Afternoon Everyone,
Several weeks in the UK is still amongst a Lockdown never seen before, even during the ware era, from the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus. With Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) having been taken into intensive care and ICU over the last week, Downing Street is still stating a national emergency and to continue with the hundreds and continues into the thousands it is no wonder the NHS is on its knees struggling. I know this for a fact as I visited a hospital today, not as a fact-finding mission or in an effort to get a front line look at the crisis, but because someone very dear to me is very, very ill.
A couple of weeks ago now I received a phone call from my Uncle Golf, my Mother's Brother, to let me know that my Scottish Grandmother had taken a turn for the worst and was in the hospital. Being in her eighties, I didn't really think too much of it as she was old and frail. She had been in bed ever since myself and my other Nanny Pumpkin had gone to Krakow back in Early October, and truth be told that things had not really improved since then. Good news, however, was that she had been cleared from the COVID-19 Coronavirus several times and that seemingly it was a case for pneumonia, swelling of the tissue in one or both lungs, usually caused by a bacterial infection. At the end of the breathing tubes in your lungs are clusters of tiny air sacs and if these tiny sacs become inflamed and fill up with fluid, this can lead to pneumonia.
Every day that went by Uncle Golf would text us all a daily update on how she was getting on and the different phone calls or conversations he had with doctors and nurses looking after her. All seemed well and she was eating and drinking and getting back to normal, even talk of her being discharged. However, this morning as Mr Warehouse sat eating breakfast and contemplating doing something productive with our last day of a four-day bank holiday other than binge-watching Tiger King on Netflix, I got a phone call. It was Uncle Golf.
"Things aren't looking good and honestly they are not going to get better from here" he began, becoming choked up as he spoke. We continued to talk as he explained that Nana just wasn't getting better and that doctors had said to prepare the family and try to make the rounds in everyone seeing her before curtain call.
And so as 2pm rolled over on my car clock I met my Auntie, Cousin and Uncle in the hospital car park, walking in together for support. My Auntie looked tearful and tired-red eyes filled with sadness. My Uncle was quiet but strong. My cousin seemed to not really know the severity of it all, however, I am told despite being only sixteen, he knows what is happening and the likely outcome. I was half expecting my Mother to show up, but apparently her spotlight, I mean quality time, was yesterday.
Walking in the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being a bank holiday Monday, although that being said though we are amongst a national Lockdown. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical. Stepping into the sister's office I was donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus). Nana was sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. I began talking and introduced myself as if we had never met.
Struggling to think of things to say I talked about my baby-pooch, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called. Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always describing them as a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. As she sat there silently and shut-eyed, I recalled the first time she met him, picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest.
It's funny. I wrote a few months ago in the Summer of last year following a visit about how I thought, as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. And now today, as I sat by her bedside on her way out that I would. Although she looked much, much different now with her soft white curls flat and as lifeless as she seemed. I giggled at the thought of how they would wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years and all the mischief she would get up to.
Pauses came and went as she tried to say something (I think so anyway). Deciding that she could hear me and even if she couldn't it was better than sitting in silence as I watched my Grandmother slip closer and closer to the Grim Reaper, I continued talking. I talked about Mr Warehouse and how I am still working throughout these crazy times and how in a few months hopefully when this is all blown over Mr Warehouse and the dogs are going to Cornwall on a Pre-Wedding holiday.
"Remember the time that you came with us as a family on holiday with Mum and Dad when I was little. Really little. And I lost my bunny rabbit. Remember the brown furry one with leather padded paws?" I told her excitedly, hoping it might garner a response. Nothing.
"Do you remember how upset I was and how I cried the whole journey home to without him. And remember how some nice person posted it back to us?" I continued, again with little to no response.
Changing the subject I thought might help and so I spoke about my upcoming wedding that ultimately she probably won't make and how wonderful it is going to be with all the decorations and the dress and the church. It got me thinking about the story she told me of her and my Granda. I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger.
Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him.
Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic.
Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish, maybe now more than ever. I thought about that warm August day last year as she sat in her rocking chair and recalled how the day went as my little fur baby fell asleep curled-up on the jazzy carpet. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be.
Unfortunately, it was time for me to leave and as I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go now and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. Nevertheless, the prognosis does not look good and the outlook is bleak. How long? Nobody knows, could be hours, could be weeks or it could be months. All we do know is she is being cared for by the best people in the Biz and is comfier that I could ever hope for.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memories. Show all posts
Monday, 13 April 2020
Monday, 26 June 2017
My Adopted Family
Hello All,
So praise Jesus and hallelujah! Finally the heat wave in Britain has come to an end. Now don't get me wrong I enjoy the warmer weather however, when Bedford was becoming more like the Bahamas it was certainly time to call it a day and welcome in the storms to clear away the heat and humidity that had surrounded me for what felt like ages. With the weather inside my office comparing to my grandma's fridge freezer what's the weather outside continue to blister on I was more than happy when the two polar opposites (excuse the pun) we're even out slightly by the fact that the outside temperature has dropped a few degrees. Us Brits 'eh we are always talking about the weather, and I suppose it could not have come at a better time as this weekend not just Glastonbury (no I did not have a ticket and yes it is a sore subject) but also the weekend that Mr. warehouses family all rally round and celebrate the matriarch of the family who passed away a few years ago in the year that Mr Warehouse and I met.
Granddad Next always seem to be the life and soul of every family event and whilst they are not all as great and wonderful as births, christenings and parties he was a corner pin for the family in time's of need during grief or pain. The Kingpin had married young as many of his generation did and was seemingly in a happy marriage until his wife passed away. The father of five children who went on to have many, many grandchildren never remarried and instead focus on things that you enjoyed in life such as pool, darts and family life. Growing up, Mr Warehouse would tell me the stories of how his granddad taught him how to win on the pool table, strike a bulls-eye and even a few naughty tricks on how to play Dirty! Living out the rest of his days in the local pub and Social Club in the village he would challenge his opponents guy yelling "NEXT" at the top of his little lungs, smiling as he welcomed another soul to try and beat him. With his children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren scattered all over the country from as far down as Cornwall and right up into the Scottish highlands there was always plenty of people to pop in and say hello. But once he had enough of you you should tell me about it as the radio would come on a Classic FM would blare out, Opera signifying that you have now outstayed your welcome.
Sadly though the inevitable happened and a few years ago Granddad Next passed away, surrounded by those he loved and cared for. The following year, on the anniversary of his death, The family came together once more to celebrate his life in a special way he would have been ever so proud of. And so it brings us to present day where Mr. Warehouse and I attend with all the other family members including the Cornwall-lot and Cambridge-lot to play a 'friendly' game of Pool and Darts. I always preferred the phrase Billiards to Pool, but I was swiftly told on my first introduction to such a memorial tournament that Billiards was far too posh.
Every year now there is a running theme; new babies to introduce, little children growing-up faster, new jobs, new travels, new faces and the forever questions on when Mr. Warehouse is going to make an honest women of me. Probably didn't help that I was wearing a full-length white Maxi-dress from Boohoo.com. I look forward to the days where mine and Mr. Warehouse's children can mingle with their cousins and second cousins from faraway land such as Newquay and Huntingdon, playing in the sunshine as we have done in the year before. In fact it is not all that hard to see myself in this family for a long, long time. So many faces that are happy to see me as am I to see them, some of them even old work mates from where Mr. Warehouse and I first met.
Mind you, I did make my welcoming into the family much easier me thinks with my own tradition, I hope anyway, and that is to make the cake. The first year I think it was something plain, or maybe I was so anxious I made nothing at all, however that does not sound much like me turning up to a event with nothing in my arms. Last year it was a Pool Table complete with balls, cue and plaque reading "NEXT" accompanied by dartboard cupcakes. This year I wanted to blow them away yet again with a creation of soft cupcake, creamy frosting and to top, a picture of our wonderful Granddad Next. But the question is what will be next? 2018's cake is already being manufactured and created in my head, I'm thinking bigger, better and more amazing than anyone can think of. I have some ideas but shall keep them secret and nurture them into next years hacking phase where I shall birth a sugary, cakey goodness. Due Date: Late June 2018!
Who could have predicted the legacy that this little old man would radiate, casting a spell over his generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. A true gentleman and someone I think Mr. Warehouse looks up to even to this day. He always talks about his grandfather so fondly and I hope that one day if I can be even half the pillar of the family as much as he was then I know I have done a good job.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So praise Jesus and hallelujah! Finally the heat wave in Britain has come to an end. Now don't get me wrong I enjoy the warmer weather however, when Bedford was becoming more like the Bahamas it was certainly time to call it a day and welcome in the storms to clear away the heat and humidity that had surrounded me for what felt like ages. With the weather inside my office comparing to my grandma's fridge freezer what's the weather outside continue to blister on I was more than happy when the two polar opposites (excuse the pun) we're even out slightly by the fact that the outside temperature has dropped a few degrees. Us Brits 'eh we are always talking about the weather, and I suppose it could not have come at a better time as this weekend not just Glastonbury (no I did not have a ticket and yes it is a sore subject) but also the weekend that Mr. warehouses family all rally round and celebrate the matriarch of the family who passed away a few years ago in the year that Mr Warehouse and I met.
Granddad Next always seem to be the life and soul of every family event and whilst they are not all as great and wonderful as births, christenings and parties he was a corner pin for the family in time's of need during grief or pain. The Kingpin had married young as many of his generation did and was seemingly in a happy marriage until his wife passed away. The father of five children who went on to have many, many grandchildren never remarried and instead focus on things that you enjoyed in life such as pool, darts and family life. Growing up, Mr Warehouse would tell me the stories of how his granddad taught him how to win on the pool table, strike a bulls-eye and even a few naughty tricks on how to play Dirty! Living out the rest of his days in the local pub and Social Club in the village he would challenge his opponents guy yelling "NEXT" at the top of his little lungs, smiling as he welcomed another soul to try and beat him. With his children, grandchildren and even great-grandchildren scattered all over the country from as far down as Cornwall and right up into the Scottish highlands there was always plenty of people to pop in and say hello. But once he had enough of you you should tell me about it as the radio would come on a Classic FM would blare out, Opera signifying that you have now outstayed your welcome.
Sadly though the inevitable happened and a few years ago Granddad Next passed away, surrounded by those he loved and cared for. The following year, on the anniversary of his death, The family came together once more to celebrate his life in a special way he would have been ever so proud of. And so it brings us to present day where Mr. Warehouse and I attend with all the other family members including the Cornwall-lot and Cambridge-lot to play a 'friendly' game of Pool and Darts. I always preferred the phrase Billiards to Pool, but I was swiftly told on my first introduction to such a memorial tournament that Billiards was far too posh.
Every year now there is a running theme; new babies to introduce, little children growing-up faster, new jobs, new travels, new faces and the forever questions on when Mr. Warehouse is going to make an honest women of me. Probably didn't help that I was wearing a full-length white Maxi-dress from Boohoo.com. I look forward to the days where mine and Mr. Warehouse's children can mingle with their cousins and second cousins from faraway land such as Newquay and Huntingdon, playing in the sunshine as we have done in the year before. In fact it is not all that hard to see myself in this family for a long, long time. So many faces that are happy to see me as am I to see them, some of them even old work mates from where Mr. Warehouse and I first met.
Mind you, I did make my welcoming into the family much easier me thinks with my own tradition, I hope anyway, and that is to make the cake. The first year I think it was something plain, or maybe I was so anxious I made nothing at all, however that does not sound much like me turning up to a event with nothing in my arms. Last year it was a Pool Table complete with balls, cue and plaque reading "NEXT" accompanied by dartboard cupcakes. This year I wanted to blow them away yet again with a creation of soft cupcake, creamy frosting and to top, a picture of our wonderful Granddad Next. But the question is what will be next? 2018's cake is already being manufactured and created in my head, I'm thinking bigger, better and more amazing than anyone can think of. I have some ideas but shall keep them secret and nurture them into next years hacking phase where I shall birth a sugary, cakey goodness. Due Date: Late June 2018!
Who could have predicted the legacy that this little old man would radiate, casting a spell over his generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. A true gentleman and someone I think Mr. Warehouse looks up to even to this day. He always talks about his grandfather so fondly and I hope that one day if I can be even half the pillar of the family as much as he was then I know I have done a good job.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 1 May 2017
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
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
Monday, 13 February 2017
Hitting Peak!
Hello,
After what seemed like an eternity we had finally arrived. Right in the heart of the Peak District, miles from anyone or anything. The thought there was idealistic, although the reality of booking somewhere far away from Wifi, strong enough signal to Google-Map and just general civilisation was far from what I expected. But with the flakes of snow beginning to fall from the dusky sky, landscape littered with peaks and rolling hills of country park ready to explore with pooch we were excited for our mini weekend in the Peak District.
As for Pup, she was still not back to herself but I really think that she enjoyed her surprise of snowy landscapes and hundreds of fields to run about in. She even made some friends with the neighbouring flock of sheep. Pooch was still not eating properly and despite bringing dog food and trying in-vain to get her to eat that, it was small handfuls of pasta that seemed to work. I suppose as a parent would we went back to what we know and both Mr. Warehouse and I knew she would struggle to resist the pull of some Penne. Saying that though we did try her this morning and she seemed to enjoy eating her normal dog food, albeit just the canned wet stuff.
Settling into our little stone-brick home for the next few nights Mr. Warehouse and I were perplexed with the smell and list of odd house rules. One of the reasons we booked was for the use of the log burning fire / stove and when the house rules said that it was forbidden I was gutted to say the least, especially since our trip to York just before Christmas. Nevertheless we would make it our own, but with very limited signal and no Wifi we were a bit put out with the bare-basic accommodation. Relaxing into the comfy leather loungers in the front room I was more than ready for bed.. So after a trip to the nearest town to collect a Takeout (a forty-minute hilly and country-dirt-track drive I might add) and a little bit of telly Mr. Warehouse and I hit the sack.
The following day we decided to head out to Bakewell, a small village known worldwide for their tarts. But rumour would have it that the humble Bakewell tart is not the original of his tasty ancestors, oh no! It would appear to all intense and purposes that the creation of the Bakewell Pudding as it was traditionally called was a simple misunderstanding between a Mistress and her Kitchen Assistant who, in her inexperience in such a role made a puff pastry rather than a shortcrust and ergo you now have the pastry-that's-not-a-pastry delight - Bakewell Pudding. After my Frangipane fling it will certainly be a recipe I will have to attempt and maybe even tweek at home. One thing I would say is that most places in the Peak District, including Bakewell are very receptive to dogs and are more than happy to have them in their shops, restaurants and pubs, a point which we unfortunately discovered alone, whilst our pooch was back at the holiday cottage.
Saturday we headed to Buxton, home of the water in the UK and the countries leading Spa town. Not that we had a lot of that going on. It was snowing for yet again the third day in a row and whilst it was entertaining in the morning on our walks and rambles with doggy, it was becoming tiresome having to manage peaks, hills, mountains and narrow country lanes as well as the poor weather conditions. It made everything worse. Mr. Warehouse and I couldn't go for a walk or mooch about the shops or even have a potter without having to be dressed up to the nines in coats, hats, scarf's and gloves. After a few hours we headed home to the wilderness and watched a film or two.
The last day is always the worst, packing up and heading home back to real life again. Truth be told I was looking forward to some Internet and being able to just pop to the shops for something, not having a long-winded trip to get there and I certainly wont be sorry for those roads. Although I must say that since being back, if even for less than twenty-four hours I am starting to miss the gear changes and whizzing round the country-side. Having been there as a child I thought a nice place to go would be The Heights of Abraham, just outside Matlock Bath. On even a dull and overcast day it would have been passable, but when the weather was beating down on us like a parent on an errant child, snowing, raining and windy it was far from the best choice. Cable car up, a quick walk around and hot cocoa later we were back down and heading to the car, bound for home. Real home. Gutted I wasn't able to experience and share my childhood in part with my boyfriend and his pooch I felt deflated and upset, but as I drove the two and a bit hours home, I realised that we have shared in some classic memories that we will all remember and cherish forever.
Back home we have just arrived back from the Vets and they have not said as yet either way what sort of operation she will need next. As last week it will either be a full blown Pyometra operation to remove her pus-filled and inflamed womb, or just a simple spaying. The difference in price will be drastic but even the cheaper Op. of the two will be pricey. Here's hoping that tomorrow's phone call with the Vet will bring about good news and that her results will show something that wont break the bank.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 25 July 2016
Ugly, Disgusting and Foul Smelling!
Hiya, How Do?
I like the Northern approach to life, it so friendly and non-threatening. I think sometimes I would pass right good for a Northernern. Ooooh, Whippets and Pies!
Nevertheless I am here to talk of my week in a less than warm Blighty. I mean whilst I did not appreciate all of the heat and humidity of last weekend I certainly did not ask for overcast skies and rainclouds for the rest of Summer 2016! Please change soon, I want to get my hopefully not so peely legs out. I suppose I experienced some of the heat this weekend since I spent most of late last week in the kitchen attempting to bake a beautiful Pool and Darts cake for an upcoming event.
Three years ago now, Mr. Warehouse and his family suffered a huge loss to their family - The Matriarch was gone. Mr. Warehouse's Grandfather AKA Momma Warehouse's Dad had passed away and had left the family in a grief I still see in my boyfriends eyes when he talks of his memories with his grandpops. Nevertheless so as to keep the tradition going and in order to help preserve his memory for generations to come, every year in the village he resided in, Marston Mortaine, They hold a special Pool and Darts afternoon followed by drinks at one of Mr. Warehouse's Uncles house across the road from the venue. I had attended last year but not brought anything but myself and after being introduced to everyone it was a bit overwhelming anyway. With a wedding only passing the weekend before we had plenty of cake to go around and as such I thought it would be a wonderful idea to make a cake myself to present to the table of honouring what would have been an amazing man to meet.
Sitting here last week I added myself to a group discussion about the memorial afternoon.evening and asked if anyone was bringing cakes or sweet treats. When no-one replied I thought I had been ignored but the following morning I had a few supporters and even more requests for different flavours. So I set to work, pottering about ideas and spending my morning commutes looking up videos and tutorials to make sure my cake blew the family away. Unfortunately I did leave it slightly late and after researching for more time than I should have been baking I set to work on Thursday night to bake the cakes needed for Saturday to come. Three batter mixes, twenty-four cupcakes cooling and three loaf tins baking I thought I had it all under control. That was until Mr. Warehouse came into the kitchen.
"Eww, whats that smell?!" he said sniffing the air surrounding the hard-at-work cooker. Joining in with the Smell-a-thon I exclaimed that my boyfriends comments were rude and unappreciated. My baking goods smelt fine and would be ready to come out of the oven soon. However some time later, the other half arrived back in the kitchen and proceeds to tel me that my baked, marble cake-loaves looked ugly and disgusting, going on to say that he, neither the seventy-odd guests would be eating 'that'. Absolutely broken I burst into tears. It was one step too far and the criticism from myself was bad enough without Mr. Warehouse jabbing the knife in and twisting it once more. Crying as I fell asleep that night my dearest Beau had eventually realised what he had said was cruel and unkind, apologising and making it up by saying that we both would have another go tomorrow. But it didn't make me feel any better about myself and with another day lost for preparation I was worried what I wanted would not be what I got.
The following morning I got up bright and early along with Mr. Warehouse and the dog, opting for making coloured icing as opposed to having a lay-in. Heading out to work I took with me the rejects of the cake party yesterday in the hope that my hungry work colleagues would go to town on them before 11am and everything would be forgotten. When asked why I had brought in such a copious amount of cake I explained to everyone that their ex-colleague and my boyfriends comments the previous evening were a result of them getting the outcasts telling them in detail about how he had called my cakes ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. Fits of laughter erupted as I was told that they smelled fine and tasted even better with one colleague even stating that maybe Mr. Warehouse was upset as it was him that was ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. This cheered me up but I did worry about the non-existent cake I was due to present the following afternoon. I had a list as long as my arm to try and get done as well as pick up a few bits before heading back to our home for the weekend at Momma Warehouse's, also in Marston Mortaine. After some much needed after works drinks and a few cigarettes over some gossip with Mr. Warehouse's Mother I set to work with Mr. Warehouse barely sticking to his promise and instead shouting a mixture of heavy criticism and basic instructions from the living room. I did not take kindly and after four hours it was finally over. I was done and the cake was finished. Not to my liking though. The details were missing such as the change slots on the side, ball viewer not to mention the cue and triangle thingymibob. I felt like a complete failure yet when Momma Warehouse saw it she welled up with tears and told me how wonderful it looked. I didn't want to upset her so became quiet with self-doubt and loathing the fact that I had only done what I had thought was a mediocre job.
Still as encouraging as ever, I woke on the morning of the memorial and hoped my driving lesson would go well enough I could come back and start on some of the features. I was lucky enough to have a fairly good lesson but with weeks to go before my Driving Exam in September I am more than bricking it, especially when I take more than a few times trying to Bay park before my driving instructor gives up and asks me to drive off somewhere else. Beating myself up about not only my inability to Bay park but also to bake and decorate a cake that doesn't look like Prince George had an input, I was certainly feeling far from great. Battling through though I dressed up and we all headed down to the venue. Presenting the Three-storey Pool Table cake and Cupcakes with mini dart boards adoring them I was pleased it was all over and as I watched people flock around it I knew I must have done something right. Noticing as the afternoon progressed that in fact they had obviously gone down a right treat, cupcakes all gone and so was the cake. Much a success. Although Mary Berry I am not.
Alls well that ends well, eh?! And I can tell you what else is worth while cracking out some cake for - Mr. Warehouse only went and bagged himself a full time permanent job earning just as much as me! Working where he is now at the Pharmaceutical Distribution place on the outskirts of town I think he is the happiest career wise he has ever been in the time I have known him. I am so pleased. Finally this means that Chrismas wont be as much of a stretch as last year and that we could finally head off to a cosy Christmas Market somewhere in Europe.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I like the Northern approach to life, it so friendly and non-threatening. I think sometimes I would pass right good for a Northernern. Ooooh, Whippets and Pies!
Nevertheless I am here to talk of my week in a less than warm Blighty. I mean whilst I did not appreciate all of the heat and humidity of last weekend I certainly did not ask for overcast skies and rainclouds for the rest of Summer 2016! Please change soon, I want to get my hopefully not so peely legs out. I suppose I experienced some of the heat this weekend since I spent most of late last week in the kitchen attempting to bake a beautiful Pool and Darts cake for an upcoming event.
Three years ago now, Mr. Warehouse and his family suffered a huge loss to their family - The Matriarch was gone. Mr. Warehouse's Grandfather AKA Momma Warehouse's Dad had passed away and had left the family in a grief I still see in my boyfriends eyes when he talks of his memories with his grandpops. Nevertheless so as to keep the tradition going and in order to help preserve his memory for generations to come, every year in the village he resided in, Marston Mortaine, They hold a special Pool and Darts afternoon followed by drinks at one of Mr. Warehouse's Uncles house across the road from the venue. I had attended last year but not brought anything but myself and after being introduced to everyone it was a bit overwhelming anyway. With a wedding only passing the weekend before we had plenty of cake to go around and as such I thought it would be a wonderful idea to make a cake myself to present to the table of honouring what would have been an amazing man to meet.
Sitting here last week I added myself to a group discussion about the memorial afternoon.evening and asked if anyone was bringing cakes or sweet treats. When no-one replied I thought I had been ignored but the following morning I had a few supporters and even more requests for different flavours. So I set to work, pottering about ideas and spending my morning commutes looking up videos and tutorials to make sure my cake blew the family away. Unfortunately I did leave it slightly late and after researching for more time than I should have been baking I set to work on Thursday night to bake the cakes needed for Saturday to come. Three batter mixes, twenty-four cupcakes cooling and three loaf tins baking I thought I had it all under control. That was until Mr. Warehouse came into the kitchen.
"Eww, whats that smell?!" he said sniffing the air surrounding the hard-at-work cooker. Joining in with the Smell-a-thon I exclaimed that my boyfriends comments were rude and unappreciated. My baking goods smelt fine and would be ready to come out of the oven soon. However some time later, the other half arrived back in the kitchen and proceeds to tel me that my baked, marble cake-loaves looked ugly and disgusting, going on to say that he, neither the seventy-odd guests would be eating 'that'. Absolutely broken I burst into tears. It was one step too far and the criticism from myself was bad enough without Mr. Warehouse jabbing the knife in and twisting it once more. Crying as I fell asleep that night my dearest Beau had eventually realised what he had said was cruel and unkind, apologising and making it up by saying that we both would have another go tomorrow. But it didn't make me feel any better about myself and with another day lost for preparation I was worried what I wanted would not be what I got.
The following morning I got up bright and early along with Mr. Warehouse and the dog, opting for making coloured icing as opposed to having a lay-in. Heading out to work I took with me the rejects of the cake party yesterday in the hope that my hungry work colleagues would go to town on them before 11am and everything would be forgotten. When asked why I had brought in such a copious amount of cake I explained to everyone that their ex-colleague and my boyfriends comments the previous evening were a result of them getting the outcasts telling them in detail about how he had called my cakes ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. Fits of laughter erupted as I was told that they smelled fine and tasted even better with one colleague even stating that maybe Mr. Warehouse was upset as it was him that was ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. This cheered me up but I did worry about the non-existent cake I was due to present the following afternoon. I had a list as long as my arm to try and get done as well as pick up a few bits before heading back to our home for the weekend at Momma Warehouse's, also in Marston Mortaine. After some much needed after works drinks and a few cigarettes over some gossip with Mr. Warehouse's Mother I set to work with Mr. Warehouse barely sticking to his promise and instead shouting a mixture of heavy criticism and basic instructions from the living room. I did not take kindly and after four hours it was finally over. I was done and the cake was finished. Not to my liking though. The details were missing such as the change slots on the side, ball viewer not to mention the cue and triangle thingymibob. I felt like a complete failure yet when Momma Warehouse saw it she welled up with tears and told me how wonderful it looked. I didn't want to upset her so became quiet with self-doubt and loathing the fact that I had only done what I had thought was a mediocre job.
Still as encouraging as ever, I woke on the morning of the memorial and hoped my driving lesson would go well enough I could come back and start on some of the features. I was lucky enough to have a fairly good lesson but with weeks to go before my Driving Exam in September I am more than bricking it, especially when I take more than a few times trying to Bay park before my driving instructor gives up and asks me to drive off somewhere else. Beating myself up about not only my inability to Bay park but also to bake and decorate a cake that doesn't look like Prince George had an input, I was certainly feeling far from great. Battling through though I dressed up and we all headed down to the venue. Presenting the Three-storey Pool Table cake and Cupcakes with mini dart boards adoring them I was pleased it was all over and as I watched people flock around it I knew I must have done something right. Noticing as the afternoon progressed that in fact they had obviously gone down a right treat, cupcakes all gone and so was the cake. Much a success. Although Mary Berry I am not.
Alls well that ends well, eh?! And I can tell you what else is worth while cracking out some cake for - Mr. Warehouse only went and bagged himself a full time permanent job earning just as much as me! Working where he is now at the Pharmaceutical Distribution place on the outskirts of town I think he is the happiest career wise he has ever been in the time I have known him. I am so pleased. Finally this means that Chrismas wont be as much of a stretch as last year and that we could finally head off to a cosy Christmas Market somewhere in Europe.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 13 October 2014
Kiss And Tell!
Hello You!
Well, well, well. What a week it has been, albeit an interesting one. So after last weeks rather cathartic post which can only be described as a messy expression of what is in my head I have thought of little else. How is it dear friends, that I always seem to get myself stuck in predicaments such as these! Now I know you are just itching to find out what happened with myself and what seems so be and increasing number of people being added to what was a very dusty and empty LBB (Little Black Book). So just so we are all on the same page here - My sleepover with Mr. ToyBoy never materialised since he was 'ill' and too sick to come over (No pun intended) and so I spent my Saturday night snuggled on my sofa under numerous blankets watching trash TV and eating banana chips dipped in peanut butter - Seriously if you haven't tried it you need to, although I have yet to experiment with Jam instead of Skippy. Nevertheless my weekend continued and more-so after a disappointing Saturday night in more ways than one I spent Sunday evening in the company of Mr. Warehouse. In fact it went as far as to be the wee small hours of this morning when he finally departed. Now I am not one to kiss and tell, despite my daily trials and tribulations. Ha! Who am I kidding - That's what I do!
I will leave it simply that I had a wonderful time in the company of someone whom I have grown quite fond of. After a few hours of talking and light flirting we ordered a take-away and for a few moments whilst plonking myself next to him on my citrus couch or fetching the sauces I felt as if I had been in that moment for years. It seemed so natural. So easy and simple. As cheesy as it sounds it felt as if it was meant to be. But for now I see Mr. Warehouse now as a close friend that I could share secrets with and tell anything too. Although there are some things I should probably shelter him and his heart from. Taking swigs from our pear Cider I could easily see this developing into one of those cosy little relationships whereby you just lounge around all day eating junk food and get progressively fat, eventually looking like you should have been classed as an extra in The Nutty Professor. Soon things got very deep and with emotional eyes ready to spill the subject was quickly changed to more benevolent matters. Flicking through an old scrap-book Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb made me for my 21st Birthday prompted me to admire how simple my days as a school girl were. As Mr. Warehouse and I paged through my documented life sandwiched into a royal blue, silk-bound book I recalled my first time and shared my experience with my date for the evening ...
Another cold, blustery and slightly damp December afternoon and as the winter months drew in I was conscience that my relaxing Wednesday afternoon always felt better in the Summer when I could get away with being late home from school. My school days finished early on a Wednesday and so the ritual was to take a leisurely walk to the other side of town back to my best friend, Mr. First's family home so we could enjoy playing house whilst his mother was out at work and younger sister was still at school. Essentially just an extension of school, our midweek afternoons were spent feeding the dog potato (In which I am pretty sure your not meant to do), making the dinner and drinking sweet, milky tea. Some of my fondest memories were spent up in his attic room with his grey-marled spaniel, having playful pillow fights, gossipping about school and using an orange and our necks pretending to make-out. It was on this cold, blustery and slightly damp Wednesday afternoon in December that something happened between Mr. First and me that would forever change the dynamic of our friendship.
Mr. First and I had finished at around lunchtime and with the usual plan to go back to his and play grown-ups still intact we headed off. As we approached the bend in the road I noted the flickering of street lamps coming on with a tinking noise as they lit up the street in the late-afternoon sun. Oddly we stopped though. Mr. First halting me in my tracks. Saying our goodbyes took longer than usual that time and I know now that this was all a matter of finding some balls. As we went to hug I suddenly saw my best friend turn his head slightly, eyes shutting I knew that this was it. This was going to be my first kiss. Outside! Alfresco! With my best guy-friend! After imagining it in secret for sometime I was secretly happy but bricking myself about what would happen. At fourteen I was completely unprepared and whilst I had watched multiple times alone in my room people make-out on films and TV I never really gave it much thought and just assumed everyone would be good at it and that the whole experience would be all fireworks, rainbows and unicorn farts! That was not the case as the name entails. Mr. First was either very inexperienced or very knowledgeable about how to do this whole 'snogging' thing!
No where to run too and realising this was going to happen whether I wanted to or not I threw caution to the wind for one of the first times in my semi-adult life and accepted Mr. First's lips on mine. As I experienced what it was like to feel another persons tongue for the first time I noted of the slipperiness and how oddly ferocious it all was. "Oh dear lord what is this?", "How do I do it?", "Am I terrible?", "Will he laugh at me?", "Why does it taste like that?", "How am I meant to do this?" and "Where did I put the 'How To Guide'?" were all that I could think about, questions whizzing round my head like a NASCAR race. Passionate as it was I felt as if I was in a washing machine on a high setting with out the option to open the door. Getting into it I felt my face begin to ache. It had never done this before and so was not used to being stretched and tightened in such a way. It was at this point I became aware of the situation. It was getting darker and with less than a fortnight to go until Christmas I was wary that my parents would freak out again if I was not back by sundown. Panicking I must have stopped my mouth from moving in such a way to allow the kissing to continue. As we pulled away from each other I watched a dog walker glare from the other side of the street oblivious to how crucial this moment was in our young lives. Feeling the pull of home and suddenly the impact of what had just happened hitting me like a tonne of bricks I turned and ran away. Without even saying anything I ran away from the boy who gave me my first proper kiss. And I didn't stop until I got home, running all three-miles. Non-stop.
I know now as a twenty-three year old that this, my first experience of kissing, is not the norm. And if for those of you it is and you too want to run away from it then please do. There is so much more to life than a bad kisser. There are the softies. The barely there kisses given usually when first getting to know someone or after an argument. Sometimes these soft smooches are given as a way of waking up a loved one in the best way someone can be woken up. Mmm, I like them. Then there are angries. Those hard, hot and heavy ones that are usually given whilst in a heated discussion or argument. Tension filled potentially angry and infected with rage those kisses are best served with lots of passion and side order of rough and maybe a little sprinkle of biting but not hard. Mmm, I like them too. And who can forget the tensioners. The kisses you have when there is a tension build up usually commencing in a 'Yes' vs. 'No' struggle of stubbornness and power to control the situation; Slowly reaching a peak whereby heads become closer, and almost to the point in which you both break out into laughter or enter into the angry kiss as before but continue the cycle round and round and round until one of you finally just says 'Fuck It' and grabs your face.
And that's another thing. When kissing what do you do with your hands and the rest of your body parts. I worry about this all the time. Whenever I am there, in the moment, enjoying (or loathing in many cases) the sensations of making out with someone, I am constantly thinking about what to do with my hands. Where do they go and what do they do? What it the limb etiquette for kissing someone tell me? For a guy its easy - Running your hands through a girls hair is sure to be a winner - At least in my case anyway. But be warned if she has a slick up-do or hair that looks as if it has been combed by a hedge then be warned, she might hit you. If in doubt always go for the neck, gently cupping her jawbone in a Hollywood inspired romantic screen kiss. Its sweet and caring and adorable and cute all at the same time whilst being a little bit controlling which is always a good thing, at least in my books.
And so I prepare myself for tomorrow - Getting my shirt ironed, making my lunch and preparing for the questions that will ensue. But I shall never Kiss and Tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Well, well, well. What a week it has been, albeit an interesting one. So after last weeks rather cathartic post which can only be described as a messy expression of what is in my head I have thought of little else. How is it dear friends, that I always seem to get myself stuck in predicaments such as these! Now I know you are just itching to find out what happened with myself and what seems so be and increasing number of people being added to what was a very dusty and empty LBB (Little Black Book). So just so we are all on the same page here - My sleepover with Mr. ToyBoy never materialised since he was 'ill' and too sick to come over (No pun intended) and so I spent my Saturday night snuggled on my sofa under numerous blankets watching trash TV and eating banana chips dipped in peanut butter - Seriously if you haven't tried it you need to, although I have yet to experiment with Jam instead of Skippy. Nevertheless my weekend continued and more-so after a disappointing Saturday night in more ways than one I spent Sunday evening in the company of Mr. Warehouse. In fact it went as far as to be the wee small hours of this morning when he finally departed. Now I am not one to kiss and tell, despite my daily trials and tribulations. Ha! Who am I kidding - That's what I do!
I will leave it simply that I had a wonderful time in the company of someone whom I have grown quite fond of. After a few hours of talking and light flirting we ordered a take-away and for a few moments whilst plonking myself next to him on my citrus couch or fetching the sauces I felt as if I had been in that moment for years. It seemed so natural. So easy and simple. As cheesy as it sounds it felt as if it was meant to be. But for now I see Mr. Warehouse now as a close friend that I could share secrets with and tell anything too. Although there are some things I should probably shelter him and his heart from. Taking swigs from our pear Cider I could easily see this developing into one of those cosy little relationships whereby you just lounge around all day eating junk food and get progressively fat, eventually looking like you should have been classed as an extra in The Nutty Professor. Soon things got very deep and with emotional eyes ready to spill the subject was quickly changed to more benevolent matters. Flicking through an old scrap-book Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb made me for my 21st Birthday prompted me to admire how simple my days as a school girl were. As Mr. Warehouse and I paged through my documented life sandwiched into a royal blue, silk-bound book I recalled my first time and shared my experience with my date for the evening ...
-
Another cold, blustery and slightly damp December afternoon and as the winter months drew in I was conscience that my relaxing Wednesday afternoon always felt better in the Summer when I could get away with being late home from school. My school days finished early on a Wednesday and so the ritual was to take a leisurely walk to the other side of town back to my best friend, Mr. First's family home so we could enjoy playing house whilst his mother was out at work and younger sister was still at school. Essentially just an extension of school, our midweek afternoons were spent feeding the dog potato (In which I am pretty sure your not meant to do), making the dinner and drinking sweet, milky tea. Some of my fondest memories were spent up in his attic room with his grey-marled spaniel, having playful pillow fights, gossipping about school and using an orange and our necks pretending to make-out. It was on this cold, blustery and slightly damp Wednesday afternoon in December that something happened between Mr. First and me that would forever change the dynamic of our friendship.
Mr. First and I had finished at around lunchtime and with the usual plan to go back to his and play grown-ups still intact we headed off. As we approached the bend in the road I noted the flickering of street lamps coming on with a tinking noise as they lit up the street in the late-afternoon sun. Oddly we stopped though. Mr. First halting me in my tracks. Saying our goodbyes took longer than usual that time and I know now that this was all a matter of finding some balls. As we went to hug I suddenly saw my best friend turn his head slightly, eyes shutting I knew that this was it. This was going to be my first kiss. Outside! Alfresco! With my best guy-friend! After imagining it in secret for sometime I was secretly happy but bricking myself about what would happen. At fourteen I was completely unprepared and whilst I had watched multiple times alone in my room people make-out on films and TV I never really gave it much thought and just assumed everyone would be good at it and that the whole experience would be all fireworks, rainbows and unicorn farts! That was not the case as the name entails. Mr. First was either very inexperienced or very knowledgeable about how to do this whole 'snogging' thing!
No where to run too and realising this was going to happen whether I wanted to or not I threw caution to the wind for one of the first times in my semi-adult life and accepted Mr. First's lips on mine. As I experienced what it was like to feel another persons tongue for the first time I noted of the slipperiness and how oddly ferocious it all was. "Oh dear lord what is this?", "How do I do it?", "Am I terrible?", "Will he laugh at me?", "Why does it taste like that?", "How am I meant to do this?" and "Where did I put the 'How To Guide'?" were all that I could think about, questions whizzing round my head like a NASCAR race. Passionate as it was I felt as if I was in a washing machine on a high setting with out the option to open the door. Getting into it I felt my face begin to ache. It had never done this before and so was not used to being stretched and tightened in such a way. It was at this point I became aware of the situation. It was getting darker and with less than a fortnight to go until Christmas I was wary that my parents would freak out again if I was not back by sundown. Panicking I must have stopped my mouth from moving in such a way to allow the kissing to continue. As we pulled away from each other I watched a dog walker glare from the other side of the street oblivious to how crucial this moment was in our young lives. Feeling the pull of home and suddenly the impact of what had just happened hitting me like a tonne of bricks I turned and ran away. Without even saying anything I ran away from the boy who gave me my first proper kiss. And I didn't stop until I got home, running all three-miles. Non-stop.
-
I know now as a twenty-three year old that this, my first experience of kissing, is not the norm. And if for those of you it is and you too want to run away from it then please do. There is so much more to life than a bad kisser. There are the softies. The barely there kisses given usually when first getting to know someone or after an argument. Sometimes these soft smooches are given as a way of waking up a loved one in the best way someone can be woken up. Mmm, I like them. Then there are angries. Those hard, hot and heavy ones that are usually given whilst in a heated discussion or argument. Tension filled potentially angry and infected with rage those kisses are best served with lots of passion and side order of rough and maybe a little sprinkle of biting but not hard. Mmm, I like them too. And who can forget the tensioners. The kisses you have when there is a tension build up usually commencing in a 'Yes' vs. 'No' struggle of stubbornness and power to control the situation; Slowly reaching a peak whereby heads become closer, and almost to the point in which you both break out into laughter or enter into the angry kiss as before but continue the cycle round and round and round until one of you finally just says 'Fuck It' and grabs your face.
And that's another thing. When kissing what do you do with your hands and the rest of your body parts. I worry about this all the time. Whenever I am there, in the moment, enjoying (or loathing in many cases) the sensations of making out with someone, I am constantly thinking about what to do with my hands. Where do they go and what do they do? What it the limb etiquette for kissing someone tell me? For a guy its easy - Running your hands through a girls hair is sure to be a winner - At least in my case anyway. But be warned if she has a slick up-do or hair that looks as if it has been combed by a hedge then be warned, she might hit you. If in doubt always go for the neck, gently cupping her jawbone in a Hollywood inspired romantic screen kiss. Its sweet and caring and adorable and cute all at the same time whilst being a little bit controlling which is always a good thing, at least in my books.
And so I prepare myself for tomorrow - Getting my shirt ironed, making my lunch and preparing for the questions that will ensue. But I shall never Kiss and Tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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