Country-Bumpkin Here I am!

Bonjour Mon Ami! 

We. Are. In. And apologies for last weeks missing post as I am sure you were all gripped onto your screens just waiting to here when and what was happening - Unfortunately Country Bumpkin life means signal is poor and Internet is poorer! 

Ahh Yes - The moment has come when Mr. Warehouse and I are now fully moved into our new home! I am officially broke and terrified of Adulting! Shit just got real! After multiple handover's and changes and problems galore, including a whole mess up with our housing plans, dimensions and specifications, we are finally in. Nevertheless, after receiving the devastating news that our entire property had been mis-sold, Mr Warehouse and I received an email from the Housing Association detailing that nearly a week earlier than planned, they had taken handover of the property and after consulting our solicitor we finally agreed upon a date! Five days on from then we would be picking up the keys and becoming home owners for the very first time! 

Now I am hardly going to lie to you and say that the move or dismantling and remaking of furniture was difficult and fraught with arguments aplenty. I am sure that IKEA has been cited as a cause on many a divorce paper for failure to evoke pleasantries between loved ones! Mr Warehouse has continued to stress out throughout the entire process of moving home and is not making it any easier for himself when it comes to finding an item in particular. Buried under boxes and boxes of furniture and worldly possessions for the last few months I was certainly glad as I thought that this day would never come but I am so I am incredibly happy to be in my nice new, clean home with straight walls and no nooks or cranny's to try and keep clean. No pot smoking neighbours upstairs with their scatty ratty dog and barking at all hours of the day and night. No more living on one level with only a few steps between the whole property. No more patio or grubby garden. Thank the heavens for heard work and determination for I was laughed at the beginning of the year when I said to Mr Warehouse that I would buy a property in 2018. And you know what. I fucking did it. 

We have been in the house now for a week or so officially and still have yet to put up a few more shelves and lots of pictures to make it feel more homely. I am positive that this will happen within the coming days as I am in preparation for mine and my Husband-To-Be to host our very first party. The first of many I hope - Although don't tell him that, he'll have a shit-fit. Ever since Mr Warehouse proposed to me on a cold autumn afternoon walk with Pooch in a wooded car-park I simply couldn't wait to tell everyone so they can share in the news and celebration of our engagement together. But on top of that we have just moved into our first home and would like to also show this off too. The Babe said that I was not allowed to have either party let alone two of them so I have combined them together to give us an Engagement Warming - Half Engagement Party, Half House Warming. 

And so here we are. All settled into the idyllic countryside estates of Cranfield! Just dress me in Wellies or Tweed and call me a Country-Bumpkin! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

The Key To Our Future

Ola Senors! 

Finally the day has come where Mr. Warehouse and I are within touching, tasting and smelling distance of our new home! To that in less than 24 hours I will be officially a homeowner, joining the league of people who end up staying at home binging on box sets and not going out on the lash for lack of money as every penny is been eaten up as they have joined the mortgage club. 

Gone are the days of controversial blog posts about "The Story of a Generation Robbed" and Wish I Was Born In The 80's! where I felt like a disadvantaged generation that has to fight for everything just to make ends meet. The world has moved on from the days of past generations and whilst I am now able to pay for just about anything using my mobile phone and share my opinion on something called "social media", my generation still struggles with the simple things such as getting a fair wage in the workplace and a decent place to live - Rented or Mortgaged! However, a few weeks ago I had a phone call from the Housing Association stating that the list of snagging given to the builders the last time over a fortnight ago had not been done at all and now we were to be expecting a provisional new Handover of 31st October 2018. But on top of all that was the bombshell that the floor plans we were initially shown at the point of sale were wrong. And not by a little either. 

The plan that my Fiance (I still like saying that) and I were sold was that on the ground floor as you come in the front door you would be greeted by the staircase on your right hand side. To your left would be the kitchen in a horse shoe shape with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall. Next door on the left hand side would be the downstairs bathroom which would include a privacy window facing out to our driveway. Entering through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be rectangular Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and leading out into our large garden through a patio door which would also have an adjacent window. Whilst the layout of the ground floor still contains the staircase on your right hand side and the same horse shoe shaped kitchen with the door facing the oven on the exact opposite wall, the downstairs bathroom was now to be positioned under the stairs on the right rather than the left meaning that a privacy window would not exist. Continuing through the door at the other end of the hallway to the front door would be a now "L-shaped" Lounge/Diner, stretching the length of the property and eating into the area where the downstairs bathroom was supposed to be. 

Upstairs on the first floor following on from the stairs positioned on the right-hand side of the property, we were expecting to have the main bathroom right in front of us with a large privacy window so as to allow for natural light, followed by the two double bedrooms to the front and the back of the property. Although this had changed from our initial plans and now will be the main bathroom sandwiched between the two double bedrooms and will not include a privacy window potentially making it dark and unnaturally lit.

After getting over the fact that the Housing Association knew all along that the floor plans, initial dimensions and specifications for the house had changed in the very early days of the build process, even before any bricks had been laid, I calmed explained that Mr Warehouse and I will need to view the property in person before we make any snap decisions. 

Of course she obliged and despite asking for months and months for a viewing of the property in whatever condition or state it was in within a few hours and by end of play that day we had a two hour slot to visit our new home and it's all new layout. Our contact at the Housing Association assured us that because of all of this that we would be well within our right to withdraw from our contract to buy going on to state that the responsibility would also live with the housing association in order to make payments to our solicitors, mortgage lender and mortgage broker, reimbursing us totally for our cost and making us at ground zero again. The other option we have is to suck it up and live with it, literally. 

Once my future Hubby and I had seen the property and had a chance to measure up not just the windows but also every nook, cranny and corner in order to draw up our own floor-plan we were already in the knowledge that both of us were highly committed to this purchase and with such a huge investment, the biggest any one person or couple will ever make in their lifetime, every penny of our savings we had was in this. The next few days myself and Mr Warehouse consulted our solicitor and further legal advice in order to ascertain what our next steps would be. With this in mind though, we did not have much choice but quite frankly selling us a house that was built completely wrong and not in the specified way we were told it would be is not on and I was angry. Still between decisions, I received an email from the Housing Association detailing that, nearly a week early, they had taken handover of the property finally and that we should probably consult our solicitor with a date for completion and move. 

A slightly presumptuous move I thought given the fact that we had not even accepted the property in its current new format, however after months of handover dates being missed, moved and postponed coupled with constant snagging and the odd issue thrown in for good measure, we finally had some good news! After looking at a couple of properties online and making the conscious decision that if we were to live in the flat much longer we would go insane or end up killing each other Mr Warehouse and I decided to take the adults decision and accept the property as it was. 

And so here we are with less than a fortnight left in our old, 18th-century-converted one-bed flat just outside the heart of Bedford Town Centre, I will soon be reporting to you from the idyllic countryside estates of Cranfield! Within the next twelve-hours money will be transferred several times over eventually ending up in the solicitors hand ready to go and for Mr Warehouse and I to finally get our hands on those stainless steel set of keys to our first ever home ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Don't Count Days, Make Days Count!

Hello, 

Following my slip up last week forgetting to take my happy pills, I am pleased to say that after reinstating my routine of popping my meds every morning life this last week has felt a little brighter. Previously I had tried to not give in to the need for medication in order to treat my depression but the truth is that I still need them, even if I have been feeling a little better. After speaking with the doctor last week however, she confirmed that it would not be wise to stop medication and advised that in most circumstances it take a minimum of six-months to kick in but can take much longer. The doctor had advised to continue also with counselling sessions and therapy as it had temporarily been put on hold as I had finished my previous sessions and now awaiting a appointment where I can be seen through the NHS however after being told it can be anywhere between three months up to eighteen months I am starting to consider if I need to go Privately to seek help. 

With the house slowly progressing and the solicitors final searches now complete we are just awaiting the surveyor from the Mortgage company to confirm his findings and hand over our damned Mortgage Offer. I am still feeling positive but I am frustrated with not hitting our move in date of beginning of August. There is no move date as yet but following the survey to make sure that the house is worth the amount of money we are borrowing against it happening last week, hopefully we should hear back in the next couple of days with a date for our completion and exchange. I am almost certain after talking to different people at work and through other groups of friends that the process will speed along. 

After months of being in a bit of a whirlwind of emotions and life events, I am hoping that it is coming to an end, although I know deep down I am just teetering on the edge of another drop. I feel, more so at the moment, that whilst I have crossed many a Ravine in the last few months emotionally, I am on the knife edge of what could potentially be another fall and just a small gust is all it would take to tip me over the edge. That scares me. With Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dee's big move to America approaching fast, I am ever more doubtful that Mr. Warehouse and I will be in our new home by the time they leave. Whilst I am looking forward to sending my best friend off to a whole new world and life in sunny L.A, I just sometimes feel sad about it all. 

I think it finally hit me (yet again) this weekend whilst celebrating Mr Warehouse's birthday on Saturday when we spent it in Southend-on-Sea together with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb living our best lives in the arcades, indulging in a good-old British favourite, fish and chips by the seafront and watching the annual charity Parade and Carnival. Taking photos dancing and laughing along together I realised that this would probably be the last time we had together. In less than a few weeks I would be loosing an incredible friendship with Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and whilst I have some amazing people around me, nothing will ever replace my first ever best friend. I feel ashamed and guilty of my selfish thoughts when I think about Mrs Tweedle-Dumb moving away with her new hubby, partly because I would not have given a flying fuck about who was left behind or what they were feeling - I would have been long gone. And I want her to do the same because Miss Tweedle-Dee and I will be OK back here because we know that despite how hard it will be, our friendship will be OK. 

As much as it makes me feel absolutely devastated and heartbroken to think of my life here in England without her, I need to remember that it is not all bad. I will miss Mrs Tweedle-Dumb however I know the fun that we will all have trying to successfully achieve a (three-way) Skype session or FaceTime . Think of all the fun Miss Tweedle- Dumb and I will have sending parcels to remind Mrs Tweedle-Dumb of home including goodies such as tea and HobNobs. And to think of the absolute excitement in receiving a parcel all the way from Mrs Tweedle-Dumb and her all American home, filled with exotic candy and chocolate, not to mention all of the goods that are way too expensive in the UK! Reasonably price UGGs and other designer goods? Yes please! I'm having palpitations just thinking about all of the spooky decorations and goods she could send me from the home of Halloween! Atop of that the incredible holibobs and excuses to fly out to be reunited. All of this I need to keep in mind when I think about how sad I will be when she has left. I am sure that I will be Alright as long as I carry a parachute when I brave to walk along the edge ...  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Ahh The Youth Of Today!

Hello, 

I can certainly say that the last week has been much better than before. Whilst I am still stressed up to my eyeballs what with trying to find a solicitor that will actually communicate with me, source some little bits and pieces for our home and get a handle on my fluctuating depression, I have certainly found the last few days a little bit easier to deal with. Therapy this week was helpful and whilst I feel as though we are going over old ground with my mother and brother and that whole scenario, I feel as though this is a key component in trying to work out where I go from now and how best I go forward with my life and those in it. Life was just about manageable until Saturday morning happened. 

We had a new girl, maybe in her early twenties move in a couple of weeks ago, a lovely lass who seemingly appears to scrub up well when going on a night out and apparently had a toddler daughter that was due to be moving in with her soon. We hadn't spoken much to her if anything at all but seemed like she was a responsible and caring person, although sometimes the types of characters and people coming and going in and out of her flat were questionable sometimes. With most of her guests being young men or in their 20's and spending roughly about 20 minutes in her flat and then leaving, Mr Warehouse and I had our own ideas about what potentially they may be getting up to in such a short amount of time and I am sure you will make your own mind up also!

Saturday Morning however I was awoken at 6:45am by the iron gate at the side of our Alley-walk-way we shared with our new Neighbour being forcibly banged against the wall, clattering and clanging every time. Hoping it might have been the wind or rain bashing it against the wall periodically I rolled over, enjoying the free space that Mr Warehouse had given me when he went to work in the small hours of that morning. Not long after the clattering I heard a massive argument ensue which included grown men, about our age, yelling and shouting at each other. Getting up and out of bed to see what was going on I peered out of my bedroom window only to see fighting. 
"I've just buried my fucking Dad man and if your not careful I'll fucking bury you too" one lad shouted at another before storming off down the street, continuing the fight and even pushing and shoving each other on to the parked cars on the street. I heard the neighbours from upstairs shout down for them to pack it in. To be fair to them they did shut up for a short while before it erupted again, this time leading to glass bottles being thrown and smashed on the street outside our bedroom window. I could only assume that this was a drunken fuelled argument or spat that has happened between our new neighbours and/or her friends. 

Now honestly I don't mind the parties or even the copious amounts of lads that are in and out of that flat on a weekly basis, I am not bothered or fazed by this at all. However I am, I think, understandably pissed when I am awoken so early on a weekend morning to World War III kicking off outside my bedroom window. Thinking that there wasn't much left to do apart from just simply get up and have a coffee and maybe breakfast, I called Mr Warehouse and spoke to him about Jeremy Kyle Live that has just started outside our flat. Mr. Warehouse continued to explain that this had apparently been going since the very early hours over the morning when at three in the morning when he was awoken by our upstairs neighbours yelling down to the rowdy youths in order to keep the noise down as it was a quiet family street and we were all trying to sleep. When the Bae then went to work just a couple of hours later at 5 o'clock it was still going and whilst the music was quiet there was quite a lot of loud talking and running back and forth along the side of our Alley-walk-way. 

After the glass bottles were smashed outside on the street, there seemed to be a bit of a clean up operation in which the debris was cleared as best as possible, but with what appeared to be a spliff in one hand holding a red Cup probably containing a good measure of alcohol and the other hand in a desperate attempt to try and Sweep up what glass they could see with their beer Goggles on there is certainly a lot left to be desired. Flicking the kettle and rubbing my eyes I thank my lucky stars that I had my dressing gown on as two police officers were also called to the incident, I can only assume from the other residents on the street that were also awoken. Sipping my coffee as I watched some shit Saturday morning TV, all of which with one eye on the garden gate leading into our new neighbours flat of course. 

After summoning all my might to get dressed, I took the Pooch for a walk only to find that the glass was scarcely cleaned up and was still a bit of a mess, something which could also cause other children or other pets on the street harm not to mention possibly even puncturing Mr. Warehouse's bike when he comes home. I also noticed that because of the constant banging and slamming of the gate that our little sign is broken which welcomed visitors and warned them of our pup. Now whilst it cost under a fiver I still didn't appreciate that our property was being treated in this way and with such disrespect as well. 

Mr. Warehouse came home a few hours later and was the most angriest I have ever seen him. Seething, he ranted loudly about how disrespectful, rude and inconsiderate they were being. But what could we do? I had contacted my landlord a couple of hours after it had all kicked off and within minutes he had come storming round to the property, fuming that he was being taken for a ride and seemingly being made out to look like a mug. But now there were just as many people as before coming and going and coming back again, now even just standing around and having conversations in our garden. I felt quite uncomfortable and judging from the amount of alcohol that was going into the flat and comings and goings, I very much doubted that this would be ending anytime soon. 

Messaging my landlord again in one last ditch attempt to try and get something sorted before it's all got out of hand again. As before, within a few moments of me sending the message there was a car screeching to a halt and parking up outside. Not thinking much of that I saw my landlord storm right through past our flat and into the our new neighbours garden, banging on the glass and ushering for the lass to come out. 
"Woah who the fuck are you mate!" one bloke yelled obviously upset that his potential Beau had another older man banging at her window. 
"I'm the landlord of this place"  he answered as he marched the girl to the front of the property where they had a heated discussion, I can only assume (because I did not have my window open - Silly me) that she was being read the riot act and as a result would have to be on her best behaviour in order to keep a roof over her head. 

I think all of that had happened on Saturday without my Approval In Principle / AIP and Mr Warehouse and buy in the process of moving soon, it's almost certainly would have made my mood even worse. Not long now!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Cloud

Evening Everyone, 

And so as another weekend rolls around, so do the many reasons as to why are flat still looks the same as it did four weeks ago. The thing is when I landlord is in the process of upgrading and potentially remodelling some of the areas of our flat, I am hesitant to start any work of our own until he has fully finished what he would like to do so I can work out exactly what I need and when I need it so we can crack on with our own little DIY projects. 

I feel at the moment as though the flat and housing situation is a bit of a double edge sword. On the one hand I want to make our little home as special and nice as possible whilst we try and desperately save for a house of our own one day, all whilst still feeling the same as I did this time last year when I wrote the blog post about being a misfortuned statistic in "Generation X" whereby many of our parents and grandparents reaped the benefits of having plentiful and affordable housing, a lower cost of living and stable employment with good earning potential. With this in mind, I can fully understand why some adult children are still living at home when they are my age. However that being said I was never given that option. Living by myself since I was seventeen I have always strived for a perfect home that I would be able to host parties in, everything from my tiny little one bedroom single room I rented from an Indian woman back in college, right through to my large and spacious one bedroom ground floor flat with a patio. 

Albeit it is not perfect but it is currently where I call home. Now whilst I feel grateful for what I have, I also partly begrudge spending money on something that will realistically not necessarily improve my situation. I mean, why would I optionally spend money on a property that both is not mine and will not benefit me when I come to move. It's not as though we can take down the wallpaper or strip the paint when we leave and take it with us. I think I know that realistically if Mr. Warehouse and I do up the flat, it may not have to cost the Earth and in all sense of the matter will make me feel a lot better. 

Truth be told is that I have not been feeling myself of late. Gone are the cheery "Hellos" and sunshine smiles only to be replaced with dull colours and a loss of smell and taste. Instead my usually warm and bubbly personality has been replaced with a cloudy view and very little laughter. Honestly it scares me how much I have changed in the last week or so. A part of me wants to talk to everyone about what I'm feeling, shouting it from the rooftops or whispering until the early hours. And yet at the same time I feel as though I would be burdening someone with such a pessimistic outlook on life and want to hide it all away and pretend that everything is OK.

Why am I feeling this way? Truthfully - I don't know. Right now it seems as though there is a lot of things that I don't know. There are potentially a few things in my life at the moment that could be causing me to feel like this. Whilst I am struggling to accept that it was a big deal, my grandfather passing away has probably had more of an effect on me than I first thought. With the passing and the funeral being a good few weeks apart it was almost like living in a weird grey scale limbo-land whereby nothing really changed and all we seem to talk about was funerals, death and family feuds. 

This, coupled with the fact that less than a week later I was attending the wedding of my best friend who, within the next eight-weeks or so, will be leaving for America, and as dramatic as it sounds may never return to back home to the UK again. The worst thing being is that I would not feel guilty at all about leaving those behind and would have been on the first plane out of here, long gone before anyone even had a tear in their eye. And that makes it worse for I know that I should be happy and glad that she has such a wonderful opportunity to create such a fantastic life for her and her new husband out in the world of the hopeful. 

You see depression is a big word not just in size but also in how I feel. Depression makes even the smaller things in life appear so much more prominently in your mind and bigger than in reality they probably are. On it's own I could have probably dealt with my granddad's passing and the funeral. On it's own I could have probably dealt with the beautiful nuptials of my best friend and her emigrating to her new life. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so awful about myself, my weight and how I look. On it's own I probably wouldn't feel so desperately trapped and hopeless buy our flat and the lack of resources to make ourselves a better solution. But the problem is that none of these come by themselves. Unlike the last times I have felt cloudy and sad I have always been able to put it down to just one thing. My Dad went to war, my parents divorced, I got kicked out, My boyfriend left me. But what happens when it is not just one box that is ticked but all of the above. 

Am I clinically depressed? I don't know and I suppose until I see a doctor or professional there is no way of medically telling. Do I feel depressed? Yes. All the fun out of normal things I used to find enjoyable or make me happy now it seem like a lot of effort and with very little joy coming from them seem pointless. I certainly know what depression feels like but the question is - Am I there yet? No, but the constant and unnerving feeling of not being wanted or loved by the people who should and just being a general annoyance to people is something I simply can't shake off right now. The thing is that I know it is all a lie that the Demons in my head are telling me, making me question and second guess myself knocking my confidence even further, pushing me further into a downward spiral. 

I know that this is just a phase and that the clouds will soon pass making way for my true self to reappear once more. I just need to immerse myself and really try to bring myself out of this darkness, surrounding myself with good friends laughter and happiness. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Festivities for Two!

Good Morning, 

So it would appear after the fun that I had last week I had forgotten to do a blog post. But surely I can be forgiven for it was Christmas day after all. However with all the last minute planning and preparation that went on it was a bit of a higgledee-piggledee day. I mean to put into contrast up until a fortnight before the big day me and Mr Warehouse had nowhere and no one to spend the big day with apart from our usual Christmas Day brunch at the home of one of Mr Warehouse's Brothers. On a casual chat to my Nanny Pumpkin we had arranged that Mr Warehouse and I would join her and my granddad to celebrate Christmas together. I suppose that some people would say we should have spent the day with our significant others families, however we've both Mr Warehouse's mum living too far away and my dad not making plans until the very last minute we decided to go it alone. 

With Christmas day falling on a Monday, in the days leading up to Santa coming Mr Warehouse and I set about seeing all the family members that we wouldn't normally see on the day itself, going round for tea, cake and seemingly collecting presents like they were Pokemon's. The evening before Mr Warehouse and I joined Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her fiance to give our presents and enjoy possibly our last meal together since Miss Tweedle-Dumb's and her Hubby-to-be are emigrating to Canada after he bagged a job out there. Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and her fiance treated me to a travel wallet, gel nail manicure set, Bumble-Bee necklace and a few more things for my wish list. After what was a lovely meal at The Fancott near the M1 and Toddington we all parted ways and hoped the other had a wonderful Christmas. 

Waking the following morning it was strange not being met with my dad and his cooking for breakfast. No Eggs benedict or Eggs royale or even a slice of toast. Mr. Warehouse was so kind enough however to wake me up with a fresh cup of coffee. Opening our presents from other people we were pleasantly surprised and delighted with the wonderful gifts that everyone had thought of.Mostly from my aunties and uncles as well as my dad we have a lot of different things to do over the next few months. Lots of vouchers for meals out, cinema date nights and a birds of prey experience. This is in addition to the many boxes of chocolates, biscuits and other sweet treats. Mr. Warehouse spoilt to be with gifts of make-up, make-up brushes, jewelry from Pandora, a driving car experience day and lots, lot more items from my never-ending wish list. 

Heading over to brunch with Mr Warehouse's Brothers and family we were gifted more items of joy including beer, a ball launcher (mainly for the pup I think), yet more chocolate and other lovelies! Joking around with the idea that maybe next year Mr Warehouse and I can host Christmas Brunch in our own home. Bought or rented, well that is a whole other question. Following on from seeing the children open their presents, me and the bae headed to my grandparents house to continue our Christmas day as planned. 

And so with the big day over and the next few days off I settled in for a little R&R. The day after Boxing Day was spent by jumping straight back into the swing of things with getting my personal training sessions. Snow falling heavily Britain has definitely missed out on a White Christmas this year by a smidgin. Nevertheless I had plans to go into town hitting the shops in order to find a few bargains in the January sales that as usual had started earlier than January. But I left my TV and sofa called and so I spent the rest of that first day on my bottom. Unfortunately the following few games I was in too much aches and pains from my gym session with my Personal Trainer to do much. The remaining games off for me was spent on the couch, although I was able to get out on Friday and Sunday to hit the shops for a spot of retail therapy. 

As the days melted away I started to plan and look forward to spending New Year's Eve with Mr Warehouse's family welcoming in 2018. Disappointingly this turned out to not be the case as the establishment we were planning to spend the last few hours of 2017 was closed with very little warning. Pissed, I desperately began trying to ring around and talk to other venues in the local area that may be able to accommodate a large party consisting of both adults and children. A few were available but after all the effort Mr. Warehouse and I had decided to don the Jim-Jams and welcome in the New Year alone. 

The festive season for me has not entirely gone to plan and with my Granddad now in hospital recovering from a Thoracentesis procedure to drain the fluid from his lungs it has not been the best start to the year. I am hoping that 2018 will be good to me with a nice luxe beach holiday with Mr. Warehouse, more travelling and most importantly, lots of saving to be had in order to reach the goal of eventually Mr. Warehouse and I owning our own home, hopefully before the festivities of next year again. Better to start sooner rather than later! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Wish I Was Born In The 80's!

Good Evening, 

Standing in the lounge at my Dad's Girlfriends I was more than eager to get home and start searching but in the back of my mind I knew that what was being proposed was simply a fantasy for my generation. Everything was much easier in the 80's with high wages and low costs of living and banks offering money to everyone! I'm talking about the property ladder and the fact that whilst a lot of my friends have no real hope at all of even renting somewhere with rent soaring in the UK to new highs, making most places in and out of the towns near on impossible to find the money for, there are always a few that don't realise just how good they have got it. 

Firstly there is the deposit, and even with the best mortgages on the market asking young people looking to buy their first home, even 5% is a big ask for people who are on some of the lowest incomes in society. The average two-bed house in Bedford rental wise anyway is close to £850 per calendar month and with this comes the absolute heartache that you cannot even begin to save for your first home because your paying into someone else's with the extortionate high monthly bond. Saving the value you would need even on a cheap home, probably worse condition and location than your currently living in would take nearly 3 years for myself and Mr. Warehouse and even then it would be nothing near what we want or dream of. 

One of the only ways that myself, Mr. Warehouse or any of my friends would ever own our own home would be if we came into the money in some way, either winning the lottery, getting a big payout from compensation or dare I say, it having someone close to them to pop their clogs. It sounds awful really, but if your not from a rich or at least middle class family, you will have not a chance in hell to save for a deposit. Some got their money from family members or the bank of Mom and Dad, but that is just not possible, at least not for Mr. Warehouse and I. Between us we only have the one parent theoretically and even they individually couldn't help with the vast sums of money that is needed for a deposit now-days. 

A saving grace for most of my friends is that they either still live at home, that majority of them at least, or they have bagged themselves a council house paying reduced rent in comparison to the rest of us. And hey, if you can get away with it and live with the 'rents whilst saving for a pad of your own or better still save the money that would otherwise go to a greedy landlord then you go guys! I would suggest doing it until your able to do it no more, because living alone or even with a boyfriend or other person is hard. The bills are expensive, the forms are sometimes complex for different companies and the countless things that need to be shelled out for are seemingly never-ending. 

But on the plus side you have your own little space and for those that have gained accommodation through the local councils you are in the best position. Something goes wrong, you get the council and their teams to come fix it and all whilst paying much less than the same property on the private rental market. It means you have the opportunity to save, even if its a little, so that one day you wont be reliant on the state. But the thing with Britain is that since my parent generation, council houses and government funded homes have dwindled to virtually none. Only the most neediest (or clever enough to swindle the system) get a home and this leaves such a gap that is only getting bigger with the years. Soon I would not be surprised if people are all scrabbling over a pokey studio apartment for nearly £1000 per calendar month on the open market. 

More needs to be done to protect people who rent from sky-high rent, toppling agency fees and unscrupulous landlords who are nothing but a drain on society. I have been very lucky that my landlord, whom I have been renting from for nearly five years comes and fixes things when they need doing (most of the time), is easy-going and always helpful. Some people aren't so lucky and I have been on the end of a few mean, thoughtless landlords and agents in my time. 

It all just seems so un-affordable at the moment and with Mr. Warehouse looking to our future more than ever with holidays, celebrations and hopefully a move at the end of this year to a proper house with a garden (and FUCKING PARKING!!!) I couldn't think of a better time to start getting some financial advise for the future. Maybe one day I can have that picket fence and suburban, red-brick castle of mine!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Visits to The Bestie in Basingstoke!

Hiya!

As with last week, the party planning and driving are simultaneously going rather well and I am thoroughly looking forward to both, however I am anxiously worried for my Driving Test and impatiently excited for my party. But this weekend I was very excited to see my friends, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb as I had not seen them properly since we all came back from Lanzarote in June. 

Finishing work on Friday I flapped about needing to go home before meeting Miss Tweedle-Dee at Leagrave Station, and all because I was having a brain-fart that morning, forgetting the most important things on any sleepover agenda - A phone charger, toothbrush and Cigarettes (if you please). I blame the fact that I was up late the previous two evenings, one of them at Bedford Hospitals A&E Department due to having yet another vicious bout of Cystitus. Taking Thursday off work had really knocked me for six and whilst I was feeling a little better in myself, my brain was struggling with the simplest of functions. 

Finally arriving at the Bedford Station I took a look at the departures board and hurried along to get my ticket, all in good time to make my train. But after a very long queue, people taking hours or even days to make their ticket purchase I was finally rushing up the stairs in order to make it to the right Platform. Suffice to say that the train left earlier than planned and as a result I was left behind. I worried not much however since there was another train going in the same direction in less than ten minutes, so I waited. Only to be told, ten minutes later, that it had been cancelled due to a 'technicality'. Hmm. Great! Loosing the will to live I stormed over to the ticketing office and asked them to explain themselves. Shrugging me off some excuse they said that there would be another train ready for boarding in another ten minutes so to be ready for that one. After ten-minutes or so I waited as patently but now pissed off, my Starbucks Frappucino had gone and my suitcase was now fucked since I had pretty much booted it around the platform annoyed at my situation. Train coming in I went to board the train with my sophisticated suitcase only to overhear a paunch gentleman tell a young women that the train I had been waiting patiently for was not even going to fucking Leagrave and would go right bloody past it. No longer able to deal with my anger inside I exploded angrily at the members of staff and stormed back over the bridge to the original platform I had been waiting at. 

Soon enough though I was on the move, only an hour later after arriving to Bedford station itself and therefore over an hour late for Miss Tweedle-Dee collecting me from Leagrave station. I was in the know about the traffic issues that the M25 faced and I also knew that there was another hour-and-a-half journey to Basingstoke where Miss. Tweedle-Dumb now lived with her partner so was anticipating traffic. However we made it in very good timing, laughing, joking and chatting all the way down there. Once arriving at said abode, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were welcomed in by Miss Tweedle-Dumb and shown around the magnolia-wash, 1-bedroomed, ground-floor flat. Just ten minutes from all the shops, pubs and supermarkets of Basingstoke you couldn't want for more. The area was quiet and whilst it was obvious it was a council estate but not the roughest one I have seen. Lots of storage space and a sociable corridor made the Little flat feel cosy yet spacious. I was pleased for my bestie and was looking forward to spending some time with her, and hopefully her partner who never normally spoke or interacted much. I was as it goes able to get a conversation out of him come Saturday morning as we spoke and discussed about upcoming games, games consoles and what I had brought my other-half, Mr. Warehouse, for his birthday. I suppose some could say that he was rude or sharp with his views or opinions on things but I see him as a fairly nice bloke I would like to know more of and about, especially since he is living with one of my little princesses! 

Saturday seemed to breeze by in a whirl of shopping, coffee stops, smoke stops and chatting in nearby Reading. However I think there was, or maybe is, severely wrong with me. I am not what you would call 'make-up obsessed' but Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb are and this bring me much sadness when we go shopping together for I am forever saying no more to MAC, Boots, Debenhams and Superdrug. But I actually enjoyed it this weekend. I revelled in the fact that KIKO Milano had a sale on in which I bought a new calligraphy-style eyeliner felt-tip for just two-quid. In fact I am almost certain I would have spent more if it wasn't for everything being out of stock. I then followed in the footsteps of my besties and carried on into the afore mentioned MAC, Boots and Superdrug. I enjoyed testing all the different flavours of lipstick's, lip-creams, fragrances and eyeshadows each one being added to my birthday wish list, hoping someone would purchase. And heck if they didn't I would! Just as soon as I get paid!

Sunday was a solemn morning for I knew as well as my Tweedles we would be leaving each other once more. We bid our farewells to the little flat and to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's partner, choosing to head into Basingstoke for a quick mooch and shop before Miss Tweedle-Dee and I headed home. It was a long journey, one we were both already tired and achey from after sleeping on what would seem a self-deflating airbed. Nevertheless we promised to see each other soon, and we shall - At Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Parent's wedding annavirsary celebrations in a couple of weekends time. Emotional to leave I felt horrible that I lived so far away and made a promise to myself that my future children would see their Auntie Tweedles more often than not.Getting dropped to Leagrave station I thanked Miss Tweedle-Dee for the journey and promised that we would catch-up soon.

Driving lesson over and done with I was home within a few hours and ready to commence a new week. Although I have a funny feeling that this one is going to be slooooow ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Newquay - New Life?

Hello-Hello, 

Seven-and-a-bit hours on the road, most of it in traffic and I was glad to seeing signs for Newquay. But as we bid farewell to our driver AKA Mr. Warehouse's cousin and uncle, the boyfriend and I prepared ourselves for the hell that could be awaiting us in the hotel we booked - Berties Lodge, Newquay! The reviews had not been kind, some of them utterly hilarious, but all with distasteful comments. One person had written that "After a long and sleepless night, we were happy to find a sea view (if we craned our necks), and that we wasn't murdered in our sleep." although this review was entitled: Have stayed in nicer crack-dens. I have enclosed the link - Trust me you'll be wetting yourself by the end as was I and understandably you can understand how I was shitting myself so much for checking-in. 

Reading on the website that we had to check in at the neighbouring hotel, we thought it was odd but continued. Walking into the typical 17th Century building, Mr. Warehouse and I marvelled at the beauty the Hotel Victoria had to offer and begrudged all the people that were residing there all in the knowledge we would soon be in our 'not-so-nice crack-den'. Talking with the Receptionist, a young girl I have since made friends with, she explained that for one reason or another (to which I am still not sure why) mine and Mr. Warehouse's room had been transferred over to the gorgeous Hotel Victoria. Looking at each other we were stunned and had to check that everything was correct with the young reception girl several times to help us believe the luck we had again. Booking hotels had always seemed to end well for myself and Mr. Warehouse including the under-thirty-quid hotel room we booked in west London our first weekend away together near Christmas a couple of years back. Or even last year at the wedding we went to in Wisbech. I booked a hotel on the outskirts of the town only for the fact it was cheap and had a pool and spa area however when we arrived, we ended up in a beautiful Apartment-Suite with a balcony and all because our room had suffered a flood the evening before. Upgrades seem to come naturally to us when we book and clearly our trip to Newquay was also something of a little win!

Checking into the room and dropping our stuff off we headed straight out to join the Bride and her family down here in a local Taverna for some drinks. Cider flowing and Chocolate cake on order, talk soon turned to whose wedding was next and what a surprise it was Mr. Warehouse and I that were in the firing line. 
"Maybe we should just tackle one wedding at a time, shall we?!" I said, looking at Mr. Warehouse for advice. Unfortunately all I got was a smirk but soon enough the Bride came over and introduced herself as Mr. Warehouse's Cousin, soon to be married tomorrow. The subject soon turned to Newquay and what a wonderful place both her and her Husband-to-be live. Although what happened next was a slight shock to say the least. 
"You should move down here" the Bride said, seeming enthusiastic. Mr. Warehouse looked my way with a considering look in his eyes and I answered his assuming gaze with something about getting a job and finding work down here. 
"Hey man, I work in warehouse, I could easily find you a job tomorrow!" the Bride answered chirpily. 
"But what about a house? The rent must be extortionate around here, and buying a home in the future - Forget it!" I replied. 
"Well, our rent is £450 per month for a one-bedroom maisonette, less than five minutes from the beach. House prices are not as crazy as you may think, with a standard three-bed-semi setting you back around £185,000" the Bride came back with. 

Mr. Warehouse looked at me. I looked at him. The weather was nicer (at least at that point anyway). The beach looked lovely. Roxy would love the long walks on the shoreline and for sand to be in between her paws in the final years of her life. House prices I knew already were not too bad since looking in the Estate Agents window on the way to the Taverna so home wise it would be not so bad. School places wouldn't be as sizable as they are up north and the cost of living was about the same anywhere you go now in England. The only deal clincher really would be my salary as I would refuse to move for the same or less money I am on now. And 100% I would need to drive. We had barely been in Cornwall a couple of hours and already they were trying to make us stay but I knew that as I looked at Mr. Warehouse's lit-up face we would be having a long discussion about it at some point over the weekend. 

After a long beach walk with Mr. Warehouse and his other cousin that we drove down with, Saturday morning came and with the alarms we got dressed and headed out for breakfast, finally settling on a good old 'spoons brekkie. A long day ensued with all the trimmings you would expect from a wedding; A nervous groom, a beautiful bride, tear-rendering speeches and some oddly-attired guests. All in all though it was such a wonderful day and the weather, thank goodness held out for the happy couple. Myself and Mr. Warehouse took care of his little nephew until that it it was time to head to the reception venue to watch the newly-wed's dance the night away. 

Soon enough though Sunday morning arrived and with it came the rain. Oh Jesus fucking Christ the rain. It rained and rained and rained and rained. All. Day. Long. So we did what all British people do in the rain. Walk around aimlessly and grumble that there is nothing to do. After paying over a tenner each to get into what was advertised as an aquarium but was more like a large garden centre, we spent the next half-hour peering into tanks whilst avoiding snotty children and prams galore. I mean why on heaven or earth would you bring a small baby to an aquarium. What need does a seventeen-month-old have to see a pufferfish or black-tipped-shark? Nevertheless we headed reluctantly back to the hotel and spent the afternoon watching films and planning what to do tomorrow if the weather was equally shite. 

Before ordering a Chinese supper I spent some long moments exploring the winding halls and long Shining-esk corridors on Sunday. An old styled grey building, the Hotel Victoria looks out over the Atlantic Ocean and has many, many reception rooms to explore including a well-maintained lawn with pergola overlooking the sea, perfect for weddings. A plush and cosy orangery/conservatory also looks out across the lawn and beautiful views of the horizon something I cant help think must look incredible with the sunrise or sunset. A grand ballroom follows through from the glass walls of the orangery/conservatory and includes a dance floor with an alien-like glitter ball and DJ booth included. Down some stair and across the room is a bar area which would have probably been the Drawing Room originally and includes yet more wooden fixtures and fittings as well as a large bar and comfy looking couches and sofa's. Through the brass and dark-wooden Reception including original revolving entrance door and spiralling staircase and across the elegant hallway corridor is a regal looking restaurant encompasses glittering chandeliers, sky-high ceilings and beautiful wooden furnishings. Down to the pool and spa areas I have not yet ventured but if I can find a swimming costume I shall inform you all of my findings. 

I listened as the young receptionist girl and hotel porter (whom himself looked haunting) told me of the tall tales the hotel had to tell. The hotel had been used in both the World Wars as a Hospital for injured soldiers and some could even be seen still wandering the halls looking for release from Purgatory. The creepy porter explained in detail how the Hotel's kitchen was used as a operating theatre during this period. The young girl had explained later on that on some lonely nights on the reception desk she had heard footsteps and opening and closing of doors which had been backed-up by several residents over the years. She had said she has seen shadows on the second floors and that "its" presence felt like a women in a full gown since she could hear the swish of the dress and soft footsteps of a lady. 
"Have you been up to the third floor? Do you know why there is now a wall and windows where their should be staircase spindles?" The Porter asked. I shook my head but clearly enthusiastic to hear what was up there, I waited for the answer. Both the Porter and the Receptionist then explained how the owners wife had met her death. She had been up to the third floor and was looking out the windows across what was the grasslands, now the main street of Newquay. She took a trip on some carpet probably and fell the three storeys to the Reception below, killing her. Intrigued I returned to the room and have felt an eerie but benevolent feeling of relaxation since hearing those tales, something in all fairness I had felt since entering the hotel on Friday evening yet somehow seem more so now after hearing these stories in the walls.

As yesterday today, has been much the same weather. Mr. Warehouse and I had planned to visit the infamously haunted jail in the neighbouring town, Bodmin, however with only a few coaches a day going there, we had not booked in advance so our return journey was not guaranteed. With the weather still crappy, I stormed off in a hump, that was until Mr. Warehouse and I headed into the arcades to get out of the rain. Me and the other half had been collecting all the loose change and the odds and sods of coins from each others wallets over the last few months, putting everything 20p and under into a plastic jar to use on our next trip to the arcades. Not counting how much was there we emptied it out onto a glass-topped games machine and proceeded to count it out into pennies, two-pennies, five-pennies, ten-pennies and twenty-penny coins. Playing alongside together for more than an hour we decided to cash in the tickets we had accumulated and see what sort of naff prize we could get. Since he was so excitable, I let him cash in the tickets for something he wanted - A Spiderman cereal bowl. I suppose the fact that soon, once the weather had picked up, Mr. Warehouse had promised me he would accompany me on a Horse-riding hack along the shore, which for me was a romantic gesture I was bemused with, at least for now anyway. 

After the weather brightened up this afternoon, Mr. Warehouse and I took an exhilarating boat ride out into the Atlantic ocean, all in the hope of seeing some seals, dolphins, exotic fish and maybe even a Basking shark. We did not see any of those, but we nearly saw what Mr. Warehouse had for breakfast. Safely back on dry land, tonight is our last night so as I finish up my blog this week I will take Mr. Warehouse for a walk later on around the hotel as I did on yesterday's rainy afternoon. That is if he is still awake ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx