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

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

Never Look Back, It Distracts You From Now!

Hiya!

So last week I spoke of my news that as of the beginning of March 2016, I will be sharing my little abode with my darling Mr. Warehouse and soon after his little doggy will be joining also which in a sense I suppose that makes me an adoptive doggy mom!? Not entirely sure how that works but I am sure we will figure it out. Over the coming weeks I am sure you will be hearing about all the wonderful plans and preparations that need to be made in order to keep the whole process as smooth and as hassle-free as possible, but I wont lie - I am worried. 

In some ways Mr. Warehouse and I are already sharing my ground-floor, town centre flat, just I have only given him a a set of three drawers and allowed him to buy a toothbrush and leave it in the same pot as mine. It is not that I oppose the whole rig-moral of him moving in, if anything I suppose I am glad that we are taking the leap now whilst we have little responsibility other than to our jobs and a ball of golden fluff and fur. I know that he is moving in with me and unlike the last time I allowed myself to live with someone, I know categorically I can afford this flat on my own, yes a stretch, but I can manage. So if for any reason things never worked out between Mr. Warehouse and myself I know that he would just move out and back in with his mom. 

I also need to keep reminding myself, as I did last week that it will not end the same way as it did before. Yes, I loved Mr. Workaholic very, very much, sometimes I wonder if it was too much. We were young, so very young. I didn't know what I was doing let alone him?! We both were not ready to settle down so fast and having a two-bed mid-terraced in suburbia, running a normal office job and harbouring a growing collection of Wedding magazines was not healthy for anyone, especially someone who was barely out of their teens. I thought at at the grand old age of 20 I was ready to settle down, not start a family so to speak but to start building the bricks to the foundations of my future with someone whom I had never loved like this before. 

I suppose this time of year will always throw-up something. The last Valentines Day we shared. That holiday in Cyprus. And the following weeks when the fire that once burned so brightly in both of us slowly burned out. Maybe one day I will have the courage to speak about it without welling up as I am now, stopping every sentence of so as I type to remember the good and the bad times, recalling every last moment in a technicolour of blissful euphoria and agonising heartache. 

But this is a happy post - So onwards and upwards. 

On the run-up to, ideally before Mr. Warehouse and the dog move in, I think I would like to get new bedroom furniture and soft furnishings; However this all costs money and with Dublin just around the corner (This time in a fortnight I will be writing to you from Darling Dublin), and so we are both scrapping and scrimping on every bit of pennies we can find! And so a matching set of bedroom wants and needs include two chest of drawers, wardrobes and bedside tables accompanied with a princess canopy better than the one I presently have and twinkle lights to match will make it the envy of all my friends and followers. Maybe too girlie for Mr. Warehouse's tastes, but the bedroom in my eyes is never meant for looking around at all the pretty things - If you know what I mean!? The lounge and dining room will be more manly than the bedroom as that is where Mr. Warehouse's Xbox Console and sub-woofer-bass speakers will live, all in the hope that I, or should I now say we, will have a couple of good house parties this year. Well, BBQ's at least anyway. Which brings me round then to the garden. I will for summer want to grow some more veggies and herbs as well as maybe tarting it all up a little with some new garden furnishings, table, chairs and heck, even some bunting and LED lights! 

Ahh yes. I can go over board sometimes. T-minus ... five-weeks!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting On Like A Warehouse On Fire!

Afternoon All, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When are you moving in Mr. Warehouse?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

When Is The Right Time?!

Evening All, 

So last week was all about getting pissed up on cheap, flat cider and celebrating life with Mr. Warehouse and his family. And after a long, drawn out and strenuous week at work the past few days have been very relaxing and much more chilled.

From Friday night right through 'til this afternoon when I finished work I have stayed at Mr. Warehouse's home he shares with his mother, although she was away this weekend so Mr. Warehouse had invited me over to spend the weekend and look after his middle-aged Golden Retriever. A part of me did not even really realise until Saturday evening that we essentially were playing 'House'. And why not? Throughout the past nine months of my relationship with this man he has spent the majority of it with me either in my flat or at his mom's. But its strange when two people are just left to their own devices in a big old empty house and nothing much to see or do. 

Not going to lie I did enjoy it, but I soon found niggles that eventually if given time and the lack of space would burrow into my sole with the drive to constantly get on my tits! Like the way that Mr. Warehouse will do stuff he is not suppose to be doing even though you have asked him a trillion and one times not to. Or the way that Mr. Warehouse leaves his shit lying around. Even the way that my dearest Mr. Warehouse butters his toast before adding in a condiment like jam or spread can easily burn on my wick if I am already in a foul-arse mood. 

You see the thing is that when you live by yourself, and, single ladies you know what I mean - Its not the way that someone is around you, its the fact that sometimes you just cant be your true self. You can't always frog it in boy-boxers watching 'Jeremy Kyle' eating a whole pack of Pink Wafers to yourself and realising that the itchy thing on you bottom was just a rogue Sugar Puff from earlier. Nor can you fart loudly, laugh and be outwardly proud of such an expression because you are a lady whom should not do things like that, let alone still be sniggering about it twenty-minutes later. And alas you cannot leave rubbish everywhere with the intent that one day you will pick it up. Ahh yes! The joy's of living alone. 

But don't get me wrong an extra pair of hands can be useful, especially if you live on the top floor apartment with zero lifts. Carrying the shopping up stairs, taking out the rubbish and generally helping out around the place can be a huge help and beneficial to both parties in the long run. I suppose this week's post really started last week when Mr. Warehouse and I were out with my father and his girlfriend for Daddies birthday dinner and in true squaddie style my Dad just blurts out - "So when are you moving in with my Daughter!"

Gob-smacked and totally taken aback by the phrase let alone the idea I jumped in before anyone else had a chance to open their trappy little beaks and reiterated as I had done many times before that Mr. Warehouse was not moving in, not now and not any time in the foreseeable future. I enjoy my freedom. Its the only thing I really have left. I'm not single any more so instead I have my flat when I can grunge out for a whole weekend only venturing to the outside world in order to buy bread and milk.  can be myself in those tiny little slanted walls of my penthouse one-bed. Don't get me wrong I have thought about it, even looking into the possibility of moving somewhere bigger in a few years time to accommodate such a growing and developing relationship. Yes. I suppose the idea in the future is a good one but right now ... Certainly not! 

I mean where in my telescopic flat would his boy 'stuff' go?! The Xbox that is hardly works and even then never used yet held onto as the last claim to being a young man. The never-ending pile of dirty laundry that will inevitably be picked up by me, an ongoing sock vs. pants issue. Pointless letters, papers, payslips and rubbish strewn everywhere. Hmm, yes, not my idea of homely bliss. But then again if you asked Mr. Warehouse I am sure that he would say the same - A continuous stream of washing up, food that is slightly fluffy in the fridge and scatter cushions everywhere! 

In my flat right now their is barely enough room for me and my amazing personality let alone two, and whilst I like the idea that one day I will be a big girl with my own home and garden, I have to realise that it wont come along unless I suck it up and accept sharing. After all isn't that something that our parents all taught us. Yes that pile of washing looks a chore but when two people do it together and work through some of the things that happened in their days making small talk it will be done in next to no time! I don't know, I suppose after popping over to Mr. Warehouse's Brothers (Whose Fiancée is the same age as me!) new House it made me slightly Home-Broody. I think as I sat on their sofa in the three story town house I realised if I want to one day own my own home then I will need to get a shifty on and start saving. But that is light-years away, right now I am happy being the Queen of my own (rented) Palace and I am in no mood of down-grading any time soon, especially after the last time I moved in with someone!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx