Some things never change.

Good Evening, 

One week ago I sat here writing to you from my sofa, anxious in anticipation for my grandmothers funeral. I was dreading it and more than most for a multitude of reasons. Now I know that no one ever looks forward to funerals, but this one will be especially fraught with emotions, and, as with last time, the tension and anxiety will be riding high. I laugh to myself now as I write this to you, it seems that funerals, whilst are not the happiest of occasions, always seem to be dogged for me with huge anxieties and bouts of doubt and uncertainty about myself. And this time will be no different. 

As with Granddad's funeral just over two years ago now almost to the day, I recall waking up on the morning of the funeral. I could see the bright May day beaming in through the spare room window across the hallway. And just as before, I wanted to curl up in my duvet, hide away and pretend that today was not happening. Instead, I pulled myself from slumber, my Puppy for once being kinder to me this morning and not jumping on me as he normally would, affectionate little licks to gently encourage me to get up and along with the day. Isn't it funny how animals sense these things, especially so when they come and cuddle up next to you on the sofa as you write this?

As normal, or at least as normal could be I dropped Mr Warehouse at work and headed home for a strong coffee and mind-numbing telly. Soon enough though it was time to get ready. Dressing in a black long-sleeved soft jersey wrap dress, nude tights and black heels I was all set. Hair in a plaited nape bun and fascinator fixed in place I got in the car ready to go. The journey was quiet as I thought about the attendants, my mother and brother, both of whom I had not seen since the last family funeral when I first started dating Mr Warehouse. Its been five years.  

"I suppose," I thought, "on a positive note, the Coronavirus pandemic means she can't come within 2-metres of you". I smiled at the thought. Soon enough we were approaching my Hometown and as we turned into the neighbouring street of my old family home I saw the hurse pull in front of us. Mr Warehouse asked if that was Nanna, or if it could be someone else, but as the vehicle in front took a left, I was certain she was making one last visit to the church before heading home. As the car slowed coming into Nanna's house, Mr Warehouse rested his hand on my thigh and gave me a sweet and gentle squeeze. Stopping the car he motioned if I was OK. I would be, I just needed to get today over and done with, as we all did. 

I could see some familiar faces amongst the people who had come and seen her off. Neighbours, friends and family all there for one last goodbye. My eyes fell to my Nanny Pumpkin and Uncle Africa from Ireland who was now staying with my Nanny Pumpkin (don't ask, easier not to get into it). Immediately I made a beeline for them as I knew they were my safety net, there for me and my family. I spoke with Uncle Golf a little and his younger brother, my Uncle KON. I went to see how my Auntie DD was holding up and my cousin too. At only just a teenager, this was a lot to handle. I can't imagine the pain he must be going through, especially after seeing her pretty much once or twice a week since he was born. The shock of seeing a coffin in the flesh (excuse the pun, but Nanna would have appreciated it) for the first time can be overwhelming and a bit much, especially for someone so young. 

My fiance and I took him aside for a second to console him, showing him the beautiful flower arrangement I had made on behalf of the grandchildren, my brother included as he sheepishly stood in the background with my mother, too ashamed to raise his head above the parapet I expect. After speaking with Auntie DD several weeks ago, It had been suggested to do something similar to my Granddad's funeral. Obviously, I included my brother, texting him last week to let him know of the plans and if he would like to be included he was more than welcome. Of course, he never replied, and of course, I still put his name to it as he was and still is the grandson of the dearly departed, despite not showing an ounce of remorse for not showing himself in the final few months and years of her life. I only wish he could man up and just be apart of this rather than hiding in her shadow. 

As 1pm approached we all headed into our cars, out of the way of the biting cold that she [Nanna] had cast over us from Scotland. Pulling away from her home, my thoughts turned to the next part of today. At the graveside, I was going to say a few words as I had divulged in last weeks blog post. Since there was going to be no church service due to the Coronavirus outbreak (even after Boris' announcement yesterday) there was a need to pack the occasion out and make it feel more than just a box and hole situation. As expected, my poor cousin was in no fit state to say anything let alone put words together in order to form a sentence in front of everyone and so the suggestion of something lighter about our time as grandchildren with Nanna was definitely best left to her memorial ceremony and celebration hopefully in a few months time when all of this is over. 

Pulling into the Cemetary I could see my father's car which gave me great comfort to know he was here, mostly because of the "am I, aren't I" conversations we had a few times over the last few weeks. Regardless of if he came or didn't, there would be backlash either way. My father would have been ridiculed for showing his face and coming if he had turned up and equally would have been bad-mouthed had he not come to the funeral of a woman that was once your mother-in-law. My Dad, accompanied by his new wife, was there to support me and my Auntie and Uncle's as well as my brother. Standing in the background I was glad of his presence. 

Moments later, in the freezing cold with the sun shining, I read from the freshly printed pages my monologue as posted last week. It went down well. Very well in fact, my uncle passing comment about not being about to follow such a touching tribute which I thought was lovely, especially considering how much I pawed over it and fretted about its broadcast. The moments slid by as we watched her be lowered into her final resting place, next to Granda, and soon we all started to dissipate into the Cemetary. 

All was well and we bid goodbye to close family and family friends with promises of meeting again once this Lockdown had lifted Mr Warehouse and I headed for the car. Uncle Africa wanted to speak with my mother and brother, alone, and so had asked if I could take my Nanny Pumpkin home. This delayed my catch-up with Miss Tweedle-Dee, something I was going to need after all this, but I was happy to assist as I knew that some stern words would need to be had. Although just before we left, my father made a bold move by walking in their direction. Before I knew what was happening (and truth be told I still don't) I heard my mothers voice ring out across the small parking lot. 
"BACK OFF" She bellowed, screeching at my father and holding a firm hand up in protection. Of her? Of her son? Who knows. All I do know is that my father only wanted to speak with his son and offer both him and his ex-wife his condolences. 

Sadly it seems as all the years have rolled by, the anger and searing pain are still raw. My brother is still hurting and my mother is still her old self, melodramatic and over the top. I just wish that we could all be civil. Enough time has passed for us to all get over ourselves and just accept that in certain situations we need to put things like this aside. Obviously, my mother never got that memo and instead embarrassed not only herself, but also my brother, who seems to have grown just as bitter and hateful as she is. Some things never change ...  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Love Like Nothing Else

Hello, 

Sitting here and writing to you I know I am less than a week from my grandmothers funeral. I am dreading it. More than most and because of a multitude of reasons. To think that this time next week it will all be over and done with, all said and done, with only the memorial service to complete the mourning process. I know that no one ever looks forward to funerals, but this one will be especially fraught with emotions. 

I recall the feeling on the morning of my Grandfather's funeral just over two years ago now almost to the day, waking up on the morning of the funeral in the flat Mr Warehouse and I shared, way before mortgages and new puppies were a thing. With the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside, I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all, probably not helped by my rapidly deteriorating mental state at the time. I remembered with chills running along my arm hiding my head under the covers as Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass, something he had already been through several years earlier with his own Granddad whom he was very, very close with. 

And now, all of that will come again only as with last time, there will be tension and anxiety riding high. I laugh to myself now as I write this to you, it seems that funerals, whilst are not the happiest of occasions, always seem to be dogged for me with huge anxieties and bouts of doubt and uncertainty about myself. And this time will be no different. 

On a positive note, the COVID-19 Coronavirus pandemic following the strict social distancing measures introduced at the end of March, the daily death toll started to slow into April, before gradually starting to come down just before Easter. Today another 288 deaths were announced which marks the lowest daily figure since 29 March this year. Speaking at the government's daily news conference today the BBC reported that the deputy chief medical officer for England, said that it was now "very clear in the data that we are past the peak" which can only mean that we are somewhat of a step closer to all of this being over. 

That being said however is a good thing as more people than originally thought are able to attend Nanna's funeral meaning it can be a bit more normal than planned. Another positive that this has brought about is how much closer I feel to Auntie DD (my mother's sister) and Uncle Golf. With both of them planning everything and sorting out her house I felt the need to try and support them and be with them as much as I can be at the distance of 2 metres of course. Phone calls every couple of days and catch-ups over WhatsApp really help to feel connected in a way. It's nice. Especially when things were so different and awkward throughout my parent's divorce and the earlier years of me being kicked out. 

So much closer we have gotten, I had suggested doing something similar to my Granddad's funeral and donating or making a wreath from the grandchildren. Obviously, I included my brother, texting him last week to let him know of the plans and if he would like to be included he was more than welcome. Of course, he never replied, and of course, I will still put his name on it as he was and still is the grandson of the dearly departed. I only wish he could man up and just be apart of this. Along with this, my Auntie DD asked if I would like to say a few words at the graveside, moreso to pack it out and make it feel more than just a box and hole situation.  I suggested something similar to funny tales and stories about my time with Nanna from myself and my cousin, and my brother too, as an anecdotal tonic to the harshness of the setting. However, after much care and consideration, I did not think that my cousin ould be up for talking, especially when it is so raw and fresh. I am hoping however we can put something together for her memorial ceremony and celebrate Nanna's life, rather than mourn for it. 

But I still felt as though I wanted to say something. And so, with my wedding less than a handful of months away now, I turned to some of my fondest memories and stories about Nanna's very own love of her life, Granda. And therein lays my inspiration. It didn't take long, and in my mind, cannot be a more fitting tribute as a tale that will live on forever ... 

Love can be found in all types of strange places. Some find it at work in offices and warehouses, stealing kisses and cuddles in the canteen. Some find it in pubs and clubs under the bright lights and heart-pounding music. Some even find it online and in the future, who knows where my children or grandchildren will meet their true love. 

But sometimes you don’t find love, but moreso, it finds you. Sometimes it can be closer to home than you think. When Granda went to stay with a family friend and her family whilst he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England, never could he have imagined he would meet the love of his life.

After getting to know the family and the beautiful but feisty young women that was Nanna, work took Granda elsewhere, but before he had left he made certain that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks passed when Nanna's very own Granny fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, my Nanna started writing to Granda and soon enough they were writing every week to one another and over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger with every letter that the postie brought.  

Just over a year after meeting, fate brought work for Granda back to the Scottish borders and once more they reunited. But this time Granda had something incredibly special he wanted to ask. After a wonderful day together my Granda plucked up the courage and asked Nanna for her hand in marriage. But alas as the wonderful news and exciting update was marred by the differing religious backgrounds and beliefs of their families. Granda was Protestant and Nanna was Catholic.

On hearing the news, Nanna's parents were less than happy for the newly engaged couple and refused the relationship forcibly stopping it from going any further. Several months later after multiple letters to Granda whilst he was away working with no response Nanna went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bus from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, every little feeling came rushing back and lit a fire so bright it burned for decades. It was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring.

Telling Nanna’s parents was not easy and after moving away to be closer to her future husband she had upset her family greatly. So much so that by the time their wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up. Nanna was not walked down the aisle by her father and was not doted on by her mother in the hours before the ceremony. Nanna dismissed the traditional white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan. Every person present that day, standing outside the Church in Oxford was from Granda's side of the family and a handful of friends.

In the years that followed, the black and white wedding photos were a placement in the many homes where they created and grew their family, bickering and arguing all the way. But soon enough, there comes a time for us all and even as Nanna raced to the hospital to be by her husbands’ side in his final moments on earth, she knew the exact moment he was gone. “It was like I could hear his last breath” she used to tell me, reliving the tales and stories she was so fond of telling over and over again.

For me, one thing is for certain. Once you have found that one special person, there is very little that will pull you apart. No wedge that can be placed between you. No tie that can severed. Like the blossoming of Wisteria, you become not only enchanted and curious with each other but fascinated and infatuated, love drunk, giddy with excitement and adventure. And then, before you know it, your lives are so tightly intertwined you are but one beautiful soul with a bond so strong, not even death can keep you apart.

It will be sad not to have you both there on my wedding day in a few months’ time, watching from the sidelines as me and my husband take our first few steps into married life and all that it brings. But I know you will be there, somewhere in the faces as we take our vows and have our first dance. For that is what I hope for. A love like no other. Mickey and Minnie. Romeo and Juliet. My Nanna and Granda – A love story like no other and a tale to be told forevermore… 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

No amount of anxiety can change the future

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I book holiday from work I am excitedly anticipating all the fun and frolics I will have on my day off. Maybe I will be getting my hair done, maybe I will have a nice lunch out somewhere and will I get a lay in? However, it was on this occasion I did not feel so merry. The funeral was booked and the date was set for a fortnight from today. 

Originally I was sort of hoping that we could hold out until this whole COVID-19 Coronavirus is over with, making way for a proper and personal funeral service as normal. However on checking with the Co-Op Funeral Care website, at this stage, it’s not clear how long restrictions may be in place and therefore guidance is that funerals should take place rather than be delayed indefinitely, a view which my Auntie-DD and Uncle-Golf have taken. The website continues that it’s highly likely that funerals carried out in this time will not be how you as the family or the person who’s died would originally have wanted the funeral to be. 

In an article about what is different about funerals now, the Co-Op Funeral Care website, explains that under government advice the Catholic Diocese have stopped taking services and are closed until further notice which means that a church service can not take place as Nana would have wanted, although, in lieu of this, a short service at the graveside with a small number of mourners (between 20-30 at the moment) is possible. 
The website also delicately explains that whilst at this time, mourners will not be able to assist with handling, carrying or lowering the coffin, the coffin will be moved using a wheeled bier. In order to comply with social distancing, the Co-Op Funeral Care website explains that for them at least as a Funeral director, they are no longer going to offer the use of limousines and ask you to use your own transport to the funeral. Heartbreakingly I also learnt through the website, that although we would have preferred Nana dressed in her own clothes, Co-Op Funeral Care is unable to do this at this time and instead use a high-quality dressing robe, however, this may be different in our circumstances since my Grandmother was not a victim of COVID-19.  Regardless of the funeral director, for everybody’s safety, most are limiting the number of mourners attending funeral services and that anyone from the higher risk groups (Over 70s, pregnant, immunocompromised) should not attend. Unfortunately for me however, the guest list will include some of my least favourite people. 

I can barely remember the last time I thought about my mother let alone saw her. It has been months since I even heard her being mentioned and years since we met, let alone talked. Now I don't doubt that there are many mother and daughter relationships that have arguments and falling-outs, heck I wouldn't be surprised if some have even completely cut all ties as I have. I am certain to bet on it. However nothing in my head, be me a mother myself or not, cannot see any reasonable explanation for what my own had put me through, both before and after throwing me out onto the streets with nothing but torn bin-bags of belongings and ripped hopes for the future. Pregnancy, Drugs and Drink. No matter what it was I would always try my best as a parent, regardless of anyone or anything else - My children would and will come first. Each. And. Every. Time. 

It seems to me now to be so strange that my mother came from my loving grandmother who turned out five wonderful adults with huge academic and career achievements. My Auntie-DD had bought and owned outright her own house by the time she was my age, give or take a few years. My Uncle-Golf studied hard and graduated university in Scotland. And yet she was the letdown. I can recall the countless number of times I had made breakfast in bed or bought flowers and chocolates as a daughter, a child, only to receive very little if anything back. Detailed back at the beginning of my blog in 2015, I exhumed my past and wrote it all down, aptly entitled "A Mothers Love: Part I" & "A Mothers Love: Part II" showing just how much we never really had a bond. 

In the years that have passed, learning from family, friends and long-standing people who knew of my mother well; they're own tales and interactions are foretelling that her personality was fully enabled of causing havoc, even as far back as childhood. Sadly it seems that the festering dislike for me which lead to me being thrown out at seventeen had to come to a close somehow and in a way, I suppose I am the same as others in my friend groups - For I wouldn't be the person who I am today without her. That doesn't mean to say though that I forgive her for what she has done to me and my fragmented family - It is just now I am older I can appreciate that indifference is far more empowering than hatred or anger.  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Every Man Dies, Yet Not Every Man Really Lives

Evening, 

It came on Saturday evening. Mr Warehouse had spent the day putting up a TV bracket for the living room taking nearly four-hours and now we were sat cosily on our sofa with the dogs, curled up in blankets watching Saturday night telly. I had been quietly contemplating visiting my Scottish Grandmother in Hospital since Friday morning, however, the weekend was nearly halfway through and the last visit I wished I hadn't have gone. 

Walking into the building the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical although stepping into the room my Nanna was in, donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus), she seemed peacefully asleep. Sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. And yet despite all this, I struggled with the fact that she barely said anything. From a woman who struggled to zip it (she was a talkative soul), to now see her coldly silent, it was chilling. 

I said to myself that if she was more animated and talkative on Friday and Saturday then Mr Warehouse and I would visit on Sunday. I didn't want to see her like that again, but if she was talking more then maybe that would make that memory fade more into the background when she had gone. Uncle Golf had said that the nurses and doctors had changed her medication and this had seemed to put a little spring in her step earlier on in the week so it seemed positive. However, on reading that message, I knew I would never get the chance. 

"I am sorry to have to tell you that at 6.15pm this evening Nanna passed away peacefully," the message read. "She will now be with Granda and her family in heaven, looking down and smiling on us all" it continued. My heart broke. I did not cry, but of course, I was very sad. All of those ideas and thoughts I had in my head sitting in her rocking chairs together as we watched some old black and white movie as I cradled my swollen pregnant tummy someday, or maybe how she would cooe over her great-grandchild. The closest I got was her meeting my fur child, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called, even let him lick her face and cuddling him like a baby. 

All of it seemed to pale into insignificance as I chatted away several hours later with my Auntie who had called to check up on me. She explained that both her and Uncle Golf had sat either side of her bed, in that heavens foyer of a room, talking about shoes when all of a sudden Nanna took a long deep breath and sighed. 
"That's a bit of a long pause between breaths," they thought, chatting away. Calling in a nurse, and then a doctor, and then someone else, they confirmed that yes, Nanna had taken her last breath, listening to her beloved children twitter on about shoes. I am sure she would have found it comical. 

And that was that. Nothing more, nothing less, a simple slipping away to heavens gate. But I should be grateful I and others got a chance to see her one last time. I remember how I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. And now she is with him. What the future holds? Not a clue. I feel awkward asking about a funeral as she is barely cold, but with me being the only one running the department for the last couple of days with little help or support and the phones busy, work was one of the things I selflessly thought about. 

As we now enter week number four of lockdown in the UK as we battle the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus and with Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) only recently been released from intensive care in hospital, Downing Street announced late last week that we are still amongst a state of national emergency. Continuing the message to stay at home and save the NHS, Lockdown was being extended. The BBC reports that restrictions in the UK will continue for "at least" another three weeks as it tackles the coronavirus outbreak, concluding that a review of relaxing the measures now would risk harming public health and the economy. The UK recorded death toll is now standing at over 16,000 - The population of places like Cirencesterin Gloucestershire, Penzance in Cornwall or my very own home town.

BBC.co.uk continues that the strict limits on daily life - such as requiring people to stay at home, shutting many businesses and preventing gatherings of more than two people - were introduced on 23 March, as the government tried to limit the spread of coronavirus. What that means for funerals? But looking online there seems to only be guidance from the media and newspapers. Nothing from Government. Reading on Metro.co.uk that weddings, baptisms and other ceremonies are being stopped during the coronavirus lockdown, but funerals will still be going ahead. However, it is unclear that, death from COVID-19 or not, lockdown measures including a ban on social gatherings of more than two people makes it a complicated time to cough it (excuse the pun) and the government still has yet to clarify how many people will be permitted to attend a funeral during this time or if only close and immediate family members are aloud only. Advice from the National Association of Funeral Directors (NAFD), said that whilst they have reached out to the Government to clarify a number of questions, including the maximum number of people that can attend a funeral, the initial advice is to arrange funerals over the phone wherever possible, restrict attendees to immediate close family only as well as respecting social distancing guidelines.

And so as the strange times continue for another few weeks yet, for it will get worse before it gets better, especially where my mother is concerned. But alas, I have to laugh and think about what my Scottish Nanna would say - "At Least that's one RSVP you won't have to chase"

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Death is a Lesson - It Tells Us Not To Waste Time

Afternoon Everyone, 

Several weeks in the UK is still amongst a Lockdown never seen before, even during the ware era, from the dreaded COVID-19 Coronavirus. With Boris Johnson (Britains Prime Minister) having been taken into intensive care and ICU over the last week, Downing Street is still stating a national emergency and to continue with the hundreds and continues into the thousands it is no wonder the NHS is on its knees struggling. I know this for a fact as I visited a hospital today, not as a fact-finding mission or in an effort to get a front line look at the crisis, but because someone very dear to me is very, very ill. 

A couple of weeks ago now I received a phone call from my Uncle Golf, my Mother's Brother, to let me know that my Scottish Grandmother had taken a turn for the worst and was in the hospital. Being in her eighties, I didn't really think too much of it as she was old and frail. She had been in bed ever since myself and my other Nanny Pumpkin had gone to Krakow back in Early October, and truth be told that things had not really improved since then. Good news, however, was that she had been cleared from the COVID-19 Coronavirus several times and that seemingly it was a case for pneumonia, swelling of the tissue in one or both lungs, usually caused by a bacterial infection. At the end of the breathing tubes in your lungs are clusters of tiny air sacs and if these tiny sacs become inflamed and fill up with fluid, this can lead to pneumonia. 

Every day that went by Uncle Golf would text us all a daily update on how she was getting on and the different phone calls or conversations he had with doctors and nurses looking after her. All seemed well and she was eating and drinking and getting back to normal, even talk of her being discharged. However, this morning as Mr Warehouse sat eating breakfast and contemplating doing something productive with our last day of a four-day bank holiday other than binge-watching Tiger King on Netflix, I got a phone call. It was Uncle Golf. 
"Things aren't looking good and honestly they are not going to get better from here" he began, becoming choked up as he spoke. We continued to talk as he explained that Nana just wasn't getting better and that doctors had said to prepare the family and try to make the rounds in everyone seeing her before curtain call. 

And so as 2pm rolled over on my car clock I met my Auntie, Cousin and Uncle in the hospital car park, walking in together for support. My Auntie looked tearful and tired-red eyes filled with sadness. My Uncle was quiet but strong. My cousin seemed to not really know the severity of it all, however, I am told despite being only sixteen, he knows what is happening and the likely outcome. I was half expecting my Mother to show up, but apparently her spotlight, I mean quality time, was yesterday.

Walking in the whole place seemed quiet and less busy than I would have imagined it being a bank holiday Monday, although that being said though we are amongst a national Lockdown. The ward smelt like bleach and chlorine, clean and clinical. Stepping into the sister's office I was donned in a plastic surgeon gown and face mask (even though studies show they don't make a difference when it comes to COVID-19 Coronavirus). Nana was sat in an almost biblically white room, angel-like as she lay in bed with her hair white as snow and blankets piled high. She looked comfortable. I began talking and introduced myself as if we had never met. 

Struggling to think of things to say I talked about my baby-pooch, Frankenstein whom she was quite fond of, always asking about him when I called. Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always describing them as a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. As she sat there silently and shut-eyed, I recalled the first time she met him, picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

It's funny. I wrote a few months ago in the Summer of last year following a visit about how I thought, as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. And now today, as I sat by her bedside on her way out that I would. Although she looked much, much different now with her soft white curls flat and as lifeless as she seemed. I giggled at the thought of how they would wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years and all the mischief she would get up to. 

Pauses came and went as she tried to say something (I think so anyway). Deciding that she could hear me and even if she couldn't it was better than sitting in silence as I watched my Grandmother slip closer and closer to the Grim Reaper, I continued talking. I talked about Mr Warehouse and how I am still working throughout these crazy times and how in a few months hopefully when this is all blown over Mr Warehouse and the dogs are going to Cornwall on a Pre-Wedding holiday. 
"Remember the time that you came with us as a family on holiday with Mum and Dad when I was little. Really little. And I lost my bunny rabbit. Remember the brown furry one with leather padded paws?" I told her excitedly, hoping it might garner a response. Nothing. 
"Do you remember how upset I was and how I cried the whole journey home to without him. And remember how some nice person posted it back to us?" I continued, again with little to no response. 

Changing the subject I thought might help and so I spoke about my upcoming wedding that ultimately she probably won't make and how wonderful it is going to be with all the decorations and the dress and the church. It got me thinking about the story she told me of her and my Granda. I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 


Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish, maybe now more than ever. I thought about that warm August day last year as she sat in her rocking chair and recalled how the day went as my little fur baby fell asleep curled-up on the jazzy carpet. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

Unfortunately, it was time for me to leave and as I kissed her on the forehead goodbye I told her it was OK to go now and to say hello to Granda for me (he died when I was only four-months-old). She sighed and made a slight noise, but I am almost certain she didn't know who I was or why I was there. Nevertheless, the prognosis does not look good and the outlook is bleak. How long? Nobody knows, could be hours, could be weeks or it could be months. All we do know is she is being cared for by the best people in the Biz and is comfier that I could ever hope for.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Arbeit Macht Frei (Work Will Set You Free)

Hallo, 

Waking up on our first proper morning in Krakow, Nanny Pumpkin and I hardly had time to loll around. Breakfast at the Hotel Kazimierz was somewhat, different, with the normal continental breakkie items such as cereals, cheeses, hams and fruit, however, I certainly did not expect mini Pepperami, a type of weird pancake omelette thing, undercooked cold scrambled egg and a strange chicken haslet thing your mom used to give you in your packed lunch as a kid. After satisfying myself with trying some new breakfast items, Polish style, we headed out on a private walking tour, just me, my Nanny Pumpkin and a lovely Polish lady who knew lots about the city and its inhabitants, Jewish and not so. 

Starting in the heart of Kraków’s Kazimierz - the former Jewish district we visited some beautiful synagogues and cemeteries before exploring the city further, and how life was before the outbreak of the Second World War. Furthing our understanding of the city, the country it belongs too and some of the awful things its residents had to endure throughout the occupation, we ended up in the ghetto square, only a few streets away from the Schindler factory which we also visited, learning about an incredibly brave man with a passion for helping people. The following day we had an early start and so after a spot of shopping (and falling flat over on my face whilst doing so in a busy square) and Nanna's adventures on another private Golf-Buggy tour, and some dinner, we headed to bed. 

Waking the following morning we were picked up early around the corner from our hotel due to roadworks and taken about 30-45 minutes from Krakow to the Salt Mine. Wandering along the remarkably beautiful undergrounds of the “Wieliczka” Salt Mine. Our journey started at the Danilowicz Shaft, where we met our tour guide, a lovely, handsome young thing called Dominik. He was not so lovely when he made us and the others in our tour walk down 350 steps which have to be descended to reach the depth of 135 meters underground and to initially start the tour. During our tour we were shown magnificent chambers chiselled out in rock salt, and yes I did lick the walls just to be sure! Amazing underground saline lakes, majestic timber constructions and unique statues sculpted in salt were amongst the almost 3 kilometres of meandering corridors and 800 steps, during which we learnt everything about the mine, its history and its secrets. As an active mine however we saw a few workmen who explained about the forces of nature still ruling within the depths of the mine and about the ethos of hard work performed by the generations of miners, still there today. Travelling further and further into the mine chasm my Grandmother and I cursed ourselves for all the walking but yet continued to discover unusual places and with our own eyes witnessed the power of human hands that once excavated rock salt, as well as magnificent mining tools and machines. I suppose that it is no real surprise that till now, the Tourist Route, the main visiting route of the mine has been visited by 44,772,693 tourists from around the whole world in search of adventures (and solid calf muscles). 

We returned to the Hotel Kazimierz around mid-morning and wasting no time Gram's headed out again on another one of her tours. I decided that the amount of walking done already, and with the amount, we would be due to do the following afternoon at Auschwitz and Birkenau - The Nazi Death Camps. And, after a spot of shopping in the morning, Nanny and I headed off to the one thing we had both admittedly been looking forward to and anxiously anticipating all week. I didn't know if anything could have prepared me for the influx of emotions that ran through my heart as I listened carefully to our guide as we explored the camps of Auschwitz first (in glorious sunshine) and Birkenau where the weather turned less than pleasant. As the only death camp on the UNESCO World Heritage List, pure evil resided for 5 long years during Hitler's reign of terror across Europe. As we passed under the gates, emblazoned with "Work will set you free" in German I witnessed a Chinese / Asian couple as part of a larger group begin to take photos, one of which was a selfie. Shocked I was about to say something but someone else beat me to it. 
"No selfies, No smiling, No laughing - This is where people were murdered. Show some respect." Barked the guide. Pleased at this I knew from the outset that she was fucking serious and that no shit would be taken by her. As we were walked around each exhibition in the museum there was added more and more compelling information and heartbreaking statistics. Another one and another one and another one, each stinging in your heart and making you realise what atrocities humans are capable of in their thirst for power and control. 

To assist and help people understand what really happened in the most recognizable place of the Holocaust in the early 1940s, The Museum created a tour that will allow visitors like my Nan and I to see the barracks, crematoria, and gas chambers which Nazis used for the mass extermination of women, men, children, and elderly who weren’t able to do hard labour after what was an excruciating and exhausting journey in cattle wagons and trains. One of the hardest things I think I encountered and certainly won’t miss in a hurry was the exhibitions with personal belongings, objects of everyday use, and pictures of individual prisoners. The thing that really hit hard was the pots, pans, jugs, and kitchenware, all brightly colored, ready to start your new life with your mother, father, brother, sister, grandma, grandad, auntie and uncle. Along with your neighbors and friends, they were lied to. There were no new homes, no new jobs, no new life. All that they met was a Gestapo and the best they could hope for was survival in the deadliest game of Tinder where he stood as the transportation stopped, giving either a thumbs left or a thumbs right, one indicating the workhouse's and hard labor, the other a "shower" to clean up before meeting their husbands, brothers, sisters, mothers again. This would never come. They were murdered. 

Since the war ended and the museum was opened for the public, millions of people have come here to pay tribute and shed tears over the innocents who perished in Auschwitz, most of which were Jewish however many more were also from Poland and a lot more than I originally thought. Traveling the short distance to Birkenau the weather turned poor with the fading daylight and it really added a sense of realness to the atmosphere already darkened. It began to rain as we walked the distance along the tracks to the gates. It was only during the next length of the walk, following the ominous train line that you really got a feel for how mammoth this place was and ponder at what would have been had England and the other allies not stepped in. How far would Hitler and the Third Reich go? Would they have had world domination and if so, would we be here? What would the world look like if they had succeeded in their foul plan of the Aryan race?

Standing listening to the guide intently I heard whispers of being cold or wet (and considering I was in a heavy wool jumper which was getting more and more sodden as I stood out in the elements). I couldn't help but talk loudly to my Grandmother on the walk over to the women's barracks in the torrential rain that these people did not have the luxury of coats or jackets or umbrellas. Heck, these poor people did not even have the use of shoes or socks on their feet as they trudged the harsh, broken brick road. I was angry at people's thoughtless comments - Children, women and men alike, young and old stood out in that same weather, worse in fact with minus-thirty-degree snow and scorching summers to battle with no shade. Standing in the shelter of the women's barracks I couldn't help but look around and was even able to snap a few photos to capture the atmosphere, the pictures, and photos littered with white or silver orbs - Typically thought to be positive spirit activity, although some sources also state that they could also indicate that a spirit or energy is stuck or trapped on a plane that they don't belong on. 

On leaving both the concentration camps and also Krakow and Poland, I believe and stand by the fact that all of us, without exception, should brace up and pay a visit to such a sobering place for the sake of future generations to make sure no one forgets what hatred and totalitarian regime result in. Myself being from a military family I felt it my duty and as though it is a right of passage for me to learn more about how the war started, especially since I learned so much about how it ended and continued in western Europe. As a Human, even if you are not religious or of nationalities involved, I would encourage you to go, be brave, and pay your respects for those that fell for us so we could live forward.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wedding Like No Other!

Hello, 

With less than a few days until his operation I thought I would again try and teach my puppy some valuable life skills, like how to conduct ones self when in a peculiar environment whilst containing bowel movements, sitting in the front seat of a moving vehicle whilst not being sick or having a pampering sleepover round your Mom's friend's house as they all sit around chatting shit and smoking like it's1984 their in a seedy nightclub. 

I wouldn't say it was the best experience he has had, however, that being said it certainly went a lot better than anticipated. I started our trip as I normally do stopping off at Nanny Pumpkin's for a coffee and a biscuit. We chatted about mine and Mr Warehouses new edition since she had not yet met our little bundle of fur, cooeing over him like a new baby and admiring him from a distance. Truth be told I don't think that my Nanny Pumpkin is much of a pet person especially that of dogs. I assume, partly from what she has told me and partly from my own judgement that as a military family they were surrounded by families who would get a dog or a cat and then have to give it up several weeks later when they moved army barracks only to be disappointed when Mittens or Rover could not come with them. I do recall somewhere that my father and his brothers had won a goldfish at a local fair and that my Nanny Pumpkin had agreed to let them keep it. If I remember correctly that the goldfish met its end in the same way many do with one flush and a toilet burial. 

I briefly saw my aunty, uncle and cousins as they had also popped by to see me and the new puppy, after which I tried to dash over to my other Nana's to see my uncle and her before my uncle went to go and play golf. I knew before even stepping foot inside the jazzy carpeted house that she had lived in for the last decade or so that my Scottish Nana would be much more reciprocal to my baby-pooch. I knew for a fact that my Nana had grown up in the harsh reality of postwar Scotland with Jack Russells and other dogs, always a good companion for running across summer fields and icy winter walks. Picking him up she cuddled him like a toddler and even let him lick her face which I know a lot of people detest. 

I thought to myself as I listened to several of the same stories as I had before over and over again that ultimately these will be the moment I will cherish once she is gone. In her mid-80's now her soft white curls seemed to wiggle whenever she would laugh about some of the good times that she used to have back in her younger years. We spoke alot about my upcoming wedding next year and discussed a lot about her wedding and how different it was back then. 

I never knew that my mother's parents met when my Granda had come to stay at my Nana's house with her family as he was working locally in a small Scottish village near the border of England. After several weeks, work took my Granda elsewhere in the country but before he had left making sure that my Nana kept in touch. Several weeks later my great-great-grandmother (my Nana's Nana) fell ill and in her final few moments shared some wisdom that it would not be the last time that my Nana and my Granda met. Sure enough, following the funeral, my Nana sent a letter to my Granda informing him of the death in the family. Soon enough they were writing every week to one another and slowly but surely over the week's their friendship turned to love and grew stronger. 

Just over a year after meeting, work brought my Granda back into the area again and they met again. This time my Granda asked my Nana to marry him. Wonderful news and exciting updates for the families, except for there was one big problem. He was Protestant and she was Catholic. From my very basic understanding and knowledge of either side, They worship the same God, but the principles of their faith are different? In any circumstance, my Nana's parents were not having any of it and refused the relationship, even so much so that after fainting and falling over, my great-grandmother forced my Nana (woozy on pain medication) to write a letter to her fiance telling him that she no longer wanted to marry him. 

Had my Nana's sister not said anything then I may well not be here sharing the story with you. Several months later after multiple letters whilst my Granda was away working my Nana went to go and meet him. Stepping off the bud from a nearly thirty-mile round trip, it was like they had never been a part and without a moment to spare my Granda took my Nana by the hand and they went to buy a ring. Now telling her parents wasn't easy and after moving away to be closer to him she had upset her parents greatly. So much so that by the time the wedding rolled around a few weeks later, none of her family turned up, not even her father to walk her down the aisle. My Nana didn't wear a white dress and instead opted for a traditional shift suit with a boxy coat all in traditional tartan tweed. Every person in the Church in Oxford was from my Granda's side of the family and a few friends. And all because he was Protestant and she was Catholic. 

Her black and white wedding photos were certainly something to look back on and cherish as she recalled and remembered how the day went. And as my little fur baby fell asleep hold-up on the jazzy carpet I thought about how this could be me in a few decades time, remembering all the fun and joyous moments I had with friends and family at my own wedding. I think that it is certainly moments like this that I cherish just talking and in a way getting to know my Nana before she was a Nana. Finding out all those little things that makes her who she is and in a way trickles down the tree, making me who I am and who my children will be. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Turning off the Christmas Lights

Heyy,

So let me start this week's blog post about telling you exactly how much I love my fiance Mr Warehouse, however as much as I loved spending every waking moment with him I would also like to have some time by myself on the sofa watching some sort of crappy episodes of back to back Teen Mom OG or Homes Under the Hammer.

Finally though after what has seems like months, at last I last got a lovely long Saturday morning lay-in and a good binge of TV all washed down with a huge mug of coffee and maybe a mince pies or two. OK OK maybe it was the whole box, but in my defence they were going out of date and oh my goodness they were so crumbly and sweet. Besides, if one is not allowed to binge TV and eat copious amounts of food over the Christmas period then quite frankly what are you doing with your life?

During the run up to this time of year I either spend it out and about most evenings catching up with friends, on holidays or mini breaks away to somewhere more christmassy than Bedfordshire or just simply in a salon somewhere trying to make myself look beautiful for the party season whilst searching for a sequin sparkly plus-size dress that does not exist anywhere in any size other than anorexic or dead-for-a-week. But this year is different. I suppose that this past year there has been quite a few changes in my life which has made Christmas a little different. Granddad will not be feeding the dog from his bed, Mr and Mrs Tweedle-Dumb are off living their best lives in sunny L.A, I have a new Fiance and a New Job as Marketing Coordinator but most of all, I have a swanky new home! 

Ahh yes the dynamics of Christmas has changed. But that is not to say that anything will be overtly out of the ordinary this year compared with last. Yes obviously my grandfather wont be there which in many ways will be sad for all of us as a family, however that being said, Christmas was a time for all the family to get around his bedside and take the piss, tell jokes, laugh and enjoy each others company - Or put up with it, depending on which members of the family you asked. Christmas is a day for celebrating and despite his absence, I plan to do just that. I plan to enjoy the company of my loved ones on Christmas day and will start it as normal with Mr. Warehouse and pooch in our new abode, opening the presents we have been hiding from each other for the last few months and eating chocolate for breakfast as any normal twenty-six/seven year-olds would do. 

Next will be bundling ourselves into the car for a trip round to My future families, Big Brother Warehouses, to have a spot of brunch (usually pigs in blankets although I am not sure why) and to watch our nieces and nephews open their presents from "Santa". You would have thought after generations he would remember to drop them at the right house! Nevertheless off we go again, on the move for the final time, back home to the other end of the 'Shire to spend Christmas dinner with my family, hopefully staying well into the evening and making use of Nanny Pumpkins glorious Cheese-board and over-indulgent Buffet. 

My Grandpa loved this time of year, good TV, family around cracking jokes and any excuse to have the house and garden filled with lights that went off any time you breathed a little to heavily, setting the whole Bungalow into a Vegas styled, all singing all dancing light show. My favourite part of being their grandchild was to sneak round the lounge when someone was sleeping and clap so that the singing Santa came alive, blaring out another nauseating Christmas hit! My brother and I used to laugh and giggle when "someone" would activate the Christmas lights and music, sending Nanny Pumpkin into a spin about why they were all going off again and waking Granddad from his afternoon snooze. 

I think it will be odd this year for sure but that is not to say it will be bad, he is in a better place and to an extent the family can relax a little as we won't have to wait on him hand and foot. Nanny will be sad I am sure but even she will probably find solace in the silence and normal lighting. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Blood Makes You Related, Love Makes You A Family

Hello,

Waking up on Saturday morning was probably the most relaxed I think I have had any morning waking up in my new home thus far. The last week or two had been strained to say the least and contributed to me losing my bag a few times with Mr Warehouse. Still in a bit of pain I was dropping him to work and picking him up every day which was starting to grate on me without having any of my own free time. Nevertheless a weekend away from it all and a quick calculation of our first mortgage payment and few bills that are coming in make it look and feel as though things will not be as tight as initially thought in the first few months of home ownership. Whilst I may well be math's dyslexic I am however quite good with working out financially whether something is a viable option or not, especially so when looking at our savings for the house and now going forward for the wedding. 

Hearing my fiance watching TV downstairs probably with the dog by his side made me grin with happiness as I rolled over to welcome in the brightness from outside. Now that is not to say that Saturday was at all a gloriously sunny or beautiful day for weather. If anything it was Far flung from that and was overcast, grey, drizzly and quite windy. Perfect weather for a Gazebo! Knowing that Mr Warehouse had probably silenced my alarms a few hours ago it was certainly time to get out of bed. Trundling down the stairs, still in my pyjamas and rubbing my eyes and waking myself up along every step, I wondered about coffee, only to hear the Bae call in from the lounge down the hallway that he put the kettle on a few moments ago anticipating my arrival. Such a sweetie! I think that the only way this morning could have possibly been any better is if he had brought it to me in bed. But today was not a day for lounging around in your duvet with a coffee in hand. Oh No! Today was the day that it finally felt all so real. I was engaged. I was a home-owner. And I was about to celebrate it all with the ones I loved most. 

Rushing around like a headless chicken, Mr. Warehouse and I didn't even stop for a cuppa or breakfast, soldiering through to put up the gazebo, lay out food, make the house presentable and decorate for a party! As the afternoon broke, we had our first guests, Momma and Pappa Tweedle-Dee. Unfortunately Miss Tweedle-Dee already had prior commitments with her cousins and so was unable to make it but I was so glad when her parents turned up to warm us into our new home as our first proper guests. Showing them round they kept saying how proud they were of me and also of my fiance and how lovely it all was. 

Soon after the next set of guests arrived, my Auntie and eldest cousin. Again the house tour began and after about the third or fourth I was glad for Mr Warehouse to take over a little with the hostessing as I mingled with our house now full of guests. "OK so maybe a few too many invites went out" I thought as I pondered what would have happened if more of the people who were meant to come had not of dropped out. Where would they go?! Probably that gazebo! Door goes again and I think about how I swear there was a TV comedy sketch show about doors constantly going and people piling on in. Regardless I welcomed them all in, Nana's, Uncles, Aunties, Cousins and friends. 

As the afternoon worn on so did the guests, and with every glass of Prosecco Mr. Warehouse topped me up with the more fuzzy I felt. Most of my side of the family stayed, a good majority of the afternoon and into the evening, mingling and chatting with each other and catching up after the more somber occasion of my grandfathers funeral earlier in the year. Taking a look around I was overwhelmed, as I always am with how many people really do love and support me. No matter what I do, or say or don't do even, they all love me unconditionally. Regardless of their opinions on what I wear or how I conduct my life they accept me for who I am and love and support me no matter what. That is truely what family is. Coming together to celebrate the good and comfort in the bad. It was at that moment I knew that I was content, at least for the time being and that I in a way had officially "made it". Out of everything that I have and are going through, I can honestly say that the hard work has paid off. Time to relax into our new home in time for Christmas ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx