Getting Back On The Horse!

Hello one and all, 

So after the debacle of last week I am slightly feeling better although I am fully aware that my Cystitis is still raging my downstairs mix-up and creating more hassle than its worth. I have the day off tomorrow though so I am hoping now my course of Antibiotics have finished I can go back and they can finally get to the bottom of why this is such a chronic issue for me. As another week has come and gone, yet another drama unfolds. Would it surprise you in the slightest if I told you that my absolutely lovely Mr. Warehouse has yet another job. Yes. I know. 

Meeting me after work on Tuesday en route to my second job I saw a solomn face that said something was wrong. Worried Mr. Warehouse was about to put us right back to square one, I asked why the long face. He explained that after finishing his job that afternoon and despite being told that he would be needed all week at the Steelworks, he had been told on Tuesday afternoon as he finished that his services were not required tomorrow and that they would be in touch if and when they did need him. Heart sinking and feeling the all too familiar now sickness return to the back of my throat I swallowed the anger and resentment and told him I loved him. "It would get better, wouldn't it?" I soothed myself. "I mean it has to right? Can't get much worse - Can it?"

"Come on then, be honest, there must be a reason why they would give everyone else work and not you. Just tell me. I wont be angry. I promise." I asked my beloved other-half. 
"I don't know. I really don't have a clue." He replied, puzzled. "Unless it was the fact that some women asked me to cut two-hundred-and-forty sheets of Steel and I cut two-hundred-and-forty-three as otherwise there would have been a lot of excess waste."
Disappointed I tried to hide it as I said to him that he needs to listen carefully to instructions and follow them by the book exactly or this will keep happening. 
"If this women has asked for two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's then she wants two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's! If she wants them rammed up her arse - She wants them rammed up her arse, no questions asked." I said trying to be empathetic although lacking slightly through frustration and anger. 

Arriving into town, we departed the bus and headed towards the call centre. After making several phone calls to the agencies in town that were still open with no luck I had said it would be a good idea to come with me to my place of work and enquire if they were still hiring as they may have been able to interview him there and then on the spot. Although Mr. Warehouse clearly had other ideas as he kissed me on the cheek and headed for the bus back home to the flat. 
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused. 
"I'm going home. I can't do this right now. I'm so sick and tired of this!" Mr. Warehouse flippantly said, unaware at just how close I was to boiling point. 
"What, and you really think I enjoy going to work every single evening at a call centre I am not even reaping the rewards from?" I simmered, although cooling myself enough to convince him to come with me and give it a go. 

No more than a few steps into our ten-minute walk to the call centre I heard moaning. 
"Well its not like you support me anyway is it?" Mr. Warehouse snapped. And with that phrase, so did I. Launching into Defcon-10, I ranted about how much love and support I have tried to muster over the last few weeks, all in the knowledge that my wages alone couldn't support us, especially not when we have a wedding to go to this weekend which we have barely anything saved for and my annual summer holiday with the girls which I again barely have a two-cent coin to run together let alone any spending money for Euros. Rant continuing after Mr. Warehouse had explained that 'its not what I meant - I meant financially' sent me into overdrive and I launched even further stating that given another week or two and it would be yours truly picking up his credit card bill and all other manor of bills he has. 

Boil over I arrived at work and sat on the wall outside looking into the storm in the distance. It began to rain. I thought about how it would ever get better if there is no motivation, confidence or skill to be had. I couldn't keep doing this. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? Would I be in a fortnight or so's time asking Mr. Warehouse to move out and calling an end to our relationship? What about all those horrible dates on Tinder? Who would I have pillow fights with at four-in-the-afternoon or tickle before I go to sleep? 

Worried I went to work and returned home in a zombie like state, going about the motions until it was time for bed. Someone was hungry but all I could think about was the fact that my boyfriend was yet again unemployed and in that very moment I could feel myself detach from him slightly and a little light in me went out. Scared for our future together and what may be round the next corner I struggled to sleep as the stiffness of an angry-jobless penis stuffed into my lower back, its owner oblivious to how it felt to be skewered like a shish kebab.  

The following morning I got dressed and ready for work, sighing as I looked at my sleeping Beau, only to feel the same as the night before. Grey. Leaving the house I was hopeful that something would come up, but all in the knowledge that the Xbox was still on standby. But I need not have worried so much, for by the time I sat down at my desk with my breakfast and morning coffee I had a email. It was Mr. Warehouse. He had a phone-call from the Agency and they had asked him to come it to do a drugs test as they may have got him a placement for a Temp-Perm contract at a Pharmaceuticals company. The same Pharmaceuticals company my doting father works at. Nervous and worried he wouldn't pass I encouraged him to be honest with them as to what he had taken medication wise in the last four-weeks and just get down to their town-centre offices to do the test. 

Couple of hours later I had the phone-call I had been waiting for. 
"I start tomorrow" Mr. Warehouse said down the phone in an excited and yet relieved tone. I was so proud of him. He had passed all his Math, English and Drugs test with flying colours and was now a fully fledged member of the temporary team working the daytime shift, aptly named 'The Golden Ticket' as it starts at 7am and your finished by 3pm - Perfect for parents, second-jobbers and lazy-bums alike. And with picking and packing it shouldn't be the hardest thing my little employee has had to do. I was absolutely over-the-moon for him and so was everyone around me, for I had turned into such a stress-head when Mr. Warehouse didn't have a job. 

Now sure, money would be tight, and will be at least for a few weeks until we are back from the wedding in Newquay. I still have no idea how we are going to pay for everything, but I am sure we will manage. What was that old nineteen-fifties saying I swear by: Make Do and Mend? Well I have made a couple of the wedding gifts and I have mended some bits and pieces together so hopefully we can still have a lovely time, just on a bit of a budget. I have numerous vouchers, discount codes and coupons clipped and stored away for meals out and cheap and cheerful days out. A combination of Sea Safari's, Aquariums, Long Beach Walk and Pirate Museums have me very excited to visit Cornwall - I have even convinced Mr. Warehouse to come horse-riding with me.

In all honesty I am actually really looking forward to going away with Mr. Warehouse who I am still proud to call my boyfriend. He may be a pain in the arse sometimes and we may row every now and again, but who doesn't. Here's hoping that Newquay will be just the break to rekindle our love for each other and that I can get back that little light that went out. I just hope he really see's just how much I have done for us and just how close to the edge we were from falling. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Getting On Like A Warehouse On Fire!

Afternoon All, 

So after my tooth being amputated from my moist face cave, otherwise known as my mouth, I have been eating soft foods. Although I must be honest, after last weekends mind-blowing-ly gorgeous tasting Mulled Cider I couldn't resist trying to make some at home on my own! And to much success. Although now all the crappy still Cornwall Cider I had spare is fast running out and so is the jar of spices that go along with it! This week however especially the weekend has been pretty humdrum and with all my friends off playing with their respective partners I decided to spend a relaxing one with Mr. Warehouse and indulge in a little spring clean of my flat. Everything was and has been normal until this afternoon ... 

Sitting at my desk sorting out the holiday boards for the new holiday/tax year that is beginning in March, I was suddenly then interrupted by the warehouse ruffian who then proceeded to tell everyone that there was a fire in the warehouse and we should all get out of the building. Since there was no fire alarm and no office Fire Marshall was coming round I thought that it may have been an over elaborate joke. Ignoring his warning I answered an incoming call and proceeded to chat away to one of my engineers. That was until I was asked to put down the phone and get out of the building by another colleague. Hanging up I knew this was not a drill. Something deadly had happened and we all had to escape the building as quickly as possible. 

Braving the chilly weather and cold winds I turned to look at the back of the warehouse where the fire would have started. Wisps of greying smoke billowed out from the shutters and it didn't take much to see the orange flames licking the machines and the insides of the building like a kid with a melting ice-lolly. Concerned I looked at the time. Three-Forty-Five. I was worried that most of the staff were now congregating in the small car park and yet I could not yet see my Mr. Warehouse. It was his home-time at half-three so he may well have gone home. But then again what happens if he was still in the building?! 'Where was he' I thought, anxiously to myself. As I quickly scrabbled out a text and sent it I waited impatiently for a reply from Mr. Warehouse. 

It was a strange feeling though. Standing there alone in the car park was not an issue. I was surrounded not only by colleagues, but also friends and somewhat family, maybe even future family?! But as I nattered around with the other ladies in the office and lads in the warehouse I soon realised that there was one thing missing. A very important person in my life. As I watched Mr. Warehouse's supervisor walk out of the goods yard with an Italian swag on and the mouth of a sailor I worried even more-so. Just as I was about to go up and ask someone where Mr. Warehouse was, My phone bleeped. 

"Yes, Why? x" it read from the M.I.A Mr. Warehouse. 'Uh, thank goodness' I thought, forcing another reply through my slowly freezing fingers. Explaining that the warehouse was in a blaze and we had all been evacuated I wasn't surprised minutes later to hear my phone ringing. Answering I calmed his little sole by explaining that I was OK and that we were all waiting for the fire department to arrive. 
"Right I will see you in a second then!" Mr. Warehouse said, panicked. He then hung up and as I wondered what he meant, soon enough he was at the end of the road, coming back to check that not only was I OK but also whether he could blag a day off tomorrow. To be fair to him I was going to do the same, maybe throw in a few coughs and splutters to sound convincing but to no avail. I do indeed have work tomorrow as does Mr. Warehouse and co. 

But it made me think about how much I really do care and love him. Maybe not in the same way as Mr. Workaholic, but about as close to that kinda thing as I think I will ever get. I worried about him more in those few moments than I think I have ever done so in a long time, if at all. It made me think again about all the crazy dreams I have had in the past few months - A secret affair in New York with Evan Peters (As depicted in 'Hello New Boobs') or maybe the one where I made out with my new work colleague and then accused Mr. Warehouse of having an affair with a prostitute and a gay man at a beach-hut party or how about even that dream where I am boxing up all my old things in Dadda Workaholic's house and having a good old natter with Mr. Workaholic himself. Very strange dreams. But all pointing to one interesting point of contact for all when investigating further in my dream books and manuals was that they all pointed towards feelings of tackling issues that have been bothering my mind for a while. Even my masseuse added after a session that I was far too tense in my upper body, although not Mr. Masseuse I may add - Oof never again!  

And so it seems that I. No - We, needed to have a conversation. Theoretically it was going to happen sooner or later. In fact I think some of our work colleagues probably knew it before I did. But the thing is that last time it happened I was with Mr. Workaholic. Whilst I may have dreamt of 'boxing things away' and 'moving on' I am certainly terrified of moving on fully, only because I know how it might well end. Quite frankly I think one heart break is enough for an entire generation let alone a lifetime and never want to go through it again but on the flip-side it would make life for Mr. Warehouse and I that much easier. I have to keep reminding myself that whereas last time my entire relationship went up in a fireball to rival the Atom Bomb, I was only 20-years-old and was still a baby in comparison to my life now. I am more grown up than I was and in a way have become stronger and better within myself. I don't rely on anyone and certainly with this situation know that if it did all go tits-up, I would be able to handle going back to a-life-before-Mr.-Warehouse easier than if we moved out somewhere new. So I suppose the only question is ... 

When are you moving in Mr. Warehouse?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Things that go bump in the night!

Well hello there, 

With no end in sight to the British Gas saga (See post - 'An Electrifying Discovery'), I have decided to continue life as normal. With the bank holiday fast approaching I made plans with family and friends. And after spending most the week working at my second job, with the pretence of using the money I earned for yet more holidays, luxury goods and even getting myself on the road, I was more than ready to clock off come four-O'Clock on Friday. After hitching a ride from someone at work I arrived at Mr. Warehouse's in plenty of time and even had enough time to chat with his mom and redo my hair and make-up before we headed out again to the local for some drinks with his brothers, their kids and partners. Hours passing in a haze of cider and entertaining the little ones I found myself in the realm of the Kebab Van outside and after purchasing goods we were dropped back to Mr. Warehouse's just in time for Babestation. 

Saturday afternoon we spent visiting family at a local tourist spot and even found time to make a cake before heading round Mr. Warehouse's older brothers house to look after his little baby. Gorgeous and sleeping when we arrived I soon felt very, very broody and in the mood to settle down in a house very similar to the one I found myself. I liked it. It was everything I looked for in a family home with a newborn. Except that was from the paranormal activity. Moments after the young couple left for a birthday meal together with friends I was aware that someone appeared to be walking up and down the landing on the first floor. With the house only containing myself, Mr. Warehouse and a small infant whom could not yet walk and was in bed, this certainly set the scene for the night ahead. Moments passed continuously as lights turned on and off, heavy breathing was heard in the hallways and footsteps again made its way through the upper section of the family home. Now I know that Mr. Warehouse is somewhat of a sceptic (although I think it is secretly because he is a scaredy cat) but after several experiences of the super natural I can tell when there is something inhuman about, and I don't just mean the boyfriend. For me the odd goings-on usually happen when I am under a lot of stress but that has not happened in a long, long time. 

I know that when I used to live in the family home I shared with my mother, father and younger brother there was some strange things happening but it was only after my Dad left after my parents announced that they were getting a divorce that the things that went bump in the night started to get more prominent. Teacups being stirred by themselves, cupboard doors being opened and shut by themselves and items going missing and then reappearing else where, all with no-one but me and my brother at home, alone in the darkness. 

After I moved out there was still the odd twitch here and there, almost like someone letting me know that they were watching me. But it wasn't until I moved in with my Dad and his girlfriend that things really took a strange turn. I had known for a while before I moved back in with my Dad after the breakdown of my relationship with Mr. Workaholic that there was an old lady that watched over me and when I did finally move in she did not appreciate the loud music I would play so would cut my speakers out if it went over a certain volume.  but that was nothing in comparison to the case of hot and cold feet incident when everything fully went to pot in 2012. 

In the space of six-months I had been dumped by my one-true-love, Mr Workaholic, moved out of the home that we shared together with bitterness and sorrow as to the ending of what was such a warped but beautiful love story. I had moved back into my own accommodation, gone on my first ever girls holiday, turned 21 and then lost my job. So much had happened in that space I am surprised I didn't just shut down. Nevertheless after returning back home to Houghton Regis, a small village I grew up in just outside Luton, Bedfordshire; I was staying with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee house-sitting for a family friend. I was back in the area for a week before I had to go back to Northamptonshire in order to pack up my stuff and make the arrangements for moving yet again. After hearing the odd thing or two I didn't think anything of it until one night towards the end of my stay. 

Pitch black and silent. Then a snore broke the calmness as echoed around the living room as did the next, and the next, and the next.After a few moments I couldn't bear Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee snoring much more and as I wiggled out of the space I had between them on the floor I made mumbles that I was going upstairs to sleep in the little girls room as it seemed a lot quieter in there. Laying down in the door way, feet on the landing and body in the child's room, I soon fell back into sleep. But suddenly something awoke me. I thought I had heard my name being called. Twice. The first time I wasn't sure but the second time I heard it clear as day and I am a firm believer that my name does not sound much like any other words that would be randomly said or asked of. In need of some protection and with the room getting colder I called out downstairs to the Tweedles. Neither Miss Tweedle-Dumb nor Miss Tweedle-Dee replied and thinking maybe they said it as a mistake or out loud in their sleep I tucked my toes under the duvet and fell back into the land of nod. 

Again I was awoken only this time it wasn't something I could hear it was something I could feel. As I came round from my slumber I could feel the covers protecting my toes in the landing lift up and over my ankles, bearing my feet to the cold entity. Scared I asked my friends where to get off and stop playing silly games in the middle of the night. It was not funny. But there was no laughter. No reply. No scurry downstairs , shamefully caught in the act. Instead as I closed my eyes I felt hands clasp my feet. At first they were cold - Freezing cold like ice as if someone had been playing in the snow for hours. But then they burned, searing through my skin and just as they started to tug at my body I sat bolt upright. They were gone. The hands. They had left. Feeling my feet and checking them through and through I could not tell anything was different or untoward. Petrified I went down stairs and snuggled down in the downy softness of the couch, wide awake until morning pierced through the curtains, signifying the end to one of the oddest nights in my life. 

As I made teas and coffees that morning I scolded my friends for their tom-foolery and told them that it was certainly not funny. It was then that I knew what I had experienced was not trickery of jesting friends wanting to pick-up the moods of an old friend who was down on her luck. No. It was an act that until this very day, and probably until I go to the grave will never be discovered. Suffice to say I soon found myself things to do outside of the house and always slept around my Tweedles, no matter how noisy they were. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Friday Night In Frodsham ...

Evening All,

Finally in the UK we have some sunny weather and it is putting me in a better mood everyday. Waking up to the sun creeping through the window right till the moment I walk out of work into the warm breeze. Summer is defiantly not far away. But I am almost certain you don't want this edition to be about the weather, you want to know about my week; Including my weekend away with Miss Chocolate, don't you? Best not keep you waiting then ...

After a busy week and a gossipping Wednesday spent with Miss Chocolate and an old friend of ours, I reluctantly spent Thursday night in, praying that my night out with my hotel-buddy in the small village of near where we were staying wouldn't be a train crash. Instead of partying into the small hours and seeing some familiar faces I opted for a quiet night in from of the telly, regardless that I was up way past my bedtime. Friday morning, after booking the day off, I rolled over and snuggled in bed whilst I watched the sun through my window. Drifting in and out of sleep I awoke wondering what time it was and why my alarm hadn't woken me. Stumbling out of bed I went to my charging phone only to realise it was off. Shit! Have I slept in? Panicking I raced to the front bedroom where my parents had already left for work. No sign of Miss Chocolate's Car. 'She must have had some issues herself this morning' I thought. As I returned to my bedroom I realised that it was 9.30am and we should have left over an hour-and-a-half hours ago. Knowing that Miss Chocolate would be here any second I went into overdrive. Hearing my phone ring I answered. It was Miss Chocolate. She was outside. 'Ill be there in a sec' I fibbed. I wasn't even dressed yet. Throwing  on some clothes, putting my hair up and brushed my teeth furiously I got ready in a matter of minutes and was downstairs with all my stuff. After piling it all into the car and punching in the directions to the hotel we were off along the motorway which for the time of day was pretty clear. Since I had turned my dying phone on I had received a number of nasty calls and messages from Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb after a pathetic argument the previous evening. The argument has still yet to be resolved, regardless of me apologising, but with my phone on a limited battery I decided to let the girls cool off over the weekend before I spoke to them. Plus it wasn't worth the effort and I wasn't going to ruin my weekend (or theirs) for the sake of some petty problem. 
 
A few hours in and the journey was getting boring listening to the same songs on the mixed-tape CD I had made especially for the journey. I noticed a convoy of military trucks along side us on the busy motorway and so I took it upon myself to have a little fun. What with my Father being ex-military himself I know a little bit about what 'squaddies' are like. As we past the first truck I blew a kiss. Stunned looks and cheeky smiles replaced bored faces in both vehicles. The second was the same. A kiss and a smirk. The third I sent a wink and again was rewarded my a coy grin. getting excited I ramped up the tempo and on the last lorry full of combat's I blew a big kiss. However I was disappointed not to receive a reaction. The flirty mood had been damped. But not for long. Seconds later a beep. I looked out the passengers window to see the boys in green pull along side us in the car to blow me a saucy kiss and a wink back! As if our weekend couldn't get better, that had just made my day. After singing and seat-dancing our way across the country we arrived at the hotel and checked in with all our luggage. Miss Chocolate and I were allowed to go up to our room straight away and instantly flopped onto our beds as soon as we were there. Relaxing after our long journey we decided to plan the rest of our day. Miss Chocolate suggested a trip to a local supermarket to collect some munchies and alcohol for the night ahead. Once we had stocked up, Miss Chocolate instructed me to get changed into some gym kit so that she could but me through my paces at the onsite gym in the hotel. Following a near death experience with something called exercise in the gym I headed to the Spa. Sauna, Steam Room and then the Jacuzzi before splashing into an empty pool with Miss Chocolate.
 
Sauntering up to mine and Miss Chocolate's room in just a towel, we began to get ready and before we had time to start pre-drinking it was time to go. Doubting the legitimacy of this so-called nightclub we were going to I clambered into the car whilst Miss Chocolate took the wheel - She wasn't drinking and so thought it best to save money and drive there. But driving past the venue slowly, looking for parking I noticed that all the lights were off and only the restraunt next-door seemed to have anything going on. Worried I expressed my concerns to Miss Chocolate but she shrugged them off and said it was going to be a good night regardless of where we were. Walking through the glass doors of the nightclub I noticed a few people already there and having a good time. There was even a few on the light-up dance-floor. As Miss Chocolate and I headed for the bar I was stolen by a well-built Northerner in a red jumper. Clearly already out of his tree I decided to humour him and went for a boogie and when he went in for a sneaky snog I graciously declined the offer! We later found out he was on his stag-do and getting married in less than three-weeks ... Defiantly a keeper.  Returning to a single Miss Chocolate at a nearby table I sat down and took the already mounting pressure of my feet. Heels might not have been the best idea tonight. As we chatted, Miss Chocolate and I realised that we were attracting some attention. I gathered it was that we were new to the 'scene' and Southerner's which made us very popular for the evening. It wasn't long before we were approached by a gentleman in a blue and white polka-dot jumper. Over the bass he explained how his friend over the other side of the dance-floor had noticed me! After clarifying with the strawberry blonde man that it was me that his friend was talking about, Mr. Dot asked me if I would allow his friend to buy me a drink. Taken aback a bit as to why someone would want t buy me a drink I agreed and being a friendly girl, and not one willing to turn down a freebie for nothing I went to meet this mystery drink-provider. To say that I was glad it was dark is an understatement but regardless it was nice to meet the guy whom I shall name as Mr. Vee. Why the alias Mr. Vee? Well, throughout the coming hours that I felt obliged to talk to him as he bought me a drink, Miss Chocolate and I realised that he was in fact a virgin. His friends, including Mr Dot started taking photos of me talking to him and texting each other saying that he had pulled. This was defiantly not the case.
 
After accepting another drink from Mr. Vee, he suggested we went outside to talk. 'If I'm not back in five minutes, start putting my face on milk cartons' I said in hushed tones to Miss Chocolate as Mr. Vee dragged me outside into the fresh night's air. Struggling to make small talk he resorted to fidgeting, obviously nervous about something. 'Can I kiss you' he suddenly blurted out. Thankfully before I got a chance to reply Mr. Dot and company arrived, chanting and hugging us both. Mr. Dot whispered something in my would-be kisser's ear and then swiftly departed. Taking my chance when I had it I went in search for Miss Chocolate back inside the warm nightclub. I found her where I had left her and we began to realise this might be a more interesting evening that I first thought. Miss Chocolate ad I were one of only a handful of women in the venue that night which made for alcohol-fuelled tension between men who were also there. Glad that I was back Miss Chocolate and I headed for the dance-floor to show these Northerners how its done. And boy did we show them! A few songs in and some outrageous dance moves later Mr. Dot reappears and begins to pester me to again allow his mate to buy me my third drink. Shouting over the music, I tried to explain that I just wasn't into him or Mr. Vee and that they needed to leave us alone. Clearly not taking the hint and desperate to get his friend laid, Mr. Dot approached and Miss Chocolate who told him right where to stick the offer. Giving in we approved the request and were left in peace for the rest of the evening by Mr. Vee and his generous ways. That is not to be said for Mr. Dot however and as the evening progressed I could see that Miss Chocolate was into him. Leaving them be I set off to find my own kill for the night.
 
Nicknamed 'The Sexy Southerners' by locals, Miss Chocolate and I danced and partied into the night. Whilst getting down to most of the song's on my home-made CD a fight suddenly broke out and as to be expected the police were called. Looking sadly at Miss Chocolate we knew that this was the end of the night as we had witnessed it a few times before back home. A fight breaks out, the police are called, the club shuts and everyone goes home sad. Well, apparently up north they do it differently and with a bloody and broken face the victim and the perpetrator were escorted away in a cop car. The music started up again and everyone trundled back inside the warmth. It didn't take us all long to get up to our old tricks again and sooner that expected Miss Chocolate and Mr.Dot were mouthing lyrics to anthems whilst I returned to my prowl. Spotting a new group to the dance foor I shuffled over smoothly and before I got a chance to 'accidently' bump into them a tall, handsome quiffed-Blondie tapped me on my shoulder and began to introduce me to his friends: A very tall male wearing a blue checked shirt and a very nice, broad gentleman with typical traits I look for in a potential catch. He had everything from the light stubble to the brown hair, the chocolate eyes, deep husky yet friendly voice and a gorgeous smile. Target Acquired!
 
Although Mr. Quiff had other ideas and tried to set me up with the last member of the group, Mr. Podge - Although Miss Chocolate likes to refer to him as Mr. Fat. Not liking the look of where this was going I steadily introduced Mr. Podge to Miss Chocolate and they hit it off immediately. Miss Chocolate could see where I was going with this and graciously took one for the team whilst I closed in on the others. Since I could locate Mr. Stubble I decided to try my luck with Mr. Quiff and after we got talking I learnt that he visits friends in Bedfordshire and is studying for a degree of some kind. The bar called however and alas, Mr. Quiff was gone. Not to worry I thought as cleverly Mr. Stubble was in charge of looking after me whilst Mr. Quiff was at the bar. Making conversation, Mr. Stubble asked me what I did as a career. First boob moment of the evening. Wanting to say my actual career path as a admin assistant, alcohol and the free-drinks of the evening took hold of my tongue. Apparently I now work as a 'Director of Distribution'. Not quiet the response both him or I thought we were getting. Ignoring my faux pas, we flowed to the thumping tunes but I started to wonder where Miss Chocolate was as I hadn't seen her in a while. Not wanting to leave my beloved Mr. Stubble but panicking that she had been abducted by Mr. Dot or worse, Mr. Podge! Grudgingly I left to go in search of my roommate. After searching outside, the bar, toilets, entrance and everywhere in between I finally found Miss Chocolate, safe and sound although dying from some boring story that Mr. Podge was telling her.
 
Hitting the dance floor for the last time we realised that it was nearly time to go. But not before I made a complete tit of myself. Glancing at Mr. Stubble and his wallet protruding from his jeans pocket and thinking it would be a good idea to have a last ditch attempt I said this. 'Is that your wallet or are you just pleased to see me?' Feeling myself burn red with embarrassment and not quiet believing what I had said, Mr. Stubble asked what I had said as he couldn't hear over the music. As if the first time was bad enough, I tried three more times before giving up. Note to self: Trying to woo the love of your life right next to the DJ booth is not a good idea. Miss Chocolate had a confession. Mr. Podge was planning to make-out with her at the end of the night and as with Mr. Vee hours earlier, he too had strangely asked her for a kiss. Even after returning home on Sunday, both Miss Chocolate and I are still left not understanding why all men up north had to ask for a kiss whilst men back home just dive right in and hope for the best. Maybe chivalry isn't dead after all? Together we hatched a plan that we would escape from Mr. Podge and his smooching, fleeing into the night when the lights came on. And that's what we did. When the lights went out and the music dyed down we grabbed each other by the hand and skipped towards the exit nearly getting caught up between the police and yet more young men fighting. Together we ran all the way to the car and back to our room where we continued our weekend in style.
 
In the days following our night out Miss Chocolate has longed for her Mr. Dot but has recently re-kindled an old flame to keep her happy. So, Shopping, Spa and relaxing were all part of our weekend but I think that both Miss Chocolate and I will struggle to forget our Friday night in Frodsham in a hurry! 
 
'Til next time, Love A.Lou :) xx

A Story I Have Wanted To Shared For A While ...

Hi Guys,
 
What a week it has been. So, after last weekend Bank Holiday antics I have recovered quiet nicely thank you, although the fact that my ex-boyfriend otherwise known as Mr. Workaholic keeps plaguing my thoughts. I mean seriously. GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I suppose it all started with a weird dream I had about a week ago including him and Miss Tweedle-Dee, but strangely no Miss Tweedle-Dumb. Unable to wake from such nightmarish slumber I was forced to relive the last scenes of our relationship in dream-state, full-blown hysterics included. But since then Mr. Workaholic seems not to have left and is there in my mind, constantly reminding me of the good times. I'm glad my conscience takes over and reminds me of the bad times though. But amongst the raging battle inside my head I try to reason with myself. Yes Mr. Workaholic was a brilliant lover, the best maybe, indulging in all manner of fantasy and wild exploits - but you have to remember that this was also the same person that left you screaming and begging in absolute turmoil as he drove away, leaving you in the home you used to share. Upon this boiling pot of emotion and memories I am able to pluck out a good tale for you all. Now I warn you it is a tad odd, especially for a man just out of a long-term relationship, but rest assured it is truth and is something I would like to share with you all, something I have wanted to pollute your minds with for a while ...
 
It was a warm summer morning when I stepped off the plane from Dublin after visiting family in Southern Ireland following the split. I had a lot of time to think it out and come to the conclusion that this was it. Since everyone I knew was working I had no-one to pick me up from the airport and take me home. All but one. I had no choice but to call Mr. Workaholic and ask him to help. Of course he obliged and picked me up, probably out of guilt that he had caused this all but regardless when I saw his girlie white car pull up to where I was standing outside the terminal I couldn't help but think that things might just go back to normal and we could make it work. After what I was about to hear nothing could be further from that statement. I attempted making small talk and avoiding eye contact with him for a good few miles down the motorway until Mr. Workaholic asked how my trip had been. I replied honestly and described it as one of the worst experiences of my life, working out how I was going to function without him. I was courteous though and returned the question, feeling anxious and not wanting to talk about myself for once. Starting normally, Mr. Workaholic stated that he had gone away for a few days to clear his head and visit his sister in the North-East of England. Watching the world whizz by on the M1 and struggling not to throw up in his presence, Mr. Workaholic told me he had gone out and had a few too many drinks. But my heart nearly stopped when he told me that he had hooked-up with someone. As Mr. Workaholic began the gut-wrenching tale I felt myself crumble inside, the car spinning and my head once clear now drowning, flooded with pictures and thoughts. He asked me if he should continue or if I needed fresh air. Stupidly or not I decided that I needed to hear this and that it would do me good, maybe even help me to move on. And so he resumed.
 
After some heavy pre-drinking at their hotel to lift Mr. Workaholic's mood (As if his mood needed lifting any further up his arse), his sister and their cousin went to a club and were continuing to drink when a young man came over and struck up a friendly conversation. As the night wore on, Mr. Workaholic needed the loo and so left in search of the 'little boys room'. Once there he relived himself and turned to leave, however, so intoxicated was my Ex that he was approached by another male whom started sizing him up. Now for any normal person you would think this wasn't unusual - You know, two men squaring up in the bathroom alcohol, women, ego's and possibly drugs involved it could get messy. But oh-no, this wasn't any old bathroom. This was a bathroom situated in a busy part of the city centres Soho district. A place where Mr. Workaholic wouldn't usually attend. His sister and cousin are both Homosexual's and Mr. Workaholic was in a bathroom of a very busy and well-known gay nightclub. Swaying from side to side, Mr. Workaholic was offered oral sex by the stranger he had bumped into. Mr. Workaholic accepted. The strange man got onto his knees, unzipped my Ex's jeans and placed him into his mouth.
 
As we flew past a service station Mr. Workaholic recoils as he remembers how the stranger's bristly beard brushed his private parts whilst his member continued to stay soft. "Your not getting hard, are you not turned on?" the knelt man asked looking up holding the still limp extension. Not saying a word Mr. Workaholic adjusted himself and walked away, leaving his dignity and his self-respect behind. A few hours later after kissing a few women, and men, Mr. Workaholic was drinking at an empty table whilst his sister and their cousin hit the dance floor. Another young man approached the lone Mr. Workaholic and asked if they could be friends. Being naive he befriended the party goer and before long more alcohol was consumed and a seedy friendship formed. By this point apparently a fight had broken out between his cousin, his sister, his sister's girlfriend and her girlfriend's ex-partner back at the hotel. Shattered, Mr. Workaholic took the invitation from his new found 'friend' to spend the night before heading back to the hotel in the morning when everything had calmed down. And so as the sun rose over Northumberland, Mr. Workaholic left, to a flat in a part of the city he didn't know, with a man he had only just met. Classy. Upon arriving at his 'friends' address, my Ex was encouraged to undress and share his bed. Consumed by fatigue and intoxicated as he was it happened and before long Mr. Workaholic was fast asleep.
 
Pulling off the motorway I was hoping that one day, Mr. Workaholic would get a rude awakening for the way he treated me. Little did I know that the story was not yet finished. Moments after slipping into a deep sleep, Mr. Workaholic was roused in a way many females are accustom too. Only this was a man. A 'friend'. And this 'friend' was now poking Mr. Workaholic in the lower back with something hard and moist. Realising what this was, my Ex, not being freaked out or disgusted at all simply rolled over and said to his 'friend' that he was not gay and did not want to have sex with him. Reluctantly the 'friend' stopped pursuing Mr. Workaholic and shortly they were both asleep again like nothing ever happened. But it wasn't long before long though that there was a loud knock on the door of the apartment, although no-one heard until it was too late. Suddenly the bedroom door flew open, and with this Mr. Workaholic jumped out of bed, struggling to comprehend what had just happened. "What the fuck are you doing in bed with my boyfriend!" Shouted the large, muscular man fizzing with anger at the rumpled sheets and a nearly naked man accompanying his partner in bed. The frightened boy that was the love of my life ran to the bathroom and locked the door. As Mr. Workaholic's hangover crept in, he searched the bathroom for a way out, but all in vain. Spotting some cash on the sink and grabbing his clothes Mr. Workaholic made a dash for the door, using the stolen cash to pay for a cab back to the hotel.
 
As we arrived at the beautiful terraced house we used to share he asked how I was. What could I say? For once I was speechless, only able to mutter something about how disgusted I was and how sick he makes me feel. For some odd moment I started to laugh. Almost uncontrollably. Crying tears of amusement, grief and shame. Pulling myself together I got out of the car, only to see a large green and yellow 'TO LET' sign next to our once happy home. I stood there. Shocked. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked quietly. "I didn't want to upset you." was the pitiful response from Mr. Workaholic.  Unlocking the door and walking into the house I barely recognised it. Mr. Workaholic continued to explain that his cousin whose girlfriend was pregnant at the time was moving into a new home and needed some stuff so he had sold it to him. Our sofa, stuffed with memories watching TV, making love and cuddling. Our side-dresser that Mr. Workaholic's mother had given us as a moving in gift that I loved and he loathed. Gone. Upstairs our beautiful iron-posted bed had disappeared, the very bed we first slept together in and the one where our story together began. Our second, smaller bed in the spare-room was also amiss, as was the dining table and chairs. Our whole lives were just gone. No warning. No preparation. Just gone. After dropping my luggage indoors I begged him to stay and not leave me alone in the house for fear of my 'dark-cloud' returning. He didn't. He left. Mr. Workaholic just kissed me on the head (inappropriate as it was) and left.
 
That night was my lowest, but I am proud to say that the 'dark-cloud' has left now, and gladly has not been back since. I am in a much better place, with friends and family around me. I have come a long way from the girl crawled up in a ball reading and watching television as an escape from a reality she wasn't ready to face. I am stronger now. Stronger than never before. But one day he'll realise, yes, Mr. Workaholic will realise that I was the best thing he ever had ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Lucky Escape ...

Evening,
 
Well, what a week this has been. Here in the UK we have been experiencing some extreme weather conditions, of which have blown of several of my plans! I am very angry at this. It seems that us Brits can't seem to deal with a few drops of the white stuff - I'm on about snow; Filthy!. I mean a single helping of it is enough to bring this country to its knees - OK, now I am playing with you.
 
So this weekend was meant to be mine and Miss Chocolate's romantic mini break away to North-Wales-ish. Wrong. The snow had better plans. And so all our plans for a naked skinny-dipping spa, eating fast food in the bathroom and heading to the shops just to buy an outfit that we would return after our rowdy night out have now all gone to shit because of the bad weather up North. Granted, we have changed the dates, but I don't know whether I can get the day off from work and this is causing some ruffled feathers in the love nest of Miss Chocolat a la Moi. Regardless I am sure that we will be the best of friends soon as we have an impending weekend of havoc to create as the bunny ears are out and we are ready to party like its Easter 2013! I also have an 80's V 90's night to attend with Miss Chocolate, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dee and some other well known faces. So this weekend should be a blast if the bloody snow holds off. It'll give me something interesting to tell of next week.
 
And after last weeks drama surrounding Mr. Coffee I am glad to say that this chapter is now closed and I shall no longer be obsessing, fantasising or thinking of the so-called 'rocker', although I use that term very loosely. In a desperate attempt to gain his attention I did attempt to text Mr. Coffee several times throughout the week, even a phone-call or two, inviting him over for dinner and drinks, but all to no avail. So after logging into Facebook and seeing that he was online I struck up a conversation knowing that he wouldn't be in a talkative mood. Pop! Suddenly to my surprise Mr. Coffee answered back and we started small talk. I asked how college was and he said he was enjoying it especially since there were drama's erupting and romances blossoming. This got me thinking. "Does that mean that your trying to pursue someone then?" I typed, cautious of what the answer might be. He replied with Maybe. I sat there, stunned. A small part of me thought 'Knock, Knock, Oh Hey! You know it might be you that he's talking about?' Knowing that this wasn't the case but still hoping that it was I asked another question, "Was that the case last week?" but silence soon followed. I asked again and this time Mr. Coffee replied. "Sort of - Its complicated, but she wasn't there no" was the weak response that he attempted to fool me with. I hesitated to believe him. Then a surge of energy as the ice melted his hands and they flowed freely across his keyboard telling me how I somehow put him on the spot last week. Not True. And how its all really complicated right now. Calm and collected I started my own scat along my laptop keypad. How dare he! "Whats going on between us?" I asked burning up with a simmering mixture of embarrassment and anger. Again more silence. Again I asked. "I don't think there is anything between us, dude. I just don't think we're right for each other." - Quote and verbatim. I mean who says 'dude' now-days anyway. I'm sorry I didn't realise you were Axel Rose? Humiliation swallowed me up making me feel like a fool in the way of relationships yet again. But at least I know - I'm glad that it took more than eight weeks to get sorted! Seems like it may be a blessing in disguise as the self-proclaimed womaniser moves onto his next piece of meat. *High-Pitch-Gay-Man-Voice* "Uhh, yeah I'm not a Hump-'em-and-dump-'em kinda guy". Yeah ... Much! 
 
Mr. Mot has also made several appearances this week, lending his ear and sharing life as well as yet again asking me to spend some 'quality' time with him. The latest one, is me nursing him back to health and tending to his every need. Every. Need. But as it would happen I don't have any qualifications to nurse anyone back to health and impersonating a figure of authority within the public sector is an arresting offence. Even so I am sure Mr. Mot wouldn't say not to handcuffing me and having his wicked way with a naughty convict.

So here's hoping the weather holds out for me this weekend and stays nice so I can get my claws into a new obsession! Out on the prowl again ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx