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

Bonjour! Merci!

Bon Soiree mon ami, 

Finishing work and hurrying out the door of my office before anyone could ask me another thing I was more than ready and very excited for my holiday away in the Mid-South of France. Lyon was a place that I have thought about going to but as with most I did not know a lot about it and chose not to research too much into it so as to fully experience the city when I arrived. Watching the time I headed to get my nails done and pick up some bits in Bedford Town Centre before heading back to my little apartment to meet with Mr. Warehouse who was soon en route with the suitcase which by his own admission he had filled more than half of the twenty-kilo allowance EasyJet was giving us. Nevertheless we packed what I needed and double checked all our tickets and passports before settling down for a cheeky Chinese takeaway and some GBBO - The Great British Bake Off for those whom are unfamiliar is a show in which contestants slave over a hot oven in order to impress and 80-year-old and a pompous old git, and all whilst trying their best not to let their Pavlova end up on the floor. I don't know whether you can receive this in other countries such as the States or Asia, but you cannot receive in Europe, at least through the BBCiPlayer. 

Anyway back to the holiday. So after getting up at about the same time I would usually be going to work (6.30am to be precise) all because Mr. Warehouse didn't want to be late for his flight. In turn after arguing about when to call the cab we arrived at London Luton Airport so damn early that our flight (that didn't take off until 11.50am) wasn't even on the board. Grabbing some breakfast and checking our hold luggage in we headed to the security. Once passed their which was smoother than other times I had flown though London Luton Airport we arrived in Departures with just over an hour and a half to spare. So i did what I knew best, headed for duty-free and Starbs. But as usual my beloved Coffee Frappuccino barely made it onto the flight and once seated and up in the air Mr. Warehouse took it upon himself to order himself a beer and a rather hefty bottle of Prosecco for his lady in waiting. Anticipating a two-and-a-bit hour flight we dug out our free papers and started reading. But no sooner had I finished my bottle of bubbly we were on our decent into Lyon. Shocked at the speed of which we travelled I soon packed things away and prepared for the barge that usually happens when a flight lands on the tarmac. No sooner than we exited the air-plane we were hit with a warm breeze and the smell of a foreign land.

Getting through customs and immigration we soon were at a sticking point as the travel money card I had got before travelling was being temperamental and after nearly four hours stuck in the airport with soaring temperatures we were more than ready to get to the hotel. So when we checked in and slotted our card through the slit in the door we were more than grateful for the super large king-sized bed, cold water in the fridge and clean areas we could relax in before getting ready for dinner. And boy did we eat dinner. Lyon, known otherwise as the gastronomical capital of France and world known for its foodie-influences we soon settled into the life of luxury, dining out three times a day and enjoying all the delicacies the city had to offer. Sadly as I write to you on my last night here in France Mr. Warehouse and I have yet to try Frogs legs and Snails, although me-thinks that this is something for the less sophisticated parts of town. And since our hotel is located just metres from International brand stores such as Cartier, Louis Vuitton and Hermes just to name a few, I doubt we will be dining at anything less than four-star. First night we dined on French styled brioche burgers with a wonderfully rich sauce and fries to rival anywhere at King Marcel, certainly a contender for my fave London burger joint Honest Burger. Later throughout the holiday we dined at typical Lyonaisse Bouchon and Restaraunt A La Traboule where I indulged myself in Beef Carpaccio and Roasted Duck Breast all washed down with a cocktail or two. 

City sites have included the wonderful Place Du Jacobin which is seconds from our hotel room. A simple square surrounded by boutique shops and world-wide high end stores, it hosts an impressive water fountain, encased in marble and white stone. If you look up at the overlooking buildings you can see why it is called Place Du Jacobin as the architecture and building beauty is to be desired by anyone, especially a resident. Oh what it would be to have an apartment overlooking the city, cast-iron curly balcony and  modern Parisian inspired interiors to match. Another place we visited was the Place Bellacour, again, not far from our hotel. Red Sand, Pigeons and a huge statue of a horse mid-trot; it reminded me a lot of Trafalgar Square back home in Blighty, only a lot bigger, and less busy. Throughout our stay Mr. Warehouse and I went through these two tourist attractions almost every single day, at least twice, and still were in awe of their beauty right up until the moment we leave tomorrow probably. As well as visiting these Mr. Warehouse and I have seen the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière, a seventeenth-century cathedral that was built with the pretence to inspire the Parisian create of Notre Dame and other European cathedral's. A sneak peek into the world of the Roman settlement here in 43bc with the Theatre et Odeon Gallo-Romain. We even had time to be dragged along a guided walking tour through the Traboules which are little residential and secret streets throughout the city leading to houses and apartments that only the locals know about. This hurt my little piggies a lot and as a result I laughed hysterically when our guide announced it was over and ran all the way to the nearest pub. 

To my surprise I have done little shopping and the only thing I have bought so far for myself other than food and consumables was a silver ring etched with thirteen little diamonds round the outside from a little independent French boutique whereby no-one spoke a word of English. But that didn't bother me and as I went to pay for my items I noticed Mr. Warehouse too was at the till, anxiously awaiting the cashier to gift-wrap something. I asked what it was and he turned to me and smiled. The store owners looked at each other and back at myself and Mr. Warehouse. With broken French vs English the cashier ushered to Mr. Warehouse and then to me as if to ask if what was concealed in the little pink bag was for me. With no French vocabulary, Mr. Warehouse said Birthday and put his finger to his lips, all the while looking at me. As the staff giggled and wished me a Bon Anniversaire (Happy Birthday in French) we headed for the exit into the now 34-degree-heat. Being a jewellery store, specialising in Silver and Gold as well as accessories I wondered what it could be, however as we passed through the little stands near the door, Mr. Warehouse was keen to not let me peruse any further for fear I might buy the same. Sneaky man! Very sneaky man! And so sly and stealthy. If I hadn't been paying attention I don't think I would have ever known he had bought something until we were outside the shop. Hmmm, only a matter of weeks before I know what it was he purchased! And as if that wasn't romantic enough we spent that evening cruising along the Saone and Rhone rivers by the light of the huge moon and glistening lights of the city. 

And so on our last day of our holiday in Lyon, Mr. Warehouse and I are more than ready to go back home. We need rain! I loved the holiday but I will be the first to admit that the weather has been so very, very hot. Every single day we have been here has averaged between 32 and 36 degrees and all with no breeze. Tomorrow it is very likely to rain here but as our flight is at 2.55pm we will probably get that in about three-days over in England. I can handle heat, but this was way too much! Mr. Warehouse and I are already budgeting and planning for our next adventure. Maybe over Christmas we will head to another European city, Copenhagen, Belfast, Dublin, Lille, Berlin - Who knows. But as for our next Sunshine holiday ... Definitely in order for the same weather, just maybe a sea and sand instead of city-living. Although I must say, this is probably the best way to spend a Bank Holiday!

'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