If Your Prescence Adds No Value, Then Your Absence Will Not Be Missed

Hiya, 

This time last week I was writing to you all from the grandeur and beauty of mine and Mr. Warehouse's room at the Hotel Victoria conveniently located along the Cornish coastline, right in the heart of Newquay. This time next week I shall be writing to you all hopefully poolside from mine and the Tweedles apartment in (hopefully) sunny Lanzarote, Canary Islands. Oh what a jet setting life I lead! But all that holibobbing doesn't fix some things which was evident this week. 

After not hearing anything from my father in weeks since calling him in agony asking for his help and not receiving it I had refused to answer his pathetic attempts at conversation and apart from a few crumby phone calls when he wasn't already preoccupied that I ignored I had received nothing - Not even an apology. Friday afternoon though, I got a text message asking me to talk to my Dad and explain why I was upset with him. 'Thank fuck for that' I thought 'Finally he gets it and understands why I was (and still am) so upset with him'! I replied something that I thought made the point but also explained that I would not let this ruin our relationship anymore than it already had been. 

"I would have thought it was obvious why I did not want to speak with you after the last time we spoke I had asked for your help when I was in severe pain and you didn't help me at all. No I acknowledge that by the time you got to me I could have got to where I needed to go to get help and be back at home all by the time you had even reached my flat, but what I cannot understand is that after knowing my financial situation what with Mr. Warehouse being out of work as well as the current medical difficulty I was in also, you still chose not to help me. This is not the first time that I have asked for your help and it had not been received, but I can assure you that it will be the last as I will not be asking for your help anymore as I simply cannot rely on you as a daughter should be her Dad. I am still upset and angry but I will see you this weekend I am sure at the family BBQ, but just know that whilst I will be civil and polite to you, your priorities are in all the wrong order and some changes need to be made. xxx" I wrote, emotional but glad I was able to say everything I needed too. Fifteen minutes later I received this reply:
"Right. Now you have had your little rant and said what you want to say - Believe me, my priorities are in good order, but I am deeply embarrassed by you and your actions. I have done everything to assist you and help you where I can and by the best means I have available, and yet you still throw shit in my face. My girlfriend and her family has shown you nothing but love and gratitude from day one and it is YOU who chooses to ignore them and that you do well. She tries to call or text you to give you advice from a female perspective, but you are rude and fail to see that others care for you as well as me. You are all about yourself and what you can get from others. I love you to the end of the world and back but you still wish to make my life hell after the divorce. I thought that WE had put this shit to bed years ago, but there it is sitting under your radar ready to throw at me again. As for you being ill, I was VERY concerned as it was me that called you everyday to see how you were, but you never answered and you never call me, do you? I could not have taken you to the hospital any quicker that a Taxi could have. YOU MADAM have a wonderful boyfriend who loves and cares for you and I could have done nothing to help other than what I did - Sorry it was not enough. You should take a long hard look in the mirror and think long and hard about what you want from life and who you want to spend/share it with because from where I am sitting I am very happy. I don't need enemies in my life but if they are there I know how to handle them. What I love in my life is my partner, daughter, our families and a few choice friends."

Shocked and stunned at what I was reading I drank my coffee as I waited for Miss Stuu to collect me and go to Dinner with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee who were shopping in Milton Keynes. Calling my Auntie for advice she backed up everything I thought about myself, the situation and my life as I know it so far. But as I discussed it round the table with my girlfriends I knew that something was not right. Getting home that night I fell into Mr. Warehouse's arms and sobbed, explaining what a terrible message I had received and why my life was so pants when it came to parental guidance. 

Your Parents are meant to be there throughout everything. Like "Fuck - Mom, I'm Pregnant!" or "Dad I really need your help - I'm in serious trouble" it would always be your parents that you turn to first. Whether its because you have spent all your food money in the first week of Freshers or because you got arrested for doing something unlawful, your parents should always be there for you, supporting you in any and every way they can, be it mentally, emotionally or even financially. That is there job - Right? At least that is what I thought anyway. Obviously I am incorrect in my way of thinking. Now yes, I do acknowledge that I am twenty-four, but I still need me Mam and Dad. Doesn't matter how old you get, there will always be an excuse to go out for some shopping and a cheeky afternoon tea with your mom whilst you bitch about the girls or how shitty your ex was. There will always be a time where you Dad endearingly threatens to beat up a purely-platonic, male-friend of yours, just in case he breaks my heart. Not for me. 

It used to make me so sad when I watched programmes about weddings and saw ladies planning their dream day with their mothers or having girlie pamper nights watching chick flicks with lots of naughty treats. Slowly over time I have had no choice but to accept that my friends and co-workers will have this, but I will not. Over time I have understood this is something through no fault of mine I cannot have. Or at least I thought so. But now with my Father also acting in a way that is progressively shutting me out as the years go on I am starting to wonder if it is me? What did I honestly do wrong to deserve this? What in a past life of mine did I do so wrong that I was dealt not just one lemon, but a whole fucking truck load? 

I have other friends and family members around me that can fill that space, but the principal is that they shouldn't have to. He is my Dad and should step up and be one, not pushing me aside until it suits him. Sometimes I am grateful that my baby Brother (although at twenty this year he is not so little anymore) is not involved in this mess, for if our Dad can barely stretch his time to see or help me then what hope would he have?! In a way I think I can handle it and deal with it on a level, but why should I? Why should I have to put up with the lame excuses why he can't see me or why he isn't able to help me out. No more. Suffice to say the BBQ the follwoing afternoon was a tad frosty and whilst we spoke a few words to each other I was not in any way going to stick my neck out on the line and offer an olive branch.

I will never know why my Dad is "embarrassed" by me and my actions or how I "still throw shit" in his face after the divorce or even how or why I should be seen to make an effort with someone else's family when they rarely bother with me and quite frankly have no reason to include them in a life that has never included them before a few years ago. I love my Father to pieces however I now realise just how selfish and self-obsessed he has always been, even from a young age and that is not going to change just because we all got another year older.  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Like Waiting For A Bus ...

Evening everybody, 

Hope all is well in the land of wherever you be reading, fine fellows. Here in Blightly as some of you may have noticed is fucking freezing. Quite literally - It was snowing here in the 'Shire. Which is why I now in my toasty little flat with a blanket draped over my legs. Yes. I am naked as I write and as brutally honest I could be much more honest with you all on some of my most recent feelings, but I shall not dwell on them before I have to. All in good time. Instead I thought I may share some warmth with you and try my hand at some erotic fiction. Now I must warn you that this is maybe not for the faint hearted and nor should you be reading whilst your Boss is in the same room, besides shouldn't you be managing an Excel Spreadsheet or drafting up a letter. For this is something special, a personal experience, and one that I will never forget - All I can say is ... FINALLY!
Enjoy!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

---

It was a cold and blustery evening in late December when the young, blonde and her current partner, were lying on a pull out sofa-bed, watching junk TV and scoffing even junkier food. After hours of relaxing and laughing in each others company the mood suddenly changed. With the mind racing (and somehow playing Barry White at the same time), she experienced her lovers hot kisses, leaving light wet stains down her pale neck as he trailed down her warm body. In vain, she tried to keep her breathing slow and steady whilst allowing  her spirit to be taken over. Hearts starting to skip, beating harder and faster making the young women breathe heavier as he went even lower. As he cups her supple breasts in each hand she whispers for him to take her nipples to his lips and begin to nibble and suck lightly making her moan softly, throw her head back in pleasure, long, blonde hair tumbling over the both of them, cascading down her voluptuous body. 

"I can feel myself getting wetter with every kiss you place on my smooth skin" she says as he tugs on her chest once more, swiftly making her convulse with pleasure. Slowly his hands start to run across her warm stomach and down to the hips where he holds them tightly, pressing his palms into her pelvis to stopping her body writhing from the pleasure. 

"Its too much. I need you. Now." she pants in his ear. "Take me" she says in deep, hushed tones. Breathing heavy and kissing passionately he grasps her neck and face in his manly hands, tugging playfully on her long locks and she knows to return the favour running her deft fingers through his hair. Holding the nape of her neck as he kisses her - Long, passionate, meaningful kisses. This is making the tension between them harder to resist. 
Slowly she trails her hands to his crotch, playing with the waistband, teasing making him feel the pressure as much she is. Inch by inch she gradually makes it into his tight underwear. Feeling him throbbing in her soft hands she moves him up and down, pacing them both until their breathing gets to the same speed. Feeling him succumb to her charms was exhilarating and knowing this just by looking into his eyes and hearing him groan, she moves faster until he cant take it no more. Releasing himself she ran her fingers along his silky shaft whilst he kissed and bit at her décolletage. 

Grabbing at her waist, he shifted her so she was finally underneath him, revealing the silken bedsheets swaddling the make-shift bed. Looking into each others eyes lust takes hold and suddenly they are pulling at each others clothes violently trying to get them off as quickly as possible, sensually making-out as they undressed. As she ruffles her fingers through his hair, he moves south and in the knowledge of how moist she was, he tugs off her underwear. Finally he bury's his head between her strong, toned thighs and with a strong hold on her pelvis begins to taste her, as hot as the tension between them. She could feel herself getting higher. He could feel it too as they entwine their fingers, steadily climbing to the peak. Again it gets too much for her to handle and just before she climaxes he stops and join's her in the Northern-hemisphere. 

As he clutches something long and pink, bought by someone old, he smiles knowing just what an impact this joyous stick will provide. Smiling he slowly caresses her lower body with the vibrations, holding it close to her making it even more intense and highly-strung than before. She was so sensitive. So moist. So ready. He can tell just how amazing this feels for her and getting more and more excited himself he continues to stimulate her Nether-Region. Harder he presses. Faster he moves. Deeper he thrusts into her and higher she climbs. Oh god. More! More! Please! She begged him to pull her in closer and hold her as she climaxed. Getting hotter she felt the waves she had read about and heard tales of so many times as her and her friends sat around at dinner discussing it. Rolling waves of heat and chill soon enough lead her to the peak. Eye rolling, back arched, body uncontrollably shaking and quivering with excitement she came, her world crashing around her in a spectacular first ever orgasm. He wasn't about to give up though and getting off himself in this torturous pleasure-game as mere seconds later it was in another blazing glory that she climaxed again, coming a second and a third time.  

In the moments that followed he wanted her for himself and as they spend moments staring into each others eyes, all she wants is to feel him inside her, getting deeper and harder. She does not have long to wait as he teases his way into her, prizing her legs apart and squeezing her waist as he enters slowly. Gasping as she feels him stretching her and letting out a little moan he starts to get harder, tensing his manhood as he thrusts into her once more making her cry out in pleasure. She knew by his contorted face that he was not far behind and as she tightened herself around him. She could feel him. All of him. As she whispered breathlessly sweet nothings into his ear and softly bit the earlobes of her partner, he held down her hips, his grip getting harder he let out the longest, deepest, animalistic groan she had ever heard. She felt the shudders from his core as he groaned once more, finishing deep and hard. 

Exhausted he collapses, snuggling his head into her breasts. There they lye for a while as she plays with his face until he pulls her into his chest where they fall asleep in each others arms, both of them blissfully unaware of the world outside and just how different it is, now she has experienced her first orgasm that is!

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town!

Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas, 

So this week after the debauchery and revelry of last weekend's pub visit I am now writing to you from a suspiciously quite flat containing myself and my two cousins whom are in bed and seem to be drifting off nicely. And after a shattering day of running round after children and catering to their needs as well as catching up on chores I am ready for bed too. Alas however I have yet to tell tales of wonder and merriment as Christmas arrived. 

Sitting round the table, adorned with scraps of wrapping paper, glitter and glasses of water nobody really wanted I began to feel a little more in the Christmas spirit of things. After getting fed up of wrapping the night before and feeling like I may have a flu on the way I had been struggling to make sure everything went swimmingly. But this was not my Christmas Day dinner. Oh No, this was the pre-Christmas catch up that Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Stuu and I do every year and this year we were joined by Miss Tweedle-Dee's little brother who in retrospect is not so little now after turning just twenty-one, I think?! The pub was not selected as a venue this year, and thankfully no ex's crashed the party either. Instead we descended on a little American-esk diner just outside of Dunstable and ate until we were ready to puke. A short meet-up, with no drinking or shots (a disappointment to most I feel) however I knew that I would see them all soon, my Tweedles especially. After bidding a farewell to them all I left for the station, presents such as my beloved selfie stick, inflatable crown and yes, a Starbucks Giftcard in toe; And, whilst that evening I, exhausted, fell asleep knowing that in only a few hours I would have to do it all again! 

Christmas Eve was a manic one at work. It was the first Christmas Eve I had ever worked and to my surprise was pleasant and jovial. The phone barely rang and every sentence was followed almost by a chocolate. So. Much. Chocolate. Nevertheless we all sat on tender-hooks, waiting for the call to say we could leave for the day. And after the last Samosa had been polished off (my manager brought them in for us, deliciously hot and potato-ey) we got the call we had all been waiting for. Tightly bundling into the small run-about myself and five work colleagues headed into town for some celebratory drinks before heading home to our families, with no need to see each other until the New Year. However whilst a couple of drinks were the intention, I had consumed more than a couple of bottles before I left the pub. A good five hours of drinking Rose wine had not stead me in a good way, especially since I was now running somewhat late for my dinner with Dad and that now it was also dark outside. Pissed as a fart I stumbled up to my Papa's car, carrying yet more wine and some Beef Jerky for snacking on. Ordering Chinese and settling down in front of the fire after was a luxury and as I slowly sobered up I decided that I should get an early night for Santa would be coming down the chimney shortly and delivering me not only a few nice presents but also a nervous boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse, to my Father's door to spend Christmas day with us. Haha, indeed - Let the festivities begin. 

After spending nearly six more Christmas' fixing my eyelashes into place and feeling like I could create a twister with a blink I crept downstairs carefully, wary that, even though I am twenty-three, Mr. Claus may be hiding somewhere and just ambush me, jumping out at any given moment, making me both cry and loath the yule-tidings. A ignominious Eggs Benedict awaited and after that a nice Irish coffee to stimulate the senses. Soon it was present time and after unwrapping all of mine, a pile which seems to get smaller the older I get, whilst others get larger I could help but wonder as to my last present. A crudely cut out snowflake on some orange card revealing inside that I was getting a new freezer from Santa (and in part my father). Grateful though I was I later learnt that I could have possibly had one second hand, thus sparing some pennies for more presents, but I was beyond caring at this point; I can now have ice cream! Welcome to my humble home Ben, and Jerry. 

As the hours twinkled by in a mass of cooking, idle chit-chat and yet more wine pouring I greeted my grandparents as they arrived, baring gifts also as well as my Grandmother and Grandfather's married-life humour. Watching my elders waddle in and take seats, grumbling politely to one another I knew that one day I would have that. And if after fifty-years together with someone you can't have a laugh together then you might as well give up! I admire my Nana and Granddad, they are the epitome of what I expect and indeed want from a marriage, and at Christmas it is never far from my mind exactly how I would want my own Festive Holidays being spent. 

Just as I finished unwrapping my reems and reems of underwear and socks from the oldies (which in all fairness I needed) there was a buzz. It was Mr. Warehouse. And after going to the wrong door he was now en route to my side, thus saving me from poor jokes and a afternoon of lassitude. Rushing upstairs to perfect my Mrs. Claus outfit and smoothing over my curls I took another swig of pink juice before answering the door to a very, very tense Mr. Warehouse. Waving off his brother who had kindly given him a lift we skipped indoors to the warmth. Barely through the door Mr. Warehouse was knocked for six with hugs and kisses as well as a sturdy handshake from my Dad and Granddad. I could tell the nerves were beginning to subside and slowly within a few moments he was himself again. Whispering in my ear as we were seated for dinner, Mr. Warehouse mentioned the fact that the outfit was not only a turn on but also a massive tease and that I was to wait until I was back home at his that night so he could unwrap me himself. Exciting as that was, I was starting to get drunk again and as my Papi and Mr. Warehouse told me to curb my drinking I could not stop. I loved it, the floppy feel of everything and the looseness of my joints. I couldn't help but laugh and giggle my way through the rest of the day, even through an slightly awkward appearance from my uncle and cousin from my mothers side popping in to say 'Hello' and give me a little something towards my Vegas/New Years Eve fund! 

As we arrived back to home to Mr. Warehouse's home he shared with his mother I was barely through the door myself when I was greeted by a huge encapsulating cuddle that took me quite by surprise. After not having very much, if any at all, contact from my mother I was not used to such embraces from other females. I was glad of it regardless and enjoyed the short burst of affection. I was promptly thrust a gift I had somewhat forgotten about from Momma Warehouse. Opening it she explained how she had noticed I left some pyjamas here some weeks ago and that she saw some fluffy ones I may like. Bright pink and with white rabbits on I soon come to the conclusion Mr. Warehouse's Mom had bought me a onesie for Christmas. Thrilled I promised to wear it to bed tonight and put it to one side as Mr. Warehouse brought out a bag. As I ushered for my Mr. Warehouse to open his he declined and forwardly asked to watch me open mine. After weeks of speculation, guessing, probing and even a little bit of sneaking we were finally about to discover the secrets that we both held. 

My presents included a mammoth Vanilla Cupcake Yankee Candle and a gargantuan, sea-blue dressing gown which now makes me look like the Cookie Monster from Sesame Street. But then the big guns came out and after packing everything away and looking for the next bottle of wine to open I was handed a familiar white bag, sealed with a pink ribbon. Opening my Pandora bag I fondled not one but two velvety silk bags, rich and deep purple in colour. Opening them both I allowed the contents to spill into my palms. Two silver charms tumbled out into my hands and as I gasped I was made aware that there should have been a third and that when Mr. Warehouse got paid again he would buy me the third part of my present, completing the set. Adorable and filled with hot emotion I hugged it out and purred about how wonderful the gifts were. Snuggled on the couch and with the night closing in, our eyes beginning to fall shut, Mr. Warehouse and I succumbed to the bedsheets, but not before making sure another sack was emptied. 

Boxing Day was busy, with most of the day spent in the kitchen, tending to oven finger food and preparing canapés, not to mention baking cupcakes and Brownies. Mr. Warehouse's brothers and their families took over as did their children as well as Momma Warehouse's new Beau, nicknamed by the children as the 'Jolly Green Giant' after stretching over six-foot tall and with a gut looking as though he was eight-and-a-half months pregnant you could tell how apt it was. Soon though it was time for bed and no sooner had my head hit the pillow, myself and Mr. Warehouse were snoozing away - Until Mr. Warehouse that is snores and I have to jab him with something sharp. You see unlike when Miss Tweedle-Dumb, or even on the odd occasion Miss Tweedle-Dee snores, whereby I mutter something and they silence; With Mr. Warehouse I could place his slumbering sole onto the Syrian front-line and he still wouldn't halt his snores. So much so I am kind of looking forward to a night without the interruptions. But then again, I do have to think about not waking up next to him. And then there is the early morning with my cousins?! Oh No! Here's hoping they will stay in bed a little longer tomorrow and let Cuzz lye-in?! Wishful thinking eh ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

What A Difference A Year Makes ...

Hello you, 

Sliding into the itchiness of my office chair I prepared myself for the day ahead. My legs felt as if they were made of unset jelly and I was still a little shaky. Why you ask? Well dearest readers of mine I was recovering. Recovering from my first ever weekender completing two messy nights out on the town with non-stop consumption of alcohol and not much else. Over the course of the weekend there was a few mistakes, a wardrobe malfunction and even a tactical chunder! So lets together relive my first weekend of being twenty-three!

Rolling into work on Thursday morning I placed the eighteen cupcakes in the office with many a gasp and nosey look and they didn't take long to disappear, most of them gone by Elevenses. Making myself a coffee and being wished many happy returns for my special day was as wonderful as I had hoped for. I had some of the best work colleagues and when asked why I didn't take the day off, my reply was simple - Why would I ever want to be anywhere else? Arriving back at my desk there was already some colourful miscellaneous envelopes and a odd voice-mail from my engineers. Sweethearts really. Opening my cards I felt my smile grow bigger. As the day went on we were all treated to a McDonald's Breakfast and when my Regional Sales Representative arrived I got a beautiful little box of chocolates. The day flew by in a haze of congratulations, presents, messages all mixed in with the usual coffee and paperwork. 

As five arrived I grabbing my jacket and headed from the office to meet my Dad in the car-park. Heading out to dinner was going to be special as it didn't happen often and whilst I would have to share him I would still enjoy the company. Arriving at the restaurant I noticed a familiar blue car in the parking lot. With no time to ponder I was ushered out of the car and handed a big bag of presents from my Dad's girlfriend. Hugging and entering the 50's style diner we were seated. But wait! Who was that in my seat! Miss Tweedle-Dee! Miss Tweedle-Dumb! Oh happy days! A birthday surprise only made better for the fact that the evening before I was saying that it sucked that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had to do overtime only to realise it was a porky-pie to throw me off the scent! And so an evening ensued of good food, good company and a near falling over my own feet. There was even a cheeky flash of my arse to the entire restaurant when I was asked to get up and dance with the eateries mascot which was obviously a waiter dressed up in what appeared to be a very creepy dog suit! Falling fast asleep that night I took a moment to look to the stars as I lay awake. 'What a difference a year makes?!' I thought to myself. 'This time last year everyone had just met Mr. Cheese for the first time and was commenting on how the way he looked at me was like nothing they had ever seen before' and as I wondered what life was like a few-thousand miles away I slipped into a slumber. 

Friday morning. Into work bright and early donning a simple pair of jeans and a jumper in anticipation for the evenings debauchery! Another work's night out was nearly upon us and there was still so much I had to do - Get my hair done, sort out work drama's, plan what I was wearing, organise everyone, tidy the flat in case I get lucky, 'de-fluff' again for the same reasons and decide what shoes I will wear. Frantically primping, pruning and pampering I was finally ready to paint the town red with my work buddies! And so with my golden dress, suspender tights, platforms and plastic crown I knew that it was a well-earned night off from being the office stress-head. All the best people were out in force, mainly to celebrate my twenty-third year on the planet but secondly to just get twatted! And twatted did we get. Heading from bar to bar there wasn't a moment my hands were not empty. A double screwdriver turned into two and before I knew it I was downing drink like anything. 

Into the next one we go, Bar Chameleon (Which is ironic since that is where I spent most of my college days in a bar called the same back home in Dunstable), after a few selfies with my little warehouse admirers I was well on my way to losing all decorum which was dangerous given the fact I see more of my work colleagues than I do my Nan. Mr. Warehouse was gunning for something to happen but as shy as he was all that was swapped was a few naughty flirts, admiring gazes and the constant hum from fellow employees that we should just hook up. More drinks down I soon I spotted a pole! Shiny and silver it glistened with spilt drinks and shameful sweat from many a spontaneous moment through the misty smog of the club. 'You are mine!' I thought to myself. But not before I had a cheeky photo with the bouncer and another few cocktails. Heading over to the dance-floor I suddenly without warning or even explanation I found myself wrapping my limbs round that infamous pole, desperately trying not to look like a complete tool. It did not work. At the time I felt stupidly sexy, now I realise I probably looked like a goofy lap-dancer. I would like to think that I looked at least somewhat endearing as I swung round and round nearly breaking my knee in the process. And although Mr. Warehouse had excitedly whipped out his phone and started filming (Yes there is video evidence - No your not going to see it!) I sensed that it may be used as evidence at a later date of just how drunk I really was. 

Third bar we entered was an old favourite. One of the first ever bars I went into as a new resident of Bedford, The Rose had everything you could ask for - Except a pole. Although if they were going to make an addition to the dance floor a podium suits me much better! I can be admired by all! Haha! Getting some more drinks in I could feel my limited fast approaching. Continuing to the dance floor me and my colleagues partied the night away. But as my blood-alcohol level got higher so did the level of outrageously cringe flirting that was going on, and not just between me and Mr. Warehouse. Oh no everyone was at it! It was like an infectious disease. We had been bitten by the Lust Bug and it wasn't about to let go! As people got down and partied on the dance-floor I continued to have a good time. Until that is I felt my seven-inch platforms give way. As I slowmo-ed through the thick air I felt a pair of arms reach out and catch me. Mr. Warehouse - Always there when I needed him! Quickly after though I felt an odd flopping on my foot. Feeling that this was a bad thing I took to the ladies to investigate. Sliding shut the lock on the cubicle door I realised the extent of the issue. My Shoe. It was broke. Not only broke but the entire sole was hanging on mere threads. Saddened that their maiden outing had ruined them I reluctantly slipped them off and popped on a pair of pre-planned pumps hidden in my clutch. 'Good thinking Batman' I thought to myself. Returning to Mr. Warehouse's patently waiting side he queried as to my now lacking height. After explaining what had happened we laughed it off and headed for a boogie! 

Lights on and it was apparently home-time. I didn't want to go home yet. I was twenty-three and still ready to party until the sun came up. Sadly the only place that was open was Subway and what looked like a gentleman's club. After loosing a few people to Cab's home, the few of us that were left headed to the line for the Exec Club and after a good ten minutes of trying to persuade Mr. Warehouse to come into the club with us and then eventually crash at mine he declined and went home in a taxi himself. Shocked that my not-so-secret-admirer turned down a night in my flat with the possibility of some spooning, I attended inside the sports bar where I was greeted by an empty dance-floor, a minimal crowd and a guy who thought that he was coming home with me. Deciding to call it a night I encouraged everyone to come back to my flat and call a cab home from there. As the night came to a close I found myself welcoming my boss, a creepy warehouse guy and a close office colleague into my humble home. Noticing one of my bra's on the floor I quickly threw down my jacket desperately hoping that the first thing my boss saw of my flat was my freshly washed bra just hanging about. Surreal as it was having my boss sitting at my dining table they all soon left, leaving me to put to bed the creepy warehouse guy. Bed for me - Sofa for him. 'No spooning for me tonight!' I thought as I quickly drifted off. 

I woke with a bang in the morning. Saturday. Not knowing what it is I pondered where the noise came from I lay in bed wondering what to do. Then a little head poked round the corner rousing me from slumber fast. It was creepy warehouse guy. The noise had been made by him when he had gone to the toilet and smashed his head on one of my many angled ceilings. After letting him out my flat I snoozed for a while before going into town for provisions for that evenings excitement. 

And so as everyone bundled into my little flat again the drinks began flowing. Champagne, more birthday presents, a phony scratch-card entitling me to over five-thousand fake pounds and a few dangerously brutal drinking games later and it was time to head out into town again. Partying the night away with Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb we chugged down a Jaeger-Bomb each. As soon as it hit my lips I knew what was going to happen. Feeling the cough-syrup taste linger in my mouth I felt the swell in my stomach. Making my excuses I headed for the bathroom hoping I would make it in time. As I climbed the steps I sensed my mouth filling and watering in anticipation for what was to follow. Shutting the cubicle door I could hold it in no more and so out came a fountain of orange coloured watery vomit. Feeling proud of myself that it was so easily exiled from my body I found a glass nearby and placed it on the floor, my drunken state saying that it would look like someone had dropped their drink rather than someone chunking up all over the back of the door. Heading out and washing my hands I saw the cleaning lady and feeling bad I mentioned how someone must have spilt their drink whilst on the toilet. She smiled but we both knew what really happened. After lying through my teeth I left, secretly a little proud that I had got away with something so abhorrently unladylike. 

Whilst on the dance-floor, Miss Stuu, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I met a few friendly faces in town, one of which was Miss Tweedle-Dee's younger cousin on a night out also. Somehow the night ended with her sleeping on my lounge floor on the cushions from my couch. Another friendly face I would love to meet again was one of chiseled proportions and stubble. Taller than me and wearing a powder blue shirt I could tell even with beer goggles on he was a catch. After doing a cheesy reeling-him-in dance move, pretending I was fishing for him he returned the favour by lassoing me from the other side of the floor. In my trusty sneakers I felt much more at ease but with the knowledge that I couldn't really bring anyone back home I called it a night and decided to turn my back on the attractive dancer for as the saying goes - Sisters before Misters!

And so the story ends. A sticky kitchen floor, a body that is only just recovering from the shakes of alcohol withdrawal and three bin-bags later I know now that I can do two nights in a row! Here's to another year! Here's to being twenty-three!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Circus Acts!

Hello Everybody, 

So after last week's date on Sunday I began dating in the modern world. Would 2014 be the year I finally met Mr. Right? Who knows yet, maybe I have already met them or maybe it could be a Mister from my past. All I know is that dating right now has gone from optimistic fun meeting new people and being 'story-up-staged' as I now like to call it, to the drastically different end of the spectrum in which makes me ponder exactly what I even want from my love life right now. And the fact that a certain Monsieur Cheese is never far from the forefront of my mind is never easy. 

Tuesday night I decided to spend some time with the Tweedles and we were met also with the company of Miss Stuu as well. Thankful for a good old trip to the cinema I was glad that whilst conversation was (obviously) about me and my subsequent dates, there was not too much probing. Tindering whilst on the move, I have found, has made me somewhat an addict. Swiping left and swiping right, whether it be on the bus to work, in the pub with friends or even waiting for a Tinder Date to arrive I confess I am a little hooked. I keep thinking to myself that I need a hobby, and meeting up with my Dad at the weekend only confirmed this. I have even thought about getting a bar job or scarier - Joining a gym! Either way I am going to need to occupy myself in the coming Winter months and the best use of my time I think is working towards that holiday fund. Where am I jetting off to I hear you holla? Well its not Costa Del Sol or even Faliraki. Nope. Come March 2015 I shall be hitting up the slots and shops of Vegas baby! Accompanied by Miss Tweedle Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dee's family we shall be jetting off in the spring to have a once in a lifetime opportunity to see a little bit of America! And whilst I am excited about all them burgers, sausage-legs-by-the-pool-bikini photos and bottomless all-night Starbucks, I cant help think about all them American men just ready for a bit of British Blonde! Urgh, roll on 2015! Of course this needs to pay for itself and has only really been made possible with the fact that my job at the company has now gone perm so I no longer have to worry about finances. 

But of course, you guys don't want to hear all about my boring job or even about my super-amazing-awesome trip to Vegas. You wanna hear about the dating scene and how it is all going since my Date with Mr. Moustache, the Thai-Prostitute-Marrying extraordinaire. Well as if things couldn't get worse I went on a date that would leave me wish I could run away to the circus ... NOT!

Standing outside the dodgy pub looking like one of the 'Lost and Founds' inside I started to wonder if my date would even turn up. Had I, Abbey-Louise, been stood up again? Panicking slightly I text friends to put my mind at ease. Worrying that my top was too low I shuffled from foot to foot getting agitated by the waiting game. Everyone that knows me will say that I am always late and never, ever early. I hate it. I hate the early arrival to something, not knowing if guests or other people will arrive and just generally standing around like a Lemon even though you know that they are only parking the car. It just makes me anxious and Wednesday night was no different. Spying everyone walking in or out of the Public House I couldn't clock the guy I had been messaging all week. But then, all of a sudden there he was in front of me and grinning like a Cheshire Cat, me the unbeknownst Alice. Glancing up from my phone and tucking it into my satchel I noticed one thing and one thing only - The hair! Long and curly it was tightly curled coming out from the sides and top of his head. This, coupled with the receding hairline itself and freckled cheeks resembled what can only be described as something from Stephen King's IT. OK, slight over kill there (no pun intended given the novel) but he honestly did look like a clown you would book for a seven-year-old's birthday party. Swallowing every bit of my self in one swift gulp I took the plunge and entered the pub with Mr. Krusty. Although consequentially, after my date with Mr. Krusty there has been many a banter thrown about amongst friends and family how the lack of water-squirting flowers, the colourful honking car and large footwear were all amiss from the date itself. 

Noticing a commotion I made a swift move to cover Mr. Krusty's gaze towards the drunk man being held down by four punters on the sticky bar floor. Too late. My date has noticed and whilst I try to keep the conversation going with the man behind the bar and my Date he is clearly watching the brawl now happening metres away from us. Hoping to uphold Bedford as more than just a booze-bin for the old and unemployed I mentioned the beer garden. Bad Move! After being seated I was told wondrous stories of far off lands that Mr. Krusty had performed in, sorry, visited. 'Gaap yaaar' didn't even come close to some of the things he was telling me. Stories from his time in Indian, America, China, Africa, Australia, Italy and all manner of other place teamed with adventures such bungee-jumping off rickety old rope bridges naked, skiing in the Alps and even cuddling lion cubs. I think that it was safe to say that by the time my Cider was warm, myself and Mr. Krusty would not be riding off into the sunset together. Disappointed slightly that my tales would never compare to his, I resigned myself to the fact that personality and conversational raconteur were far too established and well-travelled for me. 

As I genuinely struggled to concentrate on the fabulous adventures of my date with a circus act, I noted that a rather hairy bearded man had seated himself at a table opposite us. Clearly listening into our conversation for once I tried to blend into the background. Unfortunately being on a first date we stuck out like a sore thumb. This was not however a problem until his friend turned up. Now I would like to think I am far from naive (I'm not) but suddenly outside of the table containing two pints and a dithering will to live was a far greater story unfolding. A handful of purple twenty pound notes were exchanged for a hidden hand shake. I knew what it was but the drug dealers were not satisfied with giving away kicks, they wanted to get some of their own and so pulled up a chair or two to listen into a Date with Mr. Krusty and I. Laughing and snickering at the company I was in the coked-up criminals started to mock my Date and as a result we both took note. Ears becoming pricked we heard a slur referring Mr. Krusty's look to a TV character. Now I know that throughout this experience so far I have spoke of my drink-date with Mr. Krusty, the clown look-a-like, as something from a cartoon for kids, but that is my prerogative. I had to endure that date so I should be able to speak of it as I will without the input from smacked-up weasels looking for there next fix in the back end of a local pub. Regardless of this though I continued conversation, trying to ignore the glares from our onlookers and upon explaining that a ''Friend'' of mine (actually Mr. Cheese but somehow I realised I spoke too much of him and should now refer to him as a friend instead of The Ex) was studying Classics our audience of one spoke up whilst his friends were at the bar. 

"Classics!" The bearded man bellowed in an friendly, enquiring manner. I replied with a simple yes and attempted to continue. My Date had other ideas! 
"Are you a teacher?" Mr. Krusty asked politely. Snapping back the sunken eyed man quipped "Do I look like a teacher of Classics to you, Mate?". Trying to calm the gentleman rudely interrupting my hilarious date by clarifying his studies, rolling off terms I had investigated with my dear Mr. Cheese on lazy Sunday's only weeks ago. Sophocles and Euripides were amongst those discussed with works such as Antigone and Oedipus. For a split second I felt as though I had a little part of my Cheese back, but then I was thrown back into the moment only to realise my Date was going from bad to worse by the minute. Finishing off my pint I decided it was home time and getting up from my metal framed chair I felt wavy from the alcohol. "Am I drunk? No, I cant be ... " I thought. Walking through the hot pub and out into the cooler evening air I prepared myself for a walk home and maybe even another Tinder sesh. My date had other ideas though. 

"Do you want a lift home?" Mr. Krusty kindly asked. Mentioning how close it is to town I declined. 
"Well at least let me walk you home?" Mr. Krusty insisted. After mentioning that it was a good half hour walk to mine and that it was getting dark he still kept at it. Finally giving in I accepted his offer to walk me home. As we chatted of politics and current affairs on the way home conversation turned towards the weekend and our plans. Mr. Krusty headed up the argument for a second date with a trip to Woburn Safari Park and Zoo. Slightly sick to my stomach, I couldn't bear the thought of going to a place so special and close to my heart without Mr. Cheese. I mean that was one of the burning images and memories of a time much better and easier than the end. I declined the offer stating that the new systems coming into work would have me tied up most of Saturday and Sunday anyhow. Turning into my street I motioned for him to let me finish my journey to my door alone. The hint was not taken and thus here I was standing outside my flat making an awkward goodbye to a curly-haired ginge. 

"Can I have a kiss?" Blurted out my date as I was mid-sentence about something clearly not as important. Trying to pretend I did not hear I continued with the importance of my sentence. He said it again. I couldn't escape it this time. I had finished what I had to say and couldn't think of anything to change the subject too. I hesitated for a few minutes trying to think of a way out. Panic set in. "Who even asks for a kiss nower days? Mr. Cheese didn't ask for a kiss, he just went for it. Why are men so British!" I thought as I tried to think of a nicer way to say no. I couldn't and before the poor mite asked again I just said yes and prayed to a god that doesn't exist that it would all be over soon and I would be hopelessly laughing and crying about it to the Tweedles. Following up what was honestly a pleasant smooch with the casual and somewhat now awkward farewells I turned and walked inside my front door. Collapsing on my couch I surrendered myself to yet another unsuccessful date. After a optimistic outlook from Miss Tweedle-Dee over the phone I made some dinner and then proceeded to my covers to sleep off the Scrumpy before work tomorrow. Rule number four about dating and life in general: Never drink on a school night. 

As the end of the working week approached I rounded off my week with some casual drinks with a male colleague from work on Friday night. Leaving the office I was told by the Office-Bods to play nice and not to bite too hard - whatever that meant. I knew since that first initial meeting on our works night out that Mr. Warehouse was clearly infatuated with me. God knows why. But somehow he had plucked up all his courage to ask me on a date. Throwing caution to the wind and knowing that no matter what happens at least it is an experience that can later be reflected on in writing to the world in my weekly blogg, I said yes. Truth be told it had been set up as a cosmopolitan date, playing pool and drinking pints in a quiet local pub near where we both worked, although my initial throughout the date I felt more and more that it was just another after work drink with friends. There was some mild flirting and I definitely did not hold back on my story telling, bedroom adventures included! We spoke at length about stuff that was irrelevant in retrospect but also about work and our interests. All in all it was probably the best date I have been on so far this year (excluding the dates including Mr. Cheese, they don't count). I suppose as I waited in the beer garden for Mr. Warehouse to arrive I was calmer and more relaxed than before, maybe in the knowledge that after Date Number One turning out to be possibly still married to a Asian Prostitute and Date Number Two being an extra from Zippo's Circus, Date Number Three couldn't get much worse. I enjoyed myself and there was even a bashful period of constant laughter, something I can not remember ever doing with Mr. Cheese. 

Whether a second date is on the cards for Mr. Warehouse and I, I don't know. Second date is a big thing, I suppose it means that you find them at least in some way boyfriend material. But I am just not sure if I want that right now. I think I am far more bruised than I thought about Mr. Cheese's departure and sites of Bedford bridges in the summer sun at the Bedford River Festival at the weekend, teamed with photo's of Darlington Station don't help. I suppose in a way I have to accept, whether I like it or not, that despite our tracks crossing, the train has now left. 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wayward Wedding and Some Birthday Banter!

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx

Evening One and All, 

Following last weeks commencement of the blog and with exercise aside, I have been trying to eat healthily so lets just try to ignore my weekend of binging on junk food and all things calorific. I feel I may need to join some of my new work colleagues on their diets - The 5:2 being one of them! Nevertheless I feel a lot better for indulging in some extra fitness stuffs over the past week and I feel that some of the tension, anger and aggravation has helped in keeping me motivated and powered me through the waters of local swimming pools. This last week though has been a tad of a busy one indeed for me. What with swimming and catch-ups with Miss Chocolate I am glad that I have somewhat of a twenty-something's social life again, although financing it may be another thing to contend with. Nando's don't come cheap you know! A manic first half of the week meant that I was incredible tired and whilst I tried my best to catch up with the zed's pending the late night of the wedding on Friday it was much in vain as there was and still is something or someone to do or speak to. Thankfully though I have been able to battle on through this Bank Holiday weekend with little sleep, although I think coffee and a relaxing vegging-Saturday helped. 

So indeed the wedding. My first wedding. Not mine obviously. Haha, need to find a groom first (Don't even think about it! I have already had thoughts entailing the current Beau and wedding bells and I am certainly not in a position at twenty-two to be in-sickness-and-in-health-ing anyone!). Following a much needed and pleasant lie-in I fry-curled my hair within an inch of its already dead life and fixed myself into a floor-length navy dress. It was a halter neck, only bought with the intention of showing boobs and not legs as at present I felt these were my better of the two assets, not that I was trying to impress anyone of course. Although it was a busty little number I didn't think that it was too much until Pappa-bear had mentioned it upon me getting into his car en-route to the ceremony. Taken aback by my fathers comments I had to agree that maybe it wasn't the best choice of wear I had ever made. Arriving at the parent's of the bride's house we were greeted by the bridal party as well as Miss Bride herself. Swishing down the stairs and with camera's flashing in every direction my thoughts enviously turned to when it will be my turn. She looked beautiful. A stunning white full, A-line ball gown neatly hugged Miss Bride's already curvaceous figure and with a sheer shrug to cover her shoulders she looked a picture. Handing everyone champagne, my father took it as his duty to congratulate the party and toasted to Miss Bride and her entourage. Tapping our plastic glasses together we all hurried round fixing button holes and taking photos. Getting shoes on and retouching hair and make up there was still so much to do before the car arrived. A few moments later the busy street outside came to a halt as Miss Bride and her maids stepped out into the less-than-wonderful British weather. Drizzling slightly I grabbed some bit's and bobs from the bridesmaid's and with My father, his girlfriend and a family friend of the Bride's we made our way to the ceremony.

The music started playing. The guests rose from their seats. Everyone hushed. The doors were flung open and as the gasps subsided, Miss Bride and her proud father entered the room. Whispers echoed about the dress and the bridesmaid's, camera's already snapping as was I. As photographer number one I grabbed prime position at the front of the hall. Such photo's have yet to be broadcast on social media and even gone through by myself so as to had back to Miss Bride and her now Husband, but I am pleased to say that I got some memorable shots. Finishing her last walk of freedom, Miss Bride turned to face her fiancé and spoke of the same vows I had heard only a matter of weeks ago. Beautiful verses from the both of them explaining how much they care and love each other and how they plan to spend their many days, months and years making each other happy. With tears welling up in the audience's eyes, I took some more photograph's, making sure I captured every moment of the pair's special day. After pronouncing them Husband and Wife the crowded room erupted into a joyous boom of cheers and claps. Swaying down the aisle hand in hand, their smiles were infectious. 

After spending a fair while doing what I was meant to be doing - taking photo's, we all headed over to the reception venue which turned out to be my prom venue too. Memories of that night flooded back to me as a sixteen-year-old emo-kid with long blonde hair and a figure I would die to get back. Entering the venue and grabbing a bite to eat we all sat to listen to the speeches. I shan't go into too much detail as I feel that these are personal and should be kept as such, much like the ceremony itself. However whilst they were entertaining and witty, they were also heartfelt and emotional with the Father of the Bride talking fondly of how his little baby girl got to where she is today. It moved me thinking about what my own father might say about me on my wedding day with all my friends and family surrounding me and my new Husband by my side. Pending the talky bits another toast was pre-empted and yet again we all raised our glasses to the bride and groom. Partying away the night it was a fine affair and it even entailed an encounter with Mr. DJ but the less said about that one the better. Dancing to all the cheesy hits that are typically played at weddings we had several dance-off's, a circle-pit and even a hoe-down at one point. An enjoyable evening all round and something I am sure we will all remember for a very long while! 

Saturday I awoke with a heavy head. In need of paracetamol and coffee I soon found some and made my way to the couch where I engaged in a day long affair with it until I returned to my own bed. Waking on Sunday morning however I was up bright and early to make my way to the station to meet with Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Stuu and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's little sister for a day out in sunny Brighton. And what a day that was! After finally arriving in Brighton nearly three hours after I initially set off, we pottered round the boutique stores, having a quick pop in Choccy Wocky Doo Dah and ogling at the sparkly engagement rings in the millions of jewellers (Yes, were girls that's what we do!) we finally made our way to the beach. Positioning ourselves in between the black burnt out carcass of the old pier and the newer although noticeably dated, famous white Brighton pier. As the sun beat down on us I revelled in the sunshine, soaking up the warm weather like a sponge knowing that come Tuesday morning at my desk I shall be craving a summer holiday yet again and with a Boyfriend that has expensive taste's such as the Maldives, Fiji and Costa Rica I doubt that a holiday with him would be as low budget as a holiday with the Tweedles. Disregarding my thoughts of a much-needed holiday I sat and thought about my weekend and how much I had done already. Knackered I laid out on the pebbles and proceeded to get tanned. Well, burnt mainly but it will turn brown soon enough!

Taking a walk along the wooden pier I mentioned how we should do this again before the end of summer, maybe making it a proper weekend and maybe even a night out. With Brighton being the capital of Britain's gay scene I can imagine a night out here would be miles better than back home in the Shire. Pipe dreams aside it was time for some dinner. Fish and chips were decided and the beach was to be our choice of restaurant once more. Only this time I had to make a bathroom stop prior to us leaving the extended arm into the English Channel. Why I hear you ask? This is why ... 

Minding my own business and watching an up market photo-shoot take place beneath the pier I waited for the others to finish on slot machines and their own toilet fiasco's. As the others arrived and we all motioned to leave I felt a warm wet splash hit my shoulder. At first I thought maybe some kids had thrown something at me, but in my heart I knew it had come from many metres above my head. Airspace. Airspace that is shared not by maleficent children but by birds. Seagull. Yes. For the second time in my life I had been shat on by a sea bird. Squealing and turning my shoulder to my friends I asked them to point it out. Squawking themselves they refused to shift the shit off my body. Instead, as they had the first time it happened back in Middle School, they took to laughing at me. Finding the funny side of the situation I grabbed some tissues from my bag, pulled off my cardigan and cleaned the area. By this point it is now in my hair and much to my dismay had started to dry. Taking myself off to the bathroom, ready to argue with anyone who shouted at me for skipping the long queue for the ladies I washed myself and the shit from myself and then made my way back to the Girls who were now standing their literally wetting themselves. As we walked off the pier I shouted at every web-footed mammal with wings I saw, cursing it for using me for a toilet. I had my own toilet troubles last week, I did not need them again this week! Sitting here now I can actually smell the poo but suffice to say I am now doubly lucky in terms of being crapped on and should now be hailed as Queen of the Gulls! *Insert bird noise here*

All in all the weekend was a success and as a result I have not only had a blinder of a Friday night with loved ones and family, but I have also spent it with friends. So as a thanks and congratulations I would like to dedicate this blog post not only to Miss Tweedle-Dumb for reaching the ripe old age of twenty-two today, but also the beautiful Miss Bride and her Groom. I hope you all had as wonderful time as I did. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Confessions of a Lustful Job Hunter!

Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx

Morning All, 

And so my first week of unemployment has melted away before I even have a chance to understand fully what I am actually going to do with myself. Grateful for the understanding nature of friends and some family this week I have been well supported with my job search. Although I thought that after loosing my job would be the worst thing in the history of the universe I have actually been surprised with the amount of feedback and the successfulness in finding work if you want it. 

Following a telephone interview with a well-know camera manufacturer I bagged a 'real' interview at their Bedford HQ on Wednesday morning. Running slightly behind schedule I made it in time to meet the ladies who walked me through my interview and also the women whom I chatted on the phone to as well. The role itself was pretty simplistic and I wasn't wholly thrilled by the fact that it would only be until the end of this year covering maternity leave, but with a two-thousand-pound bonus at the end of the contract and the possibility of being taken on permanently, I didn't really have ground to complain. Thus don't start asking me for a discount on lenses and filming equipment just yet as I unfortunately didn't make the cut for the second stage interviews and so the ideal of working within a company that made the selfie that much easier was dashed. 

Wednesday also held for me much more good news as after I had finished my hour-long interview with my first potential employer I attended another interview at a Fire Safety establishment in a industrial park just outside the town centre. Arriving to the premises after getting slightly lost I was ready to shine. And that I did. After another hour-long interview which felt more like a lengthy and fun chat about credit control I was let loose back onto the streets of Bedford to hunt down that all elusive job with a healthy salary and good atmosphere to match. Luckily for me the gentleman that interviewed me on Wednesday at the Fire Safety place wants me back along with another lady to go head to head in the second stage interviews this Thursday. Wish me luck!

I wasn't finished at just two interviews Wednesday as I had to attend a meeting at the local hell hole - The Job Centre. walking into the meeting I was ushered over to what looks like a pimped up 18th century school class room with chairs that had easels attached for writing down important stuff. As this wasn't the first time I signed on I wasn't expecting what happened, which was essentially a group lecture on job searching and about claiming off the state. Brilliant! As if every one of us in the room needed another punch in the stomach to wind us of all self-worth and motivation. Thanks coalition government!

Still not having eaten I headed to the train station and boarded a train to St. Albans, a city in which I hold much favour. It was one of the first places I had come as a young adult on a shopping trip with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and subsequently visited with Mr. Workaholic but obviously not for anything other than seeing work colleagues and finding out which one of them had recently been struck off work for dealing in cocaine. Nevertheless, exhausted as I was I multi-tasked by walking swiftly to the agency office in the town centre whilst conducting another telephone interview with another agency based back home in Luton. I know right, how skilled I am!

Thursday was much the same as Tuesday whereby I used the time I would usually be at work slaving over spreadsheets and paperwork scouring the web for the next best positions in my area. Following my Job Centre lecture I learnt that there was truth in what I had always told people and that the majority of jobs are now posted online. In fact the figures we were given as in-between-jobbers was that over seventy percent of jobs are now never even posted on the net, employers preferring to source potential candidates themselves or in my instance just add the workload to the employees already busting their ball-sacks working as hard as they can. Companies would favour 'Twitter' rather than going through and agency or website and paying fees for such services that they could easily get for nothing via social media. 

The week was rounded off with another interview with a flooring company in which they loved me so much they invited me back today for a tour of the office space and warehouse as well as to meet the team. A lovely bunch and I must have done something right being the first person that they saw at 10:30am on a Friday morning and wanting me back in their offices Monday afternoon. The vibe I get is that they are eager for me to join as am I although I wonder if maybe I can hold out on giving them a definitive answer by the end of the week as I would like to see where the rest of my interviews this week get to. I have five lined up for the days ahead. That, coupled with the eight I had last week means that in every sense on the phrase I am getting their. I would say slowly but surely but everything had sped along so fast this week I haven't even had a chance to think about being out of work. 

It wasn't all hard work though as Wednesday evening was spent with my favourite girls; Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Stuu. Yet again our conversation turned round to the topic of sex, boys and relationships. Most topics of conversation were covered I feel, making us more aware that yes, every female in the land has experienced the compression of air in the Southern Hemisphere whilst being in the presence of a naked man. Yes, the aptly named 'Fanny Fart'. Gross as it may sound these are things that ladies speak of. In fact the conversation didn't stop their as talk soon turned to the ''apparently'' best bit about pleasure. The Orgasm. Now I myself am able to come and whatever is happening down their feels amazing when done right but I don't think I have ever experienced 'The Big O'! I mean what is it? Where does it come from? And most importantly how the hell can I get one?! You see I am not one for self-pleasure or masturbation as such and despite my abundance of toys I am still unable to get myself off. Its not that I don't know what I like because I do, god knows I tell the men that have come in and out (Don't laugh) of my my life what I like and don't like but I am just not able to do it myself. Maybe its the fact that I know what is coming (Naughty) or whether I prefer someone else's touch even if it isn't quite hitting the right spot. 

I am a difficult one I feel; easy to please when you know how to but somewhat unrelenting in my appetite lately. I feel sorry for Mr. Cheese sometimes for having to put up with my thirst for bedroom exercise. Sex is something that for me makes all my problems go away. Not to say that I am an addict or anything but that is my go to when I feel lonely or stressed or sad or loving or angry, anything. I'll give you an example. Last weekend I saw Mr. Cheese himself and after a lovely meal we settled in front of the box for a bit before bed. Getting up from the couch I whispered in my boyfriend's ear seductively to come meet me in the bedroom in five minutes. After leaving a salivating other-half on the sofa to stew I flung my clothes on the floor and dressed myself in nothing more than a football shirt and suspender stockings. Laying myself bare on the bed I lit some candles and set the mood for a night of lustful intentions. Entering the boudoir I hoped for the passion to be ignited. Unfortunately after what felt like an eternity of teasingly fantastic foreplay and being thoroughly ready for some action I was informed that despite my effort, enthusiasm, suspenders, stockings, football shirt and lack of a bra the Boyfriend just wasn't interested. Shocked and stunned by what I was hearing the lights went on, teeth were brushed and I was forced to accept that I wouldn't be getting laid. Feeling deflated, unattractive, anti-sexy and questioning everything about us I fell asleep. The excuse that Mr. Cheese was tired were justifiable but nevertheless nearly every man on the planet has that as a fantasy and by his own admission had said it was one of his quoting that I should do it when his flat mates were out so as not to make too much noise. 

But on the other end of the spectrum I seriously worry about my being and whether I am normal. Is it normal for a women to have such a high sex drive? I don't know? It has always been a happy medium of sex-initiation's prior to Mr. Cheese but I feel now sometimes that he only obliges to my panders because he wants to appease me rather than him also wanting to partake. I am usually quite a relaxed person generally but lately I have been feeling more tense and stressed almost on a daily basis. The last time I felt like this I was with Mr. Workaholic and it was just a simple case of getting naked for him and that was it I would be pounded within an inch of my life only to then fall asleep blissfully unaware of the train-wreck it would eventually end in. Sadly with a Boyfriend in London it seems my stresses shall have to wait. It is at time like these where I feel my back tighten and my body ache a little that I know I need a really good seeing too, someone to come and ruin me. Don't get me wrong I love when its slow and rhythmic with an intense build up knowing that I will hit peak soon although sadly it ends with the man finishing too early. But Hey I can't blame him it does blow your mind when it is at the same pace, slow and steady. I think maybe I need to experiment more with myself. 

So off I hop to dust off my rabbits and get my rocks off - Just in time for Easter!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Falling Out and Flying High

Hi, 

I sometimes wonder to myself why I make company with the people I do. They are very odd, permanently hilarious and sometimes a bit stroppy but nevertheless they are both a good waste of my time and an even better use to spend it. And this weekend has been no exception ...

So Thursday after work I hopped on the train with all my luggage for my weekend in Birmingham with the Tweedles and Miss Stuu and then onto London afterwards to have a photo-shoot and see my dearest Mr. Cheese I went to dinner with Miss Chocolate. Now this proved very interesting not only to discover that I have my wing-man back, but she has also rekindled an old romance, although I am sure she wouldn't call it that by a mile. Still it was entertaining to watch her waddle across the car park, screaming in agony at the fact that her lover had quiet literally left her 'walking funny'. After a ravishing conversation about sex and the in's and out's of what we both like and crave from a partner in the bedroom I finally arrived at my last destination of the evening, Miss Tweedle-Dumb's house. Waving goodbye to Miss Chocolate as she whizzed off in her little white car I took a step back in time entering Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family home. I was greeted by the dogs as well as the rest of the family before we escaped to her teen-hood bedroom to gossip and tell stories. Soon though hunger took over for my old friend and on went the coats to brace the twilight breeze. And so off to get fast food we went!

Fast it was not though. And so whilst I was lapping up my ice-cream (yes at eleven o'clock at night) Miss Tweedle-Dumb fizzled with angry-anticipation in the drivers seat and the more laughable the situation. Finally the cheeseburger Miss Tweedle-Dumb had ordered arrived. Cold. But her hunger was satisfied and her mood had improved thus no-longer hangry (By the way 'Hangy' is where you get so hungry you get angry because of a empty stomach). Settling down under the covers in my usual position on the floor of Miss Tweedle-Dumb's small room dressed in a unicorn onesie we giggled as we watched re-runs of British box sets until we fell asleep. The following morning we awoke to a call from Miss Tweedle-Dee stating that is about time we got up and ready to leave. So much for our lye-in. Well it was half-ten I suppose. I would have had half of the days work done by now if I hadn't taken the day off. After being prised from our beds we each took it in turns to shower and get ready before jumping in the car to collect Miss Tweedle-Dee and hit the road, picking up Miss Stuu along the way.

After a six hour car journey, a breakdown, several karaoke tracks, a coffee break and meeting a look-a-like boy band we had arrived at the hotel. But things were only just getting interesting. You see in the beginning of this tale it was only planned to be myself and my Tweedles and so we had booked a room for such. However after a conversation somehow, somewhere Miss Stuu ended up coming along too. Although no one thought about the fact that it was too late to change the hotel booking and even if we did it would cost us a hell of a lot more than what we originally paid. So we had only one other option, and that was to sneak Miss Stuu into our room without the hotel staff finding out. Now as successful as this was over the weekend I definitely would not be doing it again in a hurry given that it did cause some very big concerns and at times a lot of tension. Quickly unpacking we headed straight back out again. Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee went to a rock gig whilst Miss Stuu and I got to know each other a bit better over some sophisticated cocktails and boy-chat. Granted we did end up getting quiet drunk on not a lot of cocktails but nevertheless was better than spending the night in waiting for the others to come back to the hotel. Although it ended up that's exactly what we ended up doing.  Once our drinks were empty, Miss Stuu and I went back to the room and read magazines in bed until we could here the trundle of drunken stomps down the hall outside. Yes they were home ...

As Miss Stuu and I sat in bed like Mommy and Daddy Tweedle, we watched our babies wander around drunk and hanging out their arse like alcoholics at Bargain Booze. Miss Tweedle-Dumb had come home with a poster of the lead singer whom she is convinced he copied her hairstyle whereby Miss Tweedle-Dee had spent more money on a top than I had on t-shirts in the past year. Giggles and laughter descended into the night until we all fell fast asleep, only to be woken by Miss Tweedle-Dumb's horrendous snoring throughout the night, but I knew this may be the case and so had armed myself with a barrage of shoes, hairbrushes and a TV remote to use in the battle against the snore! And it would work; for a few moments; until she fell back asleep again. 

But as Saturday morning broke all of the previous night's antics were washed away as were the panda eyes as we prepared for a day of shopping in one of the countries biggest shopping malls. The Bullring! Although I was on a mission to find something nice to wear at my photo-shoot on Monday I was no-where near as determined to find an outfit as Miss Stuu for her graduation the same day. So as we trundled in and out of shops after her, looking at all the pretty dresses I couldn't help wonder what it would feel like to be pretty and skinny just for a day. To try on anything and make it look even moderately good. With her curvy bum, long legs and tight waist; Miss Stuu was definitely envied for her features and while she could have easily graduated in a bin-liner and some sticky tape, she decided on a little monochrome number from the High Street. Heading back to the hotel, feet aching from all the walking we had all done it was decided that maybe tonight we should go out and explore what Birmingham had to offer. It wasn't a mad one, simply because we were mostly skint and tired from shopping. But that isn't to say we didn't have a memorable night. Oh no! I shall be brief in saying that the night started with food and several drinks and  ended with us in fits of laughter, one of us nearly weeing and another trying to make accessories from left-over dinner. Please not that onion rings do not make good bangles.

Sunday was a lazy day and relaxed as we wandered around an Aquarium looking at fish, sharks and other sea life whilst taking selfies under the water! Very fun indeed until Miss Tweedle-Dee started a war with me over a social-networking site for articulating another side to an unfolding story which I myself had no initial involvement in, nor a belief for what had been said or asserted. After being called a homophobic disgrace for a best-friend we barely spoke the journey and it hurt me bad that Miss Tweedle-Dee of all people would think that of me; a liberally laid-back, down to earth, twenty-something female whom has no problem sharing her own sexuality and or with the expression of others. After the Sea Life Centre was done we all bundled into the car for long journey home, after which I would still need to make it into London. After a long old day and an even longer weekend I quickly dosed off in the back of the car as we hurtled south on the motorway. 

A sultry evening followed when I finally arrived in London just after half-ten at night with Mr. Cheese consisting of snoozing in bed between light kisses and whispers of sweet nothings, but not before some surprising love-making whereby my favourite foreplay made a welcome appearance that hasn't been seen since my birthday. I am glad that it is not just a Christmas and Birthday kind of thing. I'm a girl who enjoys giving as much as receiving and am happy to lay back and think of England whilst someone goes to town on me. I think with a little more practise and I could be flying higher that heaven every time Mr. Cheese works his magic. And it wasn't just foreplay. The sex matched the raunchiness that was preludes, so much so that even as I collected my stuff from his flat in West London on Monday after my photo-shoot and make over I just couldn't help but to have him one last time. Jumping on-top of him I made sure that he was given something to think about on the long tube journey to work the next morning. And the next morning. And the next. Definitely the most earth-shattering, hard, and exhausting sex I have had in a while and as we came together in a long, drawn out orgasm to finish on I can't see that Mr. Cheese would be complaining that I did so. Mmm, this leaves me anticipating the next time we meet ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx