A Love Like Nothing Else

Hello, 

Sitting here and writing to you I know I am less than a week from my grandmothers funeral. I am dreading it. More than most and because of a multitude of reasons. To think that this time next week it will all be over and done with, all said and done, with only the memorial service to complete the mourning process. I know that no one ever looks forward to funerals, but this one will be especially fraught with emotions. 

I recall the feeling on the morning of my Grandfather's funeral just over two years ago now almost to the day, waking up on the morning of the funeral in the flat Mr Warehouse and I shared, way before mortgages and new puppies were a thing. With the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside, I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all, probably not helped by my rapidly deteriorating mental state at the time. I remembered with chills running along my arm hiding my head under the covers as Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass, something he had already been through several years earlier with his own Granddad whom he was very, very close with. 

And now, all of that will come again only as with last time, there will be tension and anxiety riding high. I laugh to myself now as I write this to you, it seems that funerals, whilst are not the happiest of occasions, always seem to be dogged for me with huge anxieties and bouts of doubt and uncertainty about myself. And this time will be no different. 

On a positive note, the COVID-19 Coronavirus pandemic following the strict social distancing measures introduced at the end of March, the daily death toll started to slow into April, before gradually starting to come down just before Easter. Today another 288 deaths were announced which marks the lowest daily figure since 29 March this year. Speaking at the government's daily news conference today the BBC reported that the deputy chief medical officer for England, said that it was now "very clear in the data that we are past the peak" which can only mean that we are somewhat of a step closer to all of this being over. 

That being said however is a good thing as more people than originally thought are able to attend Nanna's funeral meaning it can be a bit more normal than planned. Another positive that this has brought about is how much closer I feel to Auntie DD (my mother's sister) and Uncle Golf. With both of them planning everything and sorting out her house I felt the need to try and support them and be with them as much as I can be at the distance of 2 metres of course. Phone calls every couple of days and catch-ups over WhatsApp really help to feel connected in a way. It's nice. Especially when things were so different and awkward throughout my parent's divorce and the earlier years of me being kicked out. 

So much closer we have gotten, I had suggested doing something similar to my Granddad's funeral and donating or making a wreath from the grandchildren. Obviously, I included my brother, texting him last week to let him know of the plans and if he would like to be included he was more than welcome. Of course, he never replied, and of course, I will still put his name on it as he was and still is the grandson of the dearly departed. I only wish he could man up and just be apart of this. Along with this, my Auntie DD asked if I would like to say a few words at the graveside, moreso to pack it out and make it feel more than just a box and hole situation.  I suggested something similar to funny tales and stories about my time with Nanna from myself and my cousin, and my brother too, as an anecdotal tonic to the harshness of the setting. However, after much care and consideration, I did not think that my cousin ould be up for talking, especially when it is so raw and fresh. I am hoping however we can put something together for her memorial ceremony and celebrate Nanna's life, rather than mourn for it. 

But I still felt as though I wanted to say something. And so, with my wedding less than a handful of months away now, I turned to some of my fondest memories and stories about Nanna's very own love of her life, Granda. And therein lays my inspiration. It didn't take long, and in my mind, cannot be a more fitting tribute as a tale that will live on forever ... 

Love can be found in all types of strange places. Some find it at work in offices and warehouses, stealing kisses and cuddles in the canteen. Some find it in pubs and clubs under the bright lights and heart-pounding music. Some even find it online and in the future, who knows where my children or grandchildren will meet their true love. 

But sometimes you don’t find love, but moreso, it finds you. Sometimes it can be closer to home than you think. When Granda went to stay with a family friend and her family whilst he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England, never could he have imagined he would meet the love of his life.

After getting to know the family and the beautiful but feisty young women that was Nanna, work took Granda elsewhere, but before he had left he made certain that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks passed when Nanna's very own Granny fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, my Nanna started writing to Granda and soon enough they were writing every week to one another and over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger with every letter that the postie brought.  

Just over a year after meeting, fate brought work for Granda back to the Scottish borders and once more they reunited. But this time Granda had something incredibly special he wanted to ask. After a wonderful day together my Granda plucked up the courage and asked Nanna for her hand in marriage. But alas as the wonderful news and exciting update was marred by the differing religious backgrounds and beliefs of their families. Granda was Protestant and Nanna was Catholic.

On hearing the news, Nanna's parents were less than happy for the newly engaged couple and refused the relationship forcibly stopping it from going any further. Several months later after multiple letters to Granda whilst he was away working with no response Nanna went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bus from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, every little feeling came rushing back and lit a fire so bright it burned for decades. It was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring.

Telling Nanna’s parents was not easy and after moving away to be closer to her future husband she had upset her family greatly. So much so that by the time their wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up. Nanna was not walked down the aisle by her father and was not doted on by her mother in the hours before the ceremony. Nanna dismissed the traditional white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan. Every person present that day, standing outside the Church in Oxford was from Granda's side of the family and a handful of friends.

In the years that followed, the black and white wedding photos were a placement in the many homes where they created and grew their family, bickering and arguing all the way. But soon enough, there comes a time for us all and even as Nanna raced to the hospital to be by her husbands’ side in his final moments on earth, she knew the exact moment he was gone. “It was like I could hear his last breath” she used to tell me, reliving the tales and stories she was so fond of telling over and over again.

For me, one thing is for certain. Once you have found that one special person, there is very little that will pull you apart. No wedge that can be placed between you. No tie that can severed. Like the blossoming of Wisteria, you become not only enchanted and curious with each other but fascinated and infatuated, love drunk, giddy with excitement and adventure. And then, before you know it, your lives are so tightly intertwined you are but one beautiful soul with a bond so strong, not even death can keep you apart.

It will be sad not to have you both there on my wedding day in a few months’ time, watching from the sidelines as me and my husband take our first few steps into married life and all that it brings. But I know you will be there, somewhere in the faces as we take our vows and have our first dance. For that is what I hope for. A love like no other. Mickey and Minnie. Romeo and Juliet. My Nanna and Granda – A love story like no other and a tale to be told forevermore… 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wedding Like No Other!

Hello, 

With less than a few days until his operation I thought I would again try and teach my puppy some valuable life skills, like how to conduct ones self when in a peculiar environment whilst containing bowel movements, sitting in the front seat of a moving vehicle whilst not being sick or having a pampering sleepover round your Mom's friend's house as they all sit around chatting shit and smoking like it's1984 their in a seedy nightclub. 

I wouldn't say it was the best experience he has had, however, that being said it certainly went a lot better than anticipated. I started our trip as I normally do stopping off at Nanny Pumpkin's for a coffee and a biscuit. We chatted about mine and Mr Warehouses new edition since she had not yet met our little bundle of fur, cooeing over him like a new baby and admiring him from a distance. Truth be told I don't think that my Nanny Pumpkin is much of a pet person especially that of dogs. I assume, partly from what she has told me and partly from my own judgement that as a military family they were surrounded by families who would get a dog or a cat and then have to give it up several weeks later when they moved army barracks only to be disappointed when Mittens or Rover could not come with them. I do recall somewhere that my father and his brothers had won a goldfish at a local fair and that my Nanny Pumpkin had agreed to let them keep it. If I remember correctly that the goldfish met its end in the same way many do with one flush and a toilet burial. 

I briefly saw my aunty, uncle and cousins as they had also popped by to see me and the new puppy, after which I tried to dash over to my other Nana's to see my uncle and her before my uncle went to go and play golf. I knew before even stepping foot inside the jazzy carpeted house that she had lived in for the last decade or so that my Scottish Nana would be much more reciprocal to my baby-pooch. I knew for a fact that my Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. Picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

I thought to myself as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. In her mid-80's now her soft white curls seemed to wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years. We spoke alot about my upcoming wedding next year and discussed a lot about her wedding and how different it was back then. 

I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 

Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish as she recalled and remembered how the day went. And as my little fur baby fell asleep hold-up on the jazzy carpet I thought about how this could be me in a few decades time, remembering all the fun and joyous moments I had with friends and family at my own wedding. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Things Will Be A Little Different This Year!

Hello,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But this year is different. I suppose that this past year there has been quite a few changes in my life which has made Christmas a little different. Granddad will not be here and neither will my Tweedles, off living their best lives in sunny L.A. But this year has brought many good things too - I have a new Fiance and a New Job as Marketing Coordinator but most of all, I have a swanky new home to hang my stocking and hope Santa fills it with all that resides on my ever growing wish list! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Bed, Bath and Beyond ...

Evening!

Now dark and getting colder as we got deeper and deeper into the countryside of the Mendip Hills I was certainly ready to relax a little after being stuck in the driving seat for the last four-hours. The property itself was slightly difficult to find, especially in the blackness of the now early winters eve, but once found was easily located throughout our stay. On arrival we pulled over and called our host who promptly came running down the dirt track just as we pulled in. As lovely as ever, she told us to follow her young son down on the bicycle to where we would call home for the next few days. Trundling the country lanes to The Cabin, the owners had already lit the real log burning fire so on entering the humble abode it was toasty warm in comparison to the wet and windy chill that threatened our trip. 

The Cabin itself compromised of a simple hallway and corridor with doors leading to the other rooms. A small "Snug" with a small sofa bed, poof / beanbag and a wall map was classed as the second bedroom and next door a large double bedroom with full length mirrored wardrobes and plenty of space for a cot or a chair at one end. Across the way from the "Snug" was the bathroom, equipped with a large shower and plenty of storage options as well as the normal bathroom items. Other end of the hallway was the kitchen come diner come lounge area where the stove was burning away nicely and the kettle was on. Everything was cosy and well equipped especially the kitchen. There was milk waiting in the fridge for us on arrival which was especially appreciated since we had forgotten this on our travels down. Although the sofa and arm chair were a tad on the small side and slightly dated we could not begrudge the owners just on this. Within moments of leaving I had suggested to Mr. Warehouse that had a hot tub been present the owners could well have charged double the £180-odd it was to stay there and would maybe have a few more bookings. It would certainly be an additional benefit and luxury I would have been delighted with. 

Settling in Mr. Warehouse and I unpacked the car and made our way to bed after long days at work and a tiresome drive of a Wednesday evening. Waking on the following morning though was a certainly a lovely experience. With the aches and pains setting in from my personal training session the day before I was glad that I awoke to hearing Mr. Warehouse and Pup playing chase outside in the paddock. Listening to them run up the wooden steps to the front door I awaited the thud of paws and feet into the bedroom for my favourite people to bundle me on our new bed. 

On finishing breakfast we bid farewell to our pooch as we headed out for our spa day in Bath. Now this is probably one of the most pricey things I have bought or paid for in a while and for £150.00 I really did hope that our afternoon at the UK's only Thermal spa - Thermae Spa Bath. What did I get for that sort of money you ask? Well firstly it was a half early Christmas present and half anniversary present for myself and also Mr. Warehouse too so the seventy-five quid price tag per person didn't seem too harsh on the wallet, not when you consider the four-floors of relaxation and renew including a sauna, two steam rooms, solarium, ice chamber, rain showers, Minerva pool, jacuzzi's, whirlpools and the pièce de résistance  A roof top heated and lit pool overlooking the city and cathedral. Beautiful as that was I was also looking forward to the Thermae Treat spa package including a Reviver Back Massage, a Facial and a Head massage, To be fair, for the price that I paid (well for the price that I put on my credit card ... ) I think it was worth it. I loved the smell of the place and I can still catch a scent in my makeup brushes even this morning. Would I go again?! Definitely! However I would of course liked to have made it a full day of relaxing and more treatments to spread throughout the day, broken up with trips to the sauna and dips in the pools. 

A walk through the Christmas Markets made me more happier at the content than that of York's disappointment last year. There was so much more, stalls and huts everywhere and down every nook or cranny there was even more. And after a relaxing Friday at The Cabin taking the pooch for a long woodland walk and cuddling up on the sofa for a session of crap telly and food bought from a local butchers in the town of Wells, Mr. Warehouse and I had returned to the Christmas Markets of Bath City Center in order to spend out our last full day in style. Mulled Wine, Warmed Cider, samples aplenty and tasty things everywhere I was certainly super impressed with the amount of produce and products on offer from the huts and stalls. So much more than any other UK based Christmas Market I had visited before, be it York, Birmingham, London or more local. As the (fake) snow fell from the night sky I was certainly disappointed to be leaving as despite ticking the Roman Baths off the tourist hot-spots list, there was still a fair amount of things I wanted to see and do including the Pulteney Bridge in the daytime (walked along it at night, although Mr. Warehouse was tired and becoming increasingly hangry by the moment). Taking long walks with my Beau and Puppy in the Jane Austen inspiring Prior Parks and gardens, Cheddar Gorge and Wookey Hole (although mainly for the cheese I must admit). All of this and more including trips to nearby Bristol, Weston-Super-Mare and other towns and villages in turn means Mr. Warehouse and I will just have to return. I suppose we best check out how that Thermae Spa is doing as well, you know, just to check. But I cant get holiday blues just yet since in less than seventy-two hours I will be in the wonderful winter wonderland of Prague. Here's hoping its not too chilly ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Happiest Place on Earth ...

Heyy, 

So finally the weekend was upon us and it was that time of the month again where I get to see my besties! This time it would be a change of scenery from the one-bedroom council flat and instead was the homely comforts of the in-laws. Well future in-laws anyway! Oh you never heard? Well allow me to explain. Back in late summer when Mr Warehouse and I was getting ready to go on holiday to Tenerife, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her boyfriend were doing some planning of their own. 

I knew Miss Tweedle-Dee from across the road directly from my house and we made friends initially in Lower School where she was a bitch and threw sand in my face. The two-some soon became a three-some when Miss Tweedle-Dee started started as a new girl in our Middle School moving from London somewhere. Almost instantly we were inseparable, spending every time outside of the classroom with each other either out playing or hanging around each others houses. Of course we would argue as would any group of girls, there were a few falling out over boys and other friends trying to make a move into our triplet but we always somehow made our way through. As we spent our time lazying away our weekends and summer holidays I always thought we would be friends forever and even in our old age we would still be giggling and laughing like we did when we were in school. But as the years passed we grew older and our groups of friends started to change but even with us being split by separate High Schools and Miss Tweedle-Dumb moving away, it still didn't stop us from hanging out. As we got into the thickness of our teenage life our priorities started to change and whilst I enjoyed going out and drinking in the local parks with boys and hanging out with groups of people much older than myself and my school friends, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee preferred to go to house-parties and drink in local parks around where their "posh" friends lived. 

Soon after we lost contact altogether as our lives separately progressed. No falling out. No arguments. Just drifted. I finished my GCSE's as did Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and we all headed to a different sixth form or college and lived out maybe some of our best days yet. After I moved to college in my second year of higher education the Tweedles and their "posh" friends went to university and after falling in love with Mr. Workaholic and getting life a little more stable I reached out and made contact with them to go for a drink, maybe the first one we had together, legally. In the few weeks that followed Mr. Workaholic and I visited them in halls and this is when I first met my besties future husband to be. He seemed shy and very reserved for a Uni-student, nothing like the loud, brash and ladish guy I met on my weekend binges. Someone focused, head-down and knew what they wanted and where they wanted to be. "Someone just like my Mr. Workaholic" I said to Miss Tweedle-Dumb as I waited in the car park for Mr. Workaholic to come and pick me up. 

"I am so pleased we have both found happiness and hopefully we can be apart of each others lives forever - Haha maybe even a double wedding!" I jested with her as I waved goodbye. Unbeknownst to me that within twenty-four hours it would all change for the following evening my dreams of a life with Mr. Workaholic were shattered into tiny fragments of painful glass as he ended our relationship. The first people I messaged was the Tweedles. They didn't believe me. They thought it was just one big sick joke. I wished it was. My life was over as I knew it and the man I thought I was going to marry betrayed my trust by snuffing it out without a chance of trying to make it work again. Packing my bags I stayed at my dad's that night but Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee were there though out it all. The pain, the hurt, the emotional roller-coaster. And even when I went back to Mr. Workaholic (in which I never told them about but I am almost certain they knew) they still stood by my side and never scolded me for going back to what was familiar, just support and cuddles and boozy nights out getting paralytic drunk in order to forget. 

As the years passed Miss Tweedle-Dumb dropped out of Uni and Miss Tweedle-Dee barely started but after landing good jobs together life was finally settled. Miss Tweedle-Dumb would visit her boyfriend on different weekend when she could and even when he graduated with flying colours and moved back down to his hometown of Basingstoke, Miss Tweedle-Dumb would still visit regularly. But after being together all of about four or five years, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Bae decided to make the move and get their own place in the summer of last year. Only a one-bed, ground floor council flat but it was more than most people get offered when only a couple and it was certainly plenty for them. Building their lives together and watching them grow together they began to travel, as any young couple would visiting all the romantic tourist hot-spots across Europe and even farther afield including Paris, Rome, Las Vegas and more. Each time back home, Miss Tweedle-Dee and myself would prepare to see if he popped the question then?! But it never came. I was expecting it to never come and for them to just be that couple that are not engaged nor married but maybe have a child or two. Until a fortnight ago ... 

After being let down for a job offer in Europe, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her Boyfriend took the opportunity to book a once in a lifetime trip to Disneyland Florida, The Happiest Place on Earth. And that it certainly was for as my dearest friend looked up in awe of the Disney princess castle, the midnight sky alight with fireworks and stars she turned back to the love of her life only to be greeted by a one singular knee and a shiny silver ring. Shocked and stunned (as were we all guys!) I was so overwhelmed with happiness when I got a picture the following morning I cried tears of happiness. I was so unimaginably joyful for her. Whilst close friends and family asked me how I felt, almost in a sarcastic way expecting my to selfishly want it to be me that got engaged at Disneyland Florida, I replied that I was genuinely over the moon for her. And whilst at first I begrudged her for going to the place where dreams come true in the first place because I wanted to go, I was thrilled at the prospect of a wedding I actually had a close relationship to the Bride! 

This weekend, I expected anyway, was going to be filled with wedding magazines, bridal boutiques and visiting venues. But it wasn't. It was normal. As if it never happened. Maybe its shock I don't know and maybe I was a little over-excited but I thought that something was going to be different to be about Miss Tweedle-Dumb now she was engaged. But there isn't. She isn't. Miss Tweedle-Dumb is the same girl I have grown up with. Silly, Girlie, Voluptuous and full of life. As life has gotten harder with jobs, families and the additional expenses that go with it all, us three have been there for each other as misfitting triplets. Some of us have lost friends and even close family members along the way as some people will come and some will go but for you to find someone so special that you want to spend the rest of your life with them and dedicate your whole being to them then they have to be pretty special. No matter what happens in the future, I will forever be the structure that my friend need as they are for me. Even if it is on the Hen 'Do in Magaluf ... 

 'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Life's A Beach!

Good Evening, 

So here Mr. Warehouse and I are after a lovely long weekend, knackered and tired but thoroughly happy with this Bank Holiday Weekend's activities gone by. With a work colleagues beautiful wedding on Friday night in the bag, Mr Warehouse and I were well and truly excited for our mini-break to Great Yarmouth. Situated on the Norfolk coast Great Yarmouth was a fabulous choice for us as it was only two hours drive or so from home and nicely nestled between the cold North sea and the good old British Norfolk Broads, we imagined that we would have plenty to do not just spend all day on the beach walking the shore or in the arcades playing the slot machines. 

Arriving at our hotel I must say was not the most glamorous of stays that Mr. Warehouse and I have ever had, however was nice and plenty for what we needed. It was the first bed and breakfast that the bae and I had stayed in with a dog but I was pleasantly surprised as I was expecting the room to be a lot smaller and more cramped for the three of us. Now this isn't to say that it was a large room by any standards and the decor could have definitely done with an update from at least the last decade, but as I explained to Mr Warehouse on the way back from dinner last night have you really stayed at a B&B by the sea if the room's don't look like a gaudy replica of your grandma's spare bedroom. In all fairness though the hotel was everything that we needed; Free Wi-Fi, Free breakfast and even free parking. 

After checking in and getting they keys on Saturday afternoon we decided to head down to the seafront for our pooch's first outing to the beach. Running onto the golden sand's, she was more than excited and I can honestly say that it brought a tear to my eye to know just how close both of us came to losing her only a few months ago. I did think at one point throughout that whole ordeal that we would never even get to this point where Mr. Warehouse and I would be able to see her run and frolic amongst the sand dunes without a care in the world. My thoughts turned to the day of her operation to have her Pyometra removed and how sickeningly worried we both were for our dog. Thankfully though Pup pulled through and we were all here on the beach having lots of fun throwing stones into the ocean and seeing which one of us would get splashed by the waves first. I am sure that it is not, but I imagine that this is what parenthood feels like - Chasing each other along the shore and making sure that there are plenty of memories being created and enjoying every precious moment there is, laughing all the way. 

After the exhausting fun by the sea Mr. Warehouse, the dog and I headed up the promenade towards the main town centre to enjoy some of the sights and smells at the seaside had to bring us. Stopping for some hot doughnuts and drinks, I reflected on how much fun I was having already and we had hardly spent a penny. Feet thoroughly painful I suggested going back to the hotel before maybe heading out again for some dinner just the two of us, but I will be honest by the time I got back my feet were so painful that I would have had to have a wheelchair in order to go out for dinner and so I got a delivery in of Chinese whilst Mr. Warehouse and I kicked back for a relaxing evening in front of the telly albeit a smaller one we were used to. 

Sunday was definitely the day for the adults, no doggies allowed. Although apparently taking your dog into the arcades was not as taboo as Mr. Warehouse and I once thought. Don't get me wrong it was weird not having the dog with us, she is essentially an extension of ourselves however it was nice having a day all to myself with Mr Warehouse. Almost like having a night off from the kids, it was as if we were having our first date again; Eating ice cream, messing around in the Amusement'S and going on fairground rides together. Suffice to say that it is days like this where I fall more and more in love with my dearest boyfriend. Even if he does push me under the spray of the log flume to get soaked. 

Waking up this morning I was sad to know that this was the last time I would be by the sea for at least the next few months, only difference being that next time it will be in a much warmer climate and without the dog. Scoffing down our fried breakfast and packing everything in the car to go home, I drove my little family down to the seafront for the last and final time, indulging ourselves in our favourite seaside activities such as playing on the 2p games in the arcades and amusements, running along the beach chasing each other over the sand dunes.

Mr. Warehouse and I finished off our little trip with the pooch in true British style by eating fish and chips by the cold and grey sea front and watching the shore lap against the wet sand. It was in this moment that I noticed something dark and long in the water. Whatever it was it looked as if it was moving and as I yelled at Mr. Warehouse to look out to sea in order to confirm my sighting we both were shocked as the head turned to look at us dead in the face as if he heard us talking about him. It looked as if it was a seal in fact I'm almost certain of it. A dark grey figure with an almost dog-like head took one look in our direction and proceeded to swim away. Knowing that no-one would believe either me or the boyfriend if we said we saw seals off the coast of Great Yarmouth, all of us began to chase along the shore to see if we could get a better picture of this mysterious animal. Again the canine-appearing creature decided to raise its head again above the choppy, green sea to have a look again towards land  before diving deeper, not to resurface again before we headed back to the car. 

What a wonderful way to end such a fabulous weekend, and all for a relatively modest budget of under £100 each. A cheap B&B, a penny jar full with odds and sods from purses and wallets over the last few months and the drive to get up and do something more than just sitting and catch up on telly or sleep of a bank holiday weekend in blightly. OK, granted it was certainly not the best weather in fact I would have probably liked it a bit warmer but it didn't rain and as long as you plan for rain and have any ideas of what you may do up your sleeve for if it does everything will be just fine. Wonder where our next adventure will be ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Flipping Me Off!

Hiya, 

Outfits ready and bodies primped and preened, Mr. Warehouse and I were ready for our close-up. Today was the day of Mr. Warehouse's Valentines present ... A couples photo-shoot. Arriving slightly early, we drove up the long and winding private road to the big country home and adjacent log cabin studio. Its was obvious that Mommy and Daddy bought the place and that she still lived at home and had probably rarely left home, only for wonderful long distance holidays and maybe Uni all paid for by the fat that she possibly paid little or no rent. Nevertheless with the fields and countryside surrounding the home, a tree house, swing and an area for campfires I was more than looking forward to the shots and what the possibilities could be for the final viewing. 

Now I must say that I never really gelled with our photographer on this occasion as much as I had with the Guy who did the photo shoot for the Dog which we won back in November following a chance entry whilst in our local Pets At Home. He was funny and made us feel so welcome and happy to share our lives and open up to him and his lens. He got on brilliantly with our pooch and really seemed to understand us, which was something I hoped had and would come from our valentines shoot. 

In a way I kind of wished that I had booked it before we went on holiday or for a day that wasn't so overcast or cold, for maybe they would look better (This is me speculating of course, they may already be beautiful) and at least I would look thinner from all the classes and swimming I ave been doing now Pooch doesn't have to go to the Vets every other day. 

Alas as half way through and after many an outfit change, Mr. Warehouse and I were told it was "time to show some more affection" which, as if the situation wasn't cringe enough, just made the whole thing just that little bit worse. Posing together felt awkward and at times painful, both metaphorically and physically with odd positions and strange moves. Now I am not saying by any stretch of the imagination that Mr. Warehouse and I have the perfect relationship, however I know for a fact that we are affectionate towards one another. I cuddle him and he cuddles me and we comfort each other when we have had a bad day. Like Pancake (Shrove) Tuesday!

Coming home from work I was exhausted, it had been a long day and one where I was glad it was over. Feeling slightly on the edge as it goes I refused to let life get the better of me and took to making the healthy banana pancake batter I had been researching all day and spending my lunch-break watching videos of how to make them. Batter made and pan hot with oil, I started the melt-down process that would ensue. First two went OK. then the third just flopped like a dead battery at an Ann Summers party. As I went to flip it the pancake, batter still wet and not fully cooked yet, split. Hoping to try and rectify it I counter-acted the manoeuvre by approaching it from the other side, not helping the situation in the slightest. After several more attempts I threw the frying pan down, tipped away the by now char-grilled and mushy mess and proceeded to the front room for reflection. 

It was at this point that Mr. Warehouse makes the point that I have not followed the recipe exactly to the letter and the reason for my inability to make healthy pancakes is because I did not weigh everything and follow the instructions given. So, refusing to be beaten by a mixture that calls itself not only Yorkshire pudding mix but also for making Pancakes, I returned to the kitchen. This time I was encouraged by Mr. Warehouse, following every gram and millilitre by the book. And yet again the same thing happened. Tormented by the smoking frying pan I went into full blown Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode. For those of you that don't know what Kitchen-Floor-Reset Mode is, its where you have so much of a break-down in yourself as a human being you slowly cry yourself onto the floor of the kitchen, snot and tears coagulating mess in your airways making you sound like a toddler who has just been told Peppa Pig time is over. 

In true teenager fashion I huffed back to the front room and with everything finally coming to a head, I began to cry. And yes it was all because of some Instrgram, Protein-shake-fucked, clean-eating healthy bollocking banana pancakes. Felling silly I felt the familiar cuddle of Mr. Warehouse's arms encapsulate me. Soft words of non-wisdom came next like "Its OK not everyone can make pancakes" and other one liners such as "It was the frying pan, its not a good one". Whilst sobbing subsided I could see through blurred, teary vision that my beautiful, wonderful Mr. Ware was desperately trying to look for any restaurants within a ten-mile radius that would sell pancakes. I needed IHOP but all England has is, well, nothing. With all other options exhausted Mr. Warehouse and I headed to Tesco in order to find some battery goodness. None was to be found though as everyone else obviously had the same idea and just bought there is instead of trying to be Pintrest-Pricks. So I settled for Waffles instead. 

But that is what affection and love is. Supporting someone through a shitty time, even if it is over a few bananas mashed in with rolled oats and an egg. Its about searching the whole fucking county for pancake-houses and dessert places that will deliver since Bedford has yet to hop on the whole Deliveroo band-wagon. Caring is saying 'I'm sure It'll look OK in the photos' when in reality you know we will both end up just skipping through them all like the last time, hating the way we looked.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Regular Pupdate ...

Hiya, 

I was nervous as I walked back into the Vets to collect Mr. Warehouse's pooch. What condition was she going to be in? Was she going to recover quickly? Had she peed on the floor in fear after the last time we arrived? But more importantly ... How much is it going to cost our little family financially?

Several weeks ago as I am sure you regulars to my blog will know, the pup got poorly and after seeing several vets at several different surgeries, Mr. Warehouse and I were faced with the decision no pet owner wants to consider. Our little one had been sick for some time now, constantly licking her downstairs and numerous eye infections we decided that we should get a professional opinion as to what was making her ill. We were told by the Veterinarian that o dog could have what was called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her. After a few weeks on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication resulting in her being off her food almost permanently asides a few handfuls of plain cooked pasta, she had made very little improvement. 

Within twenty-four hours after coming off the meds, returning from the Peak District just hours earlier our fluffy got poorly again, signature eye infection and constantly licking her privates. Taking her to the Vets they again couldn't determine as to what was causing her upset. Asking to consult with colleagues we were left to discuss our financial options which were dwindling with every visit we seemed to make to the rubber-floored rooms. With the prospects of a £1,500.00 bill for the operation alone we were nervous of what the Veterinary surgery had to say. Although leaving that night, no closer to an answer we were determined not to give up on her. 

We would find a way, surely there must be a way to get through this and out the other side relevantly unscathed. Every lunch break I called over one-hundred local vets, even as far as Cambridge and St. Albans, forty miles from where we called home. Mr. Warehouse never knew the sleepless nights or evenings I would spend researching charities or funding pages that may be able to help. I must admit though that I did look into the horrific alternative and the costs that it would incur. Every night I was left alone with the TV I would open up my laptop / tablet, pooch sat beside me, and nearly cry my heart out for the lack of help around. 

It had been a stressful few weeks leading up to that moment but the second the little student nurse brought out our furry baby we knew the decision to operate was the right one. She was so happy, the happiest we had seen her in some time. Her belly wasn't anywhere near as swollen as it once was and in its place was a shaved belly and a six-inch-scar, held together with little stitches. She had a bandage on her paw where she had her IV drip and fluids. Looked like some child had just been playing Doctors and Nurses with her to be honest. But she was defiantly feeling much better it would have seemed. And I suppose you would have felt better too if you saw what was removed. 

The infected womb that was removed was full, bulging and resembled haggis. The Pyometra had got to the point of bursting and had even developed a small rupture which was found when the Vet's operated. Mr. Warehouse had been ever-so close to loosing our pup and we were sure to make the most of life once she was back on her paws. Already booked we had an adventure to the seaside for the first Spring Bank Holiday in the May, all three amigo's heading off to Great Yarmouth to allow Pooch a run along the shore, sand in between her paws and lots of new sights and smells to explore. But Shhh ... Its a secret - Although I am sure you won't tell her!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Hitting Peak!

Hello, 

After what seemed like an eternity we had finally arrived. Right in the heart of the Peak District, miles from anyone or anything. The thought there was idealistic, although the reality of booking somewhere far away from Wifi, strong enough signal to Google-Map and just general civilisation was far from what I expected. But with the flakes of snow beginning to fall from the dusky sky, landscape littered with peaks and rolling hills of country park ready to explore with pooch we were excited for our mini weekend in the Peak District. 

As for Pup, she was still not back to herself but I really think that she enjoyed her surprise of snowy landscapes and hundreds of fields to run about in. She even made some friends with the neighbouring flock of sheep. Pooch was still not eating properly and despite bringing dog food and trying in-vain to get her to eat that, it was small handfuls of pasta that seemed to work. I suppose as a parent would we went back to what we know and both Mr. Warehouse and I knew she would struggle to resist the pull of some Penne. Saying that though we did try her this morning and she seemed to enjoy eating her normal dog food, albeit just the canned wet stuff. 

Settling into our little stone-brick home for the next few nights Mr. Warehouse and I were perplexed with the smell and list of odd house rules. One of the reasons we booked was for the use of the log burning fire / stove and when the house rules said that it was forbidden I was gutted to say the least, especially since our trip to York just before Christmas. Nevertheless we would make it our own, but with very limited signal and no Wifi we were a bit put out with the bare-basic accommodation. Relaxing into the comfy leather loungers in the front room I was more than ready for bed.. So after a trip to the nearest town to collect a Takeout (a forty-minute hilly and country-dirt-track drive I might add) and a little bit of telly Mr. Warehouse and I hit the sack. 

The following day we decided to head out to Bakewell, a small village known worldwide for their tarts. But rumour would have it that the humble Bakewell tart is not the original of his tasty ancestors, oh no! It would appear to all intense and purposes that the creation of the Bakewell Pudding as it was traditionally called was a simple misunderstanding between a Mistress and her Kitchen Assistant who, in her inexperience in such a role made a puff pastry rather than a shortcrust and ergo you now have the pastry-that's-not-a-pastry delight - Bakewell Pudding. After my Frangipane fling it will certainly be a recipe I will have to attempt and maybe even tweek at home.  One thing I would say is that most places in  the Peak District, including Bakewell are very receptive to dogs and are more than happy to have them in their shops, restaurants and pubs, a point which we unfortunately discovered alone, whilst our pooch was back at the holiday cottage. 

Saturday we headed to Buxton, home of the water in the UK and the countries leading Spa town. Not that we had a lot of that going on. It was snowing for yet again the third day in a row and whilst it was entertaining in the morning on our walks and rambles with doggy, it was becoming tiresome having to manage peaks, hills, mountains and narrow country lanes as well as the poor weather conditions. It made everything worse. Mr. Warehouse and I couldn't go for a walk or mooch about the shops or even have a potter without having to be dressed up to the nines in coats, hats, scarf's and gloves. After a few hours we headed home to the wilderness and watched a film or two. 

The last day is always the worst, packing up and heading home back to real life again. Truth be told I was looking forward to some Internet and being able to just pop to the shops for something, not having a long-winded trip to get there and I certainly wont be sorry for those roads. Although I must say that since being back, if even for less than twenty-four hours I am starting to miss the gear changes and whizzing round the country-side. Having been there as a child I thought a nice place to go would be The Heights of Abraham, just outside Matlock Bath. On even a dull and overcast day it would have been passable, but when the weather was beating down on us like a parent on an errant child, snowing, raining and windy it was far from the best choice. Cable car up, a quick walk around and hot cocoa later we were back down and heading to the car, bound for home. Real home. Gutted I wasn't able to experience and share my childhood in part with my boyfriend and his pooch I felt deflated and upset, but as I drove the two and a bit hours home, I realised that we have shared in some classic memories that we will all remember and cherish forever. 

Back home we have just arrived back from the Vets and they have not said as yet either way what sort of operation she will need next. As last week it will either be a full blown Pyometra operation to remove her pus-filled and inflamed womb, or just a simple spaying. The difference in price will be drastic but even the cheaper Op. of the two will be pricey. Here's hoping that tomorrow's phone call with the Vet will bring about good news and that her results will show something that wont break the bank. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole

Good Evening,

So I start this tale back last week, Thursday evening to be precise and as it would so happen I had just bumbled in from work when I noticed the pooch had a gunky eye, closed and sore looking. She had not been well for some days, not eating properly, if at all that was and a complete loss of interest in us as owners and the other things she used to love and enjoy. Mr. Warehouse and I wondered if it was something more serious. And so bundling her into my Ford Fiesta we raced her round to the Vets.

Looking over her the lovely Russian lady took swabs of her eyes and also quizzed us both on our dog's habits and traits over the last few days and weeks. Mr. Warehouse proceeded to tell her that she had been prescribed some medicine for a water infection a couple of weeks ago and it had seemed to clear it up but she had done a little accident two days earlier, which he put down to just being excited, although I and the Vet disagreed.

Holding our pup down to get more swaps and examinations from ears, mouth and bottom we started to get worried when we explained she had not eaten for some time. I explained that since she was originally owned by the Brother of Mr. Warehouse, she had not been spayed. This information seemed to turn the Vet white with anxiety. Then come a wave of odd questions that were all answered pretty much with a yes from both myself and Mr. Warehouse. The Veterinarian seemed very concerned and asked our permission to take bloods to see her vitals and how good she was doing internally. I asked the question about what could be wrong with our darling pooch and how if anything can make it better.

"She has what is called a Pyometra which is where the womb fills up with pus and as a result is extremely dangerous and life-threatening without treatment. An open-Pyo is where the cervix has opened up just enough to let the pus seep out which is still serious but can wait a few weeks for an appointment, however a closed-Pyo will mean it is essentially a ticking time-bomb, getting bigger and bigger and with no-where to go could burst at any moment, killing her." Said the Vet.

Shaking I asked about what we can do and what as owners our options were. She talked through the various routes we had out of this mess but ultimately the cost was not in the ten's anymore, nor even the hundreds but at least a thousand pounds or more to treat an otherwise very simply prevented illness. I couldn't take it. My rage filling up inside that this was what we had to deal with because of someone else's negligence. It became too much and I started to tremble. The Veterinarian took some more swabs from doggies undercarriage and said that since there is not leakage that Mr. Warehouse and I had to prepare for the worst.

Going away to talk we left our sickly pup in the hands of what would have appeared to be a very, very good Pet Doctor. And no-one had kept her up to date on her vaccinations as a puppy and as an adult dog, her insurance had been invalidated years ago. Without it we were left in a very desperate situation. Pulling out of the Surgery I trundled down the road, slow and steady with tears filling my eyes. As I stopped in a lay-by on a residential street I switched off the engine as Mr. Warehouse croaked, asking why we had stopped here.

"We have a lot to talk about" I said, hoping that magically we would find the money or a solution would come to us in the darkness, only lit by street lamps. Watching the cars windows steam with little talk and more silent tears, all I could see were dog walkers. We were one of them. We still are one of them. And we need to find a way to fix her. She is our dog and Mr. Warehouse and I need to be strong for her because for every moment we have had a shitty day or been poorly or unhappy she has been there for us. Not just that but we have got so many things left to do together. We still have yet to run on the sandy beaches of Newquay, Hop on a ferry for a holiday in Jersey where we can bask in the sunshine, just meters from french soil and even for her to maybe host in some of life's biggest moments Mr. Warehouse and I will share.

I have never personally owned a dog before and I would like to say that being a part of her life has and will continue to be a pleasure. She has taught me things about life and myself I never knew before and I keep learning, through my little lab, that there are the little things in life that should be noticed and appreciated and cherished within and with others. Yes, we may not be the best dog owners as both Mr. Warehouse and I go out to work five days a week, but that is reality and I will be honest, I think she enjoys having her own time to herself, not being told off for being on the wrong side of the sofa or for licking her biscuit (AKA Fanny). We treat her very well indeed and give her all the love and attention a pooch could ask for. 

The next few hours and days were a blur until Saturday when Mr. Warehouse and I were accepted for a loan at the bank. Walking out of that room with a smile on our faces not only meant that we had secured Mr. Warehouse's debt and credit cards, but also that we could save our dogs life and in a way ours. She is still on antibiotics and anti-inflammatory medication, but hopefully she will be on the mend soon enough. Her eye is now fully restored and whilst she is still not eating proper dog food, her appetite I think is very slowly, slowly creeping back in to view. I certainly think that the most recent activities in our little household will almost certainly make for a more romantic and loving break away to the Peak District and a time to reflect on what we have and how long for ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Big JCB in the Sky ...

Hi There, 

So after weeks of dread and anxiety on not making Mr Warehouse look like a complete fool in front of his entire family by wearing something wholly inappropriate for a funeral, the day was finally upon us to lay to rest Mr. Warehouse's Second Cousin. An untimely death and gone all far too soon for my liking, I donned a black jumper, tights and skirt complete with heels and a grey waterfall jacket to complete the look I waited patiently for Mr. Warehouse to get ready, looking ever so smart in his black suit and tie. If it had not have been a funeral I could have been happy. It was not even one of my own and already getting in the car and ready to go I was welling up with sadness. God only knows what sadness I had to endure yet ... 

After leaving in plenty enough time to get a drive-thru breakfast, manage the Black Cat Roundabout and have a pit-stop for a toilet break we arrived at the address I had been Google-Mapping and researching for weeks. After confirming and doublely-doubley confirming with Momma Warehouse in the few weeks leading up to the sombre occasion over Christmas and New Year I had made sure we were going to the right place and with plenty of time to allow for mingling an getting a seat, especially since he was a well-known and well-loved character who would easily pack out any church in the area. Pulling into the car park however I did not recognise or see any number plates or cars I knew of. Putting my doubts aside, I got out and shoved on my heels before having a cheeky cigarette whilst Mr. Warehouse went to look for the rest of the mourners whom seemed in short supply. 

Returning in a flap I knew what Mr. Warehouse was about to say, 
"Where is it?" I asked, anxious of the response. 
"Its the wrong fucking Church!" Mr. Warehouse fumed. And so, flipping my heels off we headed to the second postal code Momma Warehouse had given us. In search for St Paul's or Peter's Church we headed fifteen minutes down the road, still arriving, but just in the nick of time. The only problem was that there was no parking, and the Church appeared to be locked up for the day. 'This can not be the right Church' I thought to myself, knowing from my days as a Sunday-School-Sucker that a vicar would never leave it this late at less than forty-five minutes before the service began. Pacing round the small chapel we headed back to the car, again frantically calling around to see where we actually needed to be. 

Becoming frustrated I put my foot down as Mr. Warehouse and I headed back to the first Church we went to all in good faith that Momma Warehouse had it right this time. Fifteen minutes later we arrive back in the first car park we encountered in Wisbech. No familiar cars. No mourners. No Hurst. it is now midday and with less than quarter-of-an-hour until the service starts we finally have a phone call from Mr. Warehouse brother. Finally someone who knows what they are talking about! Message pinging through on a text I punch it into my phone, SatNav now draining my battery so much so I wonder if I can find my way home that day. Jumping back into Vivienne again I race through the streets of Wisbech and finally pull up at a small village church, parking up and wiggling through grave plots in order to reach the church steps on time. With seconds to spare we heard the procession music slow and the service begin. 

Myself and Mr. Warehouse were standing outside and after all the fuck ups and screwing around of this morning I wasn't going to have him stand out here when he was a deserved family member of at least a standing space inside the holy building, let alone a seat. Gently taking his hand I guided him through the mourners and bystanders to the back of the Church. There I found Momma Warehouse, obviously too late for a seat herself. What I felt as an undignified service followed with mistakes being made on names of relevant people, the Lords Prayer being recited incorrectly and even messing up the Hymns, I felt the vicar was unprofessional and it thoroughly grated on me that in someones final moments they did not even have the respect or grace to practice some of the readings and scriptures in advance. Obviously there may have been a reason why she was so poor at leading the proceedings however in my eyes you should be professional in all aspects, and even more-so at a funeral, but of course, that's just my opinion and otherwise it was a beautiful send-off. 

As the ceremony came to an end, I left with Mr. Warehouse, holding his hand and trying where possible to be helpful. Tissues, cuddles and gentle hand holding, but nothing would appease the tears rolling over my beloved boyfriends cheeks. Sharp slices hit my heart as I genuinely looked around for someone to help. But no-one did. We were all mourning and I honestly have never felt so out of place or at a loss on what to do or how to help. Truth be told though there was nothing I could do. I was not a miracle worker and I had no powers to take away Mr. Warehouse's nor his families pain and grief. All I could hope and wish for is that it would be all over soon enough and that they could all learn to live with what has happened. 

What I experienced that day has left me with thoughts of my own mortality and what I will do if anyone close to me should pass. What would I do? The thing is I don't know. I suppose no-body does, but one thing I can tell you is that I have told everyone I love them and when I do it is with utter truth and meaningfulness, as though it may be the last time I speak to them, for we know not how long we have left, but definitely on how we should use the time we are given.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx