning of the month, sixty-eight people have donated something in aid of helping another person to live on which is fantastic, but in comparison to the one-hundred and seventy-one people who took a transplant or donated organs its sad to see that people are more willing to take than they are to give. And this got me thinking about me. And as I stared out the window at the oncoming traffic and the trees and buildings passing me by I thought about what I would do in that situation. In all honesty I would like to think that everyone would act in the same way, giving up parts of their child so another human life can be saved. I would like to think that I could do this, however if faced with the circumstances I don't know if I would truly be able to go through with it. I have always said that organ donation should be an opt into service as opposed to the current, opt-in system we have here in the UK. If I don't want my organs being shipped out across the country, possibly even the world, then I should be within the power to say no before that happens. I am currently on the donor register in England and Wales and am proud to know that if I sadly die (unfortunate I know) that I could potentially save multiple lives, and thus ending and preventing the grief for their families, at least for a short while anyway. I have donated, at least registered them for donation should anything happen to me, some of my most medically sought after assets including my Liver, lungs and Kidneys ... Just like Teddy!
There is a line whereby I draw and say enough is enough. I would have certain rules on who gets a piece of me, I mean there isn't that much "brilliant" for everyone! I would ask that my organs are never given to anyone who failed to look after their own, for example my lungs to an inherent smoker for the past thirty years or to a alcoholic whose liver had packed up from all the White Ace and Frosty Jacks. No, I would insist that my items go to someone whom will love them as much as I have and cherish them as they're own. As well as that, out of the list of donated items you can gift someone I have only two exceptions; My eyes and my heart. My eyes, or moreso my Corneas which are of most value to people can bring the magic of sight, yes, however I would want them kept in tact as I head to the grave, in the knowledge that no-one will every see some of the most beautiful, and sometimes heartbreaking things. My heart on the other hand I am grappling with. On the one side you have the fact that it is something all the more metaphoric and symbolic. With my heart I have loved many (you have seen the amount of Mister's I go through) and may there be many, many more to come. The phrase "Listen to your heart" is one I think sometimes I have done too much in the past but worry that in the future I will look back and regret I never did enough of. But then on the other side of the coin you have the simple scientific and biological fact that it is just tissue and muscle and a organ that powers my entire being. Without it my existence would be nothing and I would quite frankly be dead!
Death is horrible to think of and about, but it is as natural as nature intended. From the moment we are born we are dying (and in some cases a Monday afternoon can escalate that feeling all too well some may say) but one thing is for sure that as we take our first breath's as babies, screaming for air, we are destined for a life of unknown fortune and fate! Its not nice to have that conversation with Granny or Grandpa but sometimes I really do feel like you have to. In order to preserve and respect their wishes beyond the grave you have to talk about it when you have the chance, after all you wont get any answers from a cold corpse and I would hope that my friends and family would know what I want and help me in achieving that after I am gone.
I would hope that I could make it into my nineties before I die. I would like to get a letter from the Queen (or King by that point) congratulating me on my 100th birthday. I would like to see my children, have children, who in turn will have more children. I would like to fart and blame it on a dog I don't have and get away with it just because I am old. But if that day doesn't come, and I am called away on business by another entity then I am safe in the knowledge that I can not only spread humour and laughter through my story telling and wit, but also through helping others, because its not every day you can say you saved not one, but many lives, maybe even created a few in the process of giving something un-giveable.
To find out more, please visit: http://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/ and don't just think about it, register and start saving lives as soon as yours has ended. Thank You.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 15 September 2014
Life Should Be Lived
Evening One and All,
Life and it should be lived.
This exactly what I told myself when a certain someone pinged into my inbox Wednesday lunchtime. Reading the message and slamming it back down on the already unstable table in the small kitchen at work I noted a concerned look from Mr. Warehouse. Knowing I was unable to lie to him successfully I began to explain myself and my sudden outburst. My African Babybel had text me. I was angry. What made it worse was the now dulling affection that I had for him still lingered. Explaining everything I was judged immediately and told to block, dispose and delete Mr. Cheese from my life. Easier said than done but actually over the past fortnight I have found it is getting easier. More-so now that I know he isn't a ten minute drive from my bed.
Lets face it. What was really good about it? I am sure that I don't need to divulge to those that are regular readers that between the sheets was chillier than I would have liked, especially for a couple less than a year into a relationship. It wasn't great really was it. Mr. Cheese was never the man I would marry, my baby-daddy or the person I would spend my golden years progressively hating but continue loving. No. It was a nice thought that I stumbled across many a time but something I knew was unachievable. I wish it was different but it is not. Miss Tweedle-Dumb said to me the other day something that hit a nerve and something that I never had thought about before. She said that "Mr. Cheese never loved you like you knew love before. Mr. Workaholic was your everything as were you for him but with Mr. Cheese it was never even close". I fully understood what she was trying to say and in all honesty I think it was true. Mr. Cheese never loved me, despite how much I wanted him to. But on the one hand maybe that was a good thing, protecting me in the long run from myself and my own ideologies.
Wednesday Afternoon was not wasn't the first time I had heard from Mr. Cheese and it certainly would not be the last for as the sun set on a Saturday evening another dreaded ping sounded my eardrums. Light conversation ensued and with it some tit-bits of information on how life was in the waste-land of Ghana. I could tell that he was missing home and also my company but this had to stop. I did something I had promised myself I would not do. And as I began scratching at the surface of my smartphone, I wrote:
"I really didn’t want to do this but I feel now that I have to in order to gain some control of the situation. I love you and you will always have a piece of my heart but I can not carry on like this. I need to move on. I desperately wanted it to work for us but it was you who ended it, not me. You only have yourself to blame. I am sorry that things didn’t work out for us but that was your own doing and now I am afraid you will have to deal with the consequences of your actions. There is not a moment in my day in which you are not in my thoughts but you gave me up remember and I can’t continue with this any longer. I will always be here for you and your family should you ever need me but I cannot and will not wait forever. I deserve more than this. I'm Sorry."
And with that my wings came yet again. As strong as they were before I finally renounced Mr. Cheese and found myself rising above his egotistically hedonistic reply. I did deserve better. "If Mr. Cheese can't love me then he shall have to let go so that I can find someone that will" I thought to myself. Yeah! Fuck you man! I thought as I continued with my new obsession - American Horror Story! If Mr. Cheese couldn't satisfy me in every way then why the hell am I still getting hung up on it. I need to build a bridge and get the fuck over it!
Feeling empowered I turned to my growing little black book and primly placed at the top of that list (at present anyway) is Mr. ToyBoy himself! Ever since our blissful First Date a few weeks ago I had been desperate to see him again. Sadly though the messages have been fleeting and it seemed almost as though our second date was just a bunch of words said to end our first encounter on a favourable note. Approaching this subject with tenderness I asked Mr. ToyBoy why it was that we were postponing our Second Date a third time. Bracing myself for an honest rejection from someone nearly four-years my junior I opened the text. To my surprise it was completely on the contrary. Compliments and apologies aside, between the lines Mr. ToyBoy seemed almost upset at not being able to keep to our earlier appointments and was feeling anxious in wanting to go on a Dinner Date with me. So we have agreed that whilst we have both been busy with work, friends, family and school - I mean college - we will hopefully rearrange our date for the weekend after my birthday. After all rescheduling is what I do for a living.
Rescheduling however will not be on my to do list come Friday night when my weekend of celebrations continue. Whilst Thursday will be the day in which we all mourn another year towards my death, Friday will be party time as myself and a whole bunch of guys and gals from work will be hitting Bedford Town Centre to get down and get funky with the best of 'em! Saturday morning I plan on waking with a size-nine in my bed and after shoving him out the door I shall nurse a fuzzy head whilst sipping fresh coffee and snaffling up the rest of my Subway like a slob until my girls arrive. Dressed to the nines in what I hope to be fancy-dress, I shall yet again be set loose onto the streets of Bedfordshire in the hope that many shots shall be swallowed and many a man shall be flirted with. Sunday Morning will be a time for reflection as I shall bid farewell to the partying antics for another year and head back home to my Grandparents house in Luton to visit family and take sanctuary in a good old roast dinner with all the trimmings and a good old chin-wag with Nanny.
And whilst I am excited for the merriment, I am also well aware of a phone call from someone less than festive. Mother shall be calling. Something I know she takes great pride in doing every year. Not only for the fact that she can spoil one of the only days in the year I get to take pleasure in but also the fact that together with my Father she birthed me and so has a small role in my creation which she feels the need to reinstate every year. I am however prepared for it as I always am. I shall be at work and my schedule is looking busy with meetings all day, a steady flow of paperwork to get through and other activities to keep me occupied I am positive that I will not let her burden my day any more than the minutes she wastes breathing to me words of many happy birthday returns, all laced with poison and hate.
And so I must dash. I have a million and one things to do before the euphoria begins and one of them is sorting out what I am going to wear on Friday along with the theme for Saturday, preparing food and drink for Saturday night, doing the washing, making sure the toilet is scrubbed and ensuring that those roots are touched up! So much to do and so little time - I wouldn't have it any other way!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Life and it should be lived.
This exactly what I told myself when a certain someone pinged into my inbox Wednesday lunchtime. Reading the message and slamming it back down on the already unstable table in the small kitchen at work I noted a concerned look from Mr. Warehouse. Knowing I was unable to lie to him successfully I began to explain myself and my sudden outburst. My African Babybel had text me. I was angry. What made it worse was the now dulling affection that I had for him still lingered. Explaining everything I was judged immediately and told to block, dispose and delete Mr. Cheese from my life. Easier said than done but actually over the past fortnight I have found it is getting easier. More-so now that I know he isn't a ten minute drive from my bed.
Lets face it. What was really good about it? I am sure that I don't need to divulge to those that are regular readers that between the sheets was chillier than I would have liked, especially for a couple less than a year into a relationship. It wasn't great really was it. Mr. Cheese was never the man I would marry, my baby-daddy or the person I would spend my golden years progressively hating but continue loving. No. It was a nice thought that I stumbled across many a time but something I knew was unachievable. I wish it was different but it is not. Miss Tweedle-Dumb said to me the other day something that hit a nerve and something that I never had thought about before. She said that "Mr. Cheese never loved you like you knew love before. Mr. Workaholic was your everything as were you for him but with Mr. Cheese it was never even close". I fully understood what she was trying to say and in all honesty I think it was true. Mr. Cheese never loved me, despite how much I wanted him to. But on the one hand maybe that was a good thing, protecting me in the long run from myself and my own ideologies.
Wednesday Afternoon was not wasn't the first time I had heard from Mr. Cheese and it certainly would not be the last for as the sun set on a Saturday evening another dreaded ping sounded my eardrums. Light conversation ensued and with it some tit-bits of information on how life was in the waste-land of Ghana. I could tell that he was missing home and also my company but this had to stop. I did something I had promised myself I would not do. And as I began scratching at the surface of my smartphone, I wrote:
"I really didn’t want to do this but I feel now that I have to in order to gain some control of the situation. I love you and you will always have a piece of my heart but I can not carry on like this. I need to move on. I desperately wanted it to work for us but it was you who ended it, not me. You only have yourself to blame. I am sorry that things didn’t work out for us but that was your own doing and now I am afraid you will have to deal with the consequences of your actions. There is not a moment in my day in which you are not in my thoughts but you gave me up remember and I can’t continue with this any longer. I will always be here for you and your family should you ever need me but I cannot and will not wait forever. I deserve more than this. I'm Sorry."
And with that my wings came yet again. As strong as they were before I finally renounced Mr. Cheese and found myself rising above his egotistically hedonistic reply. I did deserve better. "If Mr. Cheese can't love me then he shall have to let go so that I can find someone that will" I thought to myself. Yeah! Fuck you man! I thought as I continued with my new obsession - American Horror Story! If Mr. Cheese couldn't satisfy me in every way then why the hell am I still getting hung up on it. I need to build a bridge and get the fuck over it!
Feeling empowered I turned to my growing little black book and primly placed at the top of that list (at present anyway) is Mr. ToyBoy himself! Ever since our blissful First Date a few weeks ago I had been desperate to see him again. Sadly though the messages have been fleeting and it seemed almost as though our second date was just a bunch of words said to end our first encounter on a favourable note. Approaching this subject with tenderness I asked Mr. ToyBoy why it was that we were postponing our Second Date a third time. Bracing myself for an honest rejection from someone nearly four-years my junior I opened the text. To my surprise it was completely on the contrary. Compliments and apologies aside, between the lines Mr. ToyBoy seemed almost upset at not being able to keep to our earlier appointments and was feeling anxious in wanting to go on a Dinner Date with me. So we have agreed that whilst we have both been busy with work, friends, family and school - I mean college - we will hopefully rearrange our date for the weekend after my birthday. After all rescheduling is what I do for a living.
Rescheduling however will not be on my to do list come Friday night when my weekend of celebrations continue. Whilst Thursday will be the day in which we all mourn another year towards my death, Friday will be party time as myself and a whole bunch of guys and gals from work will be hitting Bedford Town Centre to get down and get funky with the best of 'em! Saturday morning I plan on waking with a size-nine in my bed and after shoving him out the door I shall nurse a fuzzy head whilst sipping fresh coffee and snaffling up the rest of my Subway like a slob until my girls arrive. Dressed to the nines in what I hope to be fancy-dress, I shall yet again be set loose onto the streets of Bedfordshire in the hope that many shots shall be swallowed and many a man shall be flirted with. Sunday Morning will be a time for reflection as I shall bid farewell to the partying antics for another year and head back home to my Grandparents house in Luton to visit family and take sanctuary in a good old roast dinner with all the trimmings and a good old chin-wag with Nanny.
And whilst I am excited for the merriment, I am also well aware of a phone call from someone less than festive. Mother shall be calling. Something I know she takes great pride in doing every year. Not only for the fact that she can spoil one of the only days in the year I get to take pleasure in but also the fact that together with my Father she birthed me and so has a small role in my creation which she feels the need to reinstate every year. I am however prepared for it as I always am. I shall be at work and my schedule is looking busy with meetings all day, a steady flow of paperwork to get through and other activities to keep me occupied I am positive that I will not let her burden my day any more than the minutes she wastes breathing to me words of many happy birthday returns, all laced with poison and hate.
And so I must dash. I have a million and one things to do before the euphoria begins and one of them is sorting out what I am going to wear on Friday along with the theme for Saturday, preparing food and drink for Saturday night, doing the washing, making sure the toilet is scrubbed and ensuring that those roots are touched up! So much to do and so little time - I wouldn't have it any other way!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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