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

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

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

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

Adieu France!

Bonjour, 

Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert. 

Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call. 

Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton. 

Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you. 

Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home. 

Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Up, Up and Away!

Morning All, 

So after many, many months of planning and preparing as well as at least forty evenings spent scouring the internet for the best deals around, Mr. Warehouse and I are finally off on our first ever holiday, abroad at least. Unfortunately a luxury two-week holiday in Bali or even the Canaries is off the cards as we both are in financial straights at the moment and whilst I am saving to get myself a little run-around, Mr. Warehouse is slowly trying to clear some debts of his own. 

But after searching for what seemed like weeks on end for a week long break away from Blightly, somewhere hot and with things to do I got it! Lyon in the South of France. Now it may not be somewhere beachy or sickenly romantic, but you try finding a holiday for a week somewhere hot, in the school holidays and on an August bank holiday weekend, and all for under £200.00! It isn't easy, trust me!  

Because it is France, and being situated in a city half way between Paris and Cannes, full of culture much different to our own and wonderful places to visit I am thoroughly looking forward to going away. I am kind of hoping that I will be swept off my feet a little by it all. I mean, I am already very much loved up with my Mr. Warehouse but maybe this holiday with each other will reignite something special again and make that fire burn even brighter than before. Although I cant help feel slightly uneasy at the fact that the last few times I have been away with a boyfriend for more than a few nights it has always ended with a break-up within eight-weeks. 

A small part of me hopes that whilst Mr. Warehouse doesn't like flying,  he will enjoy himself and learn to accept another culture and enjoy the time we spend together. I would like to think that a trip to France, one of the most romantic places I believe to be in the world, along with New York, Bath and Italy, will inspire him and excite him to be more romantic, because lets face it girls, we all love a bit of cheese with the flowers and chocolates thing. 

What I am most looking forward to about the trip to Lyon is all the things we will get to experience and do there. Situated in the Rhone-Alpes region, it is France's third largest city. The city is not only known for its historical and architectural brilliance, not to mention the art of weaving and creating silk products high in the hills overlooking the city, but also its gastronomical flare too. The Lyonnaise cuisine is something of a foodies paradise, and as a lady who cant get enough of the sweet and savoury, I am more than happy to be dining out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. and with a Roman Amphitheatre to parooze, Rhone and Saone Rivers to cruise along and the trendy Presqu'île peninsula areas to explore I am sure not to be disappointed with the out come of this longer mini-break. 

Question is will it break? And if it doesn't when will we? I have said to Mr. Warehouse on several occasions over the past few weeks that there will be some sort of argument. I am anticipating it. I know that I will be as calm as a cucumber chilling in a freezer box whilst the hot-headed and frantic flap that is Mr. Warehouse will be running around my flat come Thursday morning asking if I have my Passport for the hundredth time and hurrying me along to do my make-up despite not needing to leave for at least a good half-hour?! Or maybe it will be at the airport when I fail to take off my shoes at security or forget I had that bottle of hand cream in my carry on? Maybe it wont be until we get to Lyon and then, in broken French, try to navigate our way through afternoon traffic to our hotel? Maybe it will be all three and in the heat of the moment (and the thirty-something-degree heat out there at the moment) we will rage at each other like an Italian at a wedding and then have gloriously loud, passionate and frantic make-up holiday sex! 

Ahhh I cannot wait! Bring. It. On. Just to think, this time next week I will be on my last night there, preparing to come home and writing to you from what I hope will be a wonderfully lovely hotel and holiday. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

L'amour est dans l'air!

Morning everybody, 

Much love to one and all this week as Valentines day sent the women into a mushy mess because their four year old made them a card and men into a panicked frenzy at the local petrol station for lack of Chrysanthemum's. Yes I, as I am sure you know by now, am not one for spending an entire day showering others with love. I prefer to give them a little bit every day instead. But that didn't stop me and the Bae, Mr. Warehouse heading to the Big Smoke for some much needed QT!

Arriving at work Friday excited and anticipating the weekend ahead I soon realised that time was dragging. Finally though the clock struck three and with my trusty partner in crime I left my desk (including several piles of papers) and headed to the station. Boarding a packed train we made quiet small talk as we people watched men on laptops and couples clearly heading for the Eurostar. Jealous ... You betcha I was! "One Day" I thought "One Day I will finally go to Paris, even if I do go it alone." 

Arriving into St. Pancras International, Mr. Warehouse and I hopped straight for the tubes and over to Soho for some dinner before heading back to our hotel room, for which we weren't holding out much hope. Drizzling and wet, London was lacking the glory and romance I had wished but as we settled after our meal I wasn't quiet ready to slip under the duvet just yet. Pouring with rain Mr. Warehouse and I navigated ourselves back to a bar we had seen earlier, Adventure Bar, and as I wrestled to the bar and ordered some cocktails I knew that this was probably one of the best spontaneous ideas I had ever had! Music coursing through the underground club and bodies everywhere we turned I watched Mr. Warehouse as he sipped his first cocktail called Bramble, a concoction of several spirits, fizzy champagne and soda over slippery glass-like ice cubes. Only being seven-thirty I was surprised it was so busy but was happy with the scene and only wished I had packed a pair of heels and a sexier top. Moments later that mood was somewhat destroyed when Justin Bieber came squeaking over the speakers. Yes, it was time to leave. So as I polished off my second cocktail I slipped the drinking vessel very sneakily into my handbag. Oh how I love a large tote. And oh how I love my new Martini Glass. But as my dearest love put it the other day "If you don't drink Martini's or even cocktails at home for that fact, why have you commandeered one?" Alas he is not the sharpest of tools in the box, but he knows not to question me when it comes to anything of alcoholic content. 

Walking through the streets of Soho and Piccadilly I soon made the grave understanding of mine and Mr. Warehouse's journey back to the 'Hotel'. CityMapper explained that the quickest route to our Shepherds Bush accommodation was via the District line alighting at Stamford Brook, a station I am sure you are all well established in the knowledge that this was where the late Mr. Cheese used to live and his fit flatmate also. Nevertheless I tried to control my talk of years gone by and focused on the here and now with my wonderful if a little broke Mr. Warehouse. As Mr. Warehouse and I were informed of our final destination arriving soon we geared ourselves up for disaster. 
"So is this the point in which you tell me that in actual fact we have a really nice double bedroom in a posh Chiswick hotel with views of the city" Mr. Warehouse asked, worried. And I wished that was the case. I had booked the room a few days in advance with the total coming to £34.00 for the both of us for one night. Being a twenty-minute walk from any tube line I expected the worst and when I discovered it was more of a studio flat than a hotel room I had booked, all did not seem well. 
"At least it will be a giggle when we tell everyone at work?!" I said as we turned into the street. Deep, pungent smells of cannabis filled our throats as we struggled to find number fifty-seven. And as the houses became more tightly packed, gardens less blooming and exteriors ever increasingly daunting the prospect that this was a good idea was fading fast. 

We were greeted at the door by a gentleman and shown to our room come studio. We both held hands and took a deep breath as he placed the key in the lock. But as he opened the door we both breathed a sigh of relief as the room, while not the most spacious was certainly large enough for what we needed. A under the counter fridge, kettle (with no tea or coffee) and a microwave complimented the wardrobe and super comfy double bed. A large walk in shower in a newly fitted bathroom inclusive of toilet and a stunning white, square butler sink. I was more than happy to sign away the paperwork and check-in. 

Closing the door on the way out we giggled like school children as we bounced on the bed and explored our new surroundings. Feeling like virgins again we took mere minutes to test out the bed, but not before locking that front door - Don't want any more Australians walking on in now do we?!

As morning broke over London and Valentines day began we started our morning as every couple should, and in the best way. Morning Sex! Twice I think in the end. Rolling over though in a heated embrace we discussed our plans for the day and eventually decided on a visit to London Zoo. And after a much needed shower, Mr. Warehouse and I popped out for Breakfast at an old haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's; Carluccios. Taking a leisurely stroll back to the tube and making our way over to the Zoo we took in the sights and scenes of the city and discussed what it would be like to live somewhere such as Fulham and the likes the leafy, laid-back suburbs of London; all with their white picket fences, fancy cars and four storey houses.

No sooner had we arrived through the gates of London Zoo though I was greeted by a small child. Yes. My Valentine, Mr. Warehouse, had turned into an excited six-year-old and all at the sight of a guide book and a cast iron Gorilla. "Today is going to be entertaining" I thought to myself as we joined hands and entered the wondrous world of animals great and small. We scared each other in the creepy crawlies and reptile house. We held hands and pointed in the Monkey enclosures. We even managed to have a cheeky little kiss in the Aquarium. Exhausted and being hoofed out the Zoo at closing time we walked through colourful houses and lanes to Camden where we were due to have a table already booked, ready and waiting for us. Anticipating a quick bite to eat and getting the train back to my cosy flat in Bedford ready for cuddles on the couch just in time Saturday night TV. Alas after more than thirty-minutes and no table reservation we were not happy. Seating a frustrated and tired 'Pooh Bear' (My pet name for Mr. Warehouse. I am his Piglet) I go off to angrily speak to the staff and after a word with management I was able to get our dinner sorted, although this did mean having to share our table with another couple and also it being another forty minute before food actually arrived. 

Nevertheless it was a lovely Valentines, so much so Mr. Warehouse and I were even given a blessing by a Black man preaching about god and his holy ways on the way back to Kings Cross through Camden's Alternative scene. Suffice to say that this weekend was heavenly!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx