To Crate or not to Crate?!

Hello, 

Another Bank Holiday weekend rolls round and I can hardly believe that it is June already next week. Since the rigmarole of last weeks puppy trauma through bedtime routines and trying to keep our little Frankenstein happy in his own company I can now safely say that I sit on my bed, writing to you all in peace and harmony,. No sitting here listening to him cry and winge as we wonder what else we can do to try and settle him and make his night-time easier. Nothing. Nadda. Our secret?! 

Not that I would like to admit it but unfortunately we have had to crate him. I never really wanted to and could not see any rhyme or reason to doing it as many people, including myself, hate the idea of and even refuse to crate or kennel-train their dogs because I suppose at least I feel that the confinement is cruel. However, I have learnt that a crate or kennel can give dogs a sense of security and if done properly is also a highly effective management system that can be a lifesaver for dog owners. 

If used effectively, a crate for appropriate time periods is helpful with a variety of important goals, including house training, preventing destructive behavior, and teaching a dog to settle and relax. I had spoken to friends and colleagues, I found out that if a dog is taught through positive reinforcement to love the crate, the crate becomes his own private and safe place, much like a bedroom for a child. The crate or kennel is somewhere the dog can go and not be bothered; it's a perfect destination when the dog is tired or nervous. Dogs have a natural instinct to be in a den and many dogs take to a crate very easily but also teaches puppies and excitable dogs to expect and enjoy some down time, and conditions calm behavior. Crate training also provides a number of benefits to owners as well as a crate that is sized properly encourages a dog's instinct not to mess where he sleeps, helping to teach the dog bladder and bowel control. A work colleague suggested using a crate to stop him getting into trouble when Mr Warehouse and I can't supervise directly especially at night but also when we are at work or busy cooking. Whilst everything was and is good during the day, nighttime was the worst and after last Tuesday evening I was certainly not taking any more chances with our house as it were. 

Tucking him in and making him feel as comfortable as possible I came upstairs to meet Mr Warehouse in our bedroom. Following another hard day in the office with constant spreadsheets and updates and phone calls to make I was pleased to see a comfy bed, a smiling face and our favorite TV show ready to go on the box. Settling into the comfy warm sheets we pressed play and forgot a little bit about the screaming puppy downstairs. However, twenty-minutes later after the show had finished and the credits began to roll IMr Warehouse decided to go down and check on him. 

Laying in bed I heard as he opened the door to our lounge and expected a greeting of whimpers and yelps. Instead all I heard was shouting and distress calls from Mr Warehouse to come downstairs. On jumping out of bed myself and the older pooch (who had been sleeping in our room since our puppy arrived) trundled downstairs. Step by Step I wondered what it might be probably poo or maybe a wee in the corner. But as I turned to walk down our hallway and into the living room I saw what the yelling was about. There at the foot of the doorway leading into the lounge I saw concrete. On top of the concrete base some colourful underlay finishing it all off was our frayed, chewed up and spit out cream carpet. I was devastated. What on earth will the neighbours think for even worse what would our friends and family think when they come round. They will think that we are bad dog parents. They will think that our little pup is a fucking arsehole. I mean obviously he is as anyone who is able to destroy something like that in the space of twenty-minutes is not very well behaved. 

The following day I crumbled and after much persuasion from Mr Warehouse I went out and bought a crate for our little Frankie. As before, I never really wanted to as I only thought of it as being a crappy way of dog parenting and only shutting them away when you were not bothered to look after them. However after more research from friends and colleagues, I have been assured that it is the best thing for not just myself and Mr Warehouse but also for our home and puppy himself. Turning to the interwebs, Cuddles.com offers some words of wisdom and even some helpful advice to stop this from happening again. Dogs of all ages can take a liking to carpeting and concentrate on destroying it. The sooner you detect the behavior and do something to stop it, the better. Covering the spot with a piece of furniture and directing your puppy's attention somewhere else are all helpful hints and tips that he article from Tammy Dray has written on "How to Stop a Dog From Ripping the Carpet". Even spraying the areas he's going after with vinegar could help she says. "As soon as Doggie takes a bite out of the carpet, he'll taste the sourness and take off. If you have very expensive -- or very white -- carpet, you might want to call the manufacturer first to find out if vinegar is safe. You don't want to end up with a huge stain."

So now the hunt is on to try and cover it up as best as possible. Hiding it from everyone and hoping that no-one that reads my blog comes over before we have a chance to fix it. Fixing it though? Well it was always something we were going to change given half a chance and following a deep spring clean we realized that it probably needs to be sooner than later. Looking into the paperwork though you would have not thought it would have been as difficult as it has been for all of the information is there. The flooring type, colour, make, model, even the manufacturer. However after numerous emails and probably many more replies I am only finding people that are able to sell it to us. Unfortunately, what I am a genius at most things floor fitting is not my forte Besides, I think with "The Destructor" in the building we will certainly need a professionals touch! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Gatecrashing With Gordon!

Hello, 

OK I get it. I am super shit at actually doing the whole weekly blog thing and all but I promise I had a genuine reason this time (Not that being violently sick with a viral infection wasn't enough of a reason). I was getting my hair done, and yes, I know it sounds like literally the lamest excuse in the book but I had the wonderful Miss Hackney practise her hairdressing skills on me by installing nearly two-hundred micro-ring hair extensions. I now have luxurious, wavey blonde hair that both Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb have now nicknamed me either Stevie Nicks or Shakira, either of which I don't mind all that much. Besides they have called me worse things. But seriously I promise I will try and get better at the whole weekly write-up thing as I know you guys all miss it when I don't write and just disappear off the face of the planet. 

This past week I will be honest has been a bit crazy, and it doesn't look as though the social calender is going to be letting up any time soon, especially on the run up to Christmas. Monday I had my hair extensions fitted (taking over six-hours). On Tuesday Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I went to see the beautifully shot and edited new film Allied starring Brad Pitt and Marion Cotillard. I wont spoil the film but for someone who is not that into history from the World Wars (Nothing against it I just kind of got bored being a guinea pig for all my Dads Army Road Trips touring different battle grounds in norther Europe growing up) I thoroughly enjoyed it and would even go as far as to say that honestly the film spoke to an inner, deeper meaningfulness inside of me that I never expected. I feel like a part of myself is rooted back there in '40s and '50s Britain. Things were simpler, no mobile phones, no social media, not even a TV unless you were very wealthy. Fun and enjoyment was made with people and communities around you not a virtual world of fluff and noise. Anyway I digress, Wednesday I had my eyelash extensions done (They are incredible by the way and I love them oh so much), Thursday was dinner and drinks with work which fell through so Mr. Warehouse and I went for some instead. And then there was Friday. Ohhh sweet Friday!

After waiting in all day at work, terrified that my precious and rather pricey (Over £100.00) BooHoo.com order would not arrive I finished work without it and very angry indeed I now had no choice but to make do and mend (Certainly not the attitude of a '40s and '50s Housewife I might add). Heading home from work I hurriedly got ready and headed out the door, glammed up to the nines and with Mr. Warehouse in toe we soon arrived at the venue. Where were we? Well it would have appeared that the Taxi-Cab dropped up at Tre Fratelli & The Cross Keys Country pub & Kitchen in Wood End, Bedfordshire. It might have just so happened to be our old works Christmas 'Do and we had turned up to gate-crash. Despite being excluded from the guest list and being told by several people in advance that I was not welcome in not so many words, I walked into the bar and ordered some drinks. Already I felt anxious and could see that all eyes were on me and my dearest boyfriend. And why shouldn't we be there. We worked for the majority of 2016 there and I even put down my choices on the set menu for the meal so if anyone deserves to gatecrash it me! 

In all fairness I think that there was a few faces that were very pleased to see me indeed. Sales reps seemed to appreciate the effort I had made with my outfit and complemented me on how "well" I looked, although the sincere comment may have been slightly tarnished with there gaze held at my chest. I didn't mind though as I could tell that they were already boarding the train to drunkville, steaming full force towards a hangover and sore head the following morning. I myself was very drunk by this point after drinking copious amounts of Gin and Lemonade and even moreso of my Night Out special - Screwdriver. Besides I wanted my dress to turn heads and drop jaws and boy I had certain done that this evening I thought to myself, pleased of the impression I would be leaving my ex-colleagues. Oh what I would have given to be a fly on the wall this morning. 

Many people I saw again I had not seen since before I left and I was thrilled to have such a warm response from most people in the room. Along with the few questions about when Mr. Warehouse and I are going to get hitched from some of his close family and friends (Yes you know who you all are!), most people were even glad to see me, relieved almost shouting out loud that the party could really begin now I had arrived. I did take a moment though on the dance floor, with the music blaring, vision slightly blurry (tears or just drunk I don't know) I genuinely questioned why I left and if I had made the right decision. I caught Mr. Warehouse looking at me and he leaned in, kissed me on the forehead and said 
"I knew you would get like this, so I want you to know that I am proud you came out here tonight and you should be to. You moved for a better life and a way forwards, so don't look back in doubt." And he was right. My bank balance certain speaks for itself when I think about if it was the right decision or not. The people I loved were all there but they were not the reason I left but the reason I stayed so long I think. Nevertheless I was pleased to return to my busy desk today in the knowledge that I would not have been so had I not taken my new job. 

Heading into Bedford Town Centre to conclude our night I spent most of the night necking back Vodka and Orange, grooving on the dance floor and within a few hours I had blew a couple of ponies and was heading to the Kebab shop for a snackette before bed. I awoke the following morning with the most stinking headache and a back pain to match. Suffice to say I will not be drinking Gin in a while. Far. Too. Drunk. I normally remember the night out I had the evening before and everything that happened in it but for some odd reason Gin for me is like a dodgy etch a sketch, erasing parts of my night-time only leaving me with confusing puzzle pieces and no glue?! The rest of the weekend was spent in the company of the besties, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb all washed down with little sleep and lots of belly-cramping laughs to be had. 

And so I pack away my eighteen-year-old party-girl in her box, only to crack her out again this weekend, but maybe in a more demure and sophisticated evening for my new work colleagues have invited me to their Christmas Party and I am looking forward to seeing what sort of banter they are when they're not at their desks being serious. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Smile Is The Best Fashion Accessory!

Afternoon, 

So after last weeks torturous and slightly S&M evening with Mr. Masseuse (No Pain, No Gain! - If you haven't read it you need to .. Its Hilarious!!!) I was glad of a somewhat mundane week at work with an uneventful weekend to follow. 

I was not however looking forward to the dentists appointment though. Several weeks ago I had gone for my first check up in over seven-years since I left school, aged sixteen. Terrified as a child after having some surgery and not being given enough drugs to knock me the fuck out I woke half way through the procedure and with eyes flashing wildly to gain the attention of the dental staff I was otherwise paralysed, forced to watch and feel as they drilled and burrowed into my tiny mouth. 

Another reason why I was so frightened of the Dentist as a teen was mainly because the appointments always seemed to crop up on a Wednesday or a Thursday - The days I used to finish school early and meet the boys after school for some more "advance classes" and "extra tuition" if you follow my drift. So scared I was of getting caught in the act I would rush home after one of these "sessions" and brush my teeth in a bid to rid my mouth of any evidence. I don't know why. I was like fifteen and thought that the Dentist would peer into my mouth and turn to my mother and say 
"I am sorry but it looks like your daughter has been sucking dick. What do you propose we do with this then, Hmm?" Genuinely scared, even as I sat in the scary leany-backy chair that they would look at my pearly whites and see residue of something that shouldn't have been there. It humoured me slightly to think that when I was lying in a similar chair on Saturday Morning. 

Preparing myself I had already called the surgery in advance and asked about the procedure and what would happen, what would be done and what I should bring. Of course I knew all the answers myself and in all honesty could have easily saved not only my time and lunch break but also my dignity, especially when I asked if someone could come in and hold my hand. And yes, just to remind you I will be twenty-four in nearly a months time! 

Saturday morning I awoke and rolled over to a bemused Mr. Warehouse. 
"What exactly is so funny?" I asked croakily through tousled bed hair and blurred vision. 
"Today is the day!" Mr. Warehouse chirped and after asking what he was on about a shuddering noise rang through me, knocking out any hope of a cheeky lye-in. It was Mr. Warehouse - Making drilling noises and humming the Jaws theme tune. And as he nonchalantly laughed off his lad-ish "banter" I secretly made a mental note not to place anything in long and hard in my mouth other than a toothbrush before 9am. 

Getting up and dressed I bought time by Googling pointless things of interest like Puppies and John Wayne Gacy paintings (If you haven't seen them or even know who he is then I give you permission to seek out your inner sicko and Google this man and his heinous crimes) - Yes I have a fluctuating mindset sometimes. Nevertheless it was soon time to leave but as I made my way out of my flat, followed shortly by Mr. Warehouse I was yet again greeted by the deathly hum's growling form Mr. Warehouse's voice box, of which I was very close to ripping out. He was not very nice to me that day!

Arriving at the surgery, again like the last time I visited it was baking hot and I was thankful for the empty waiting room and friendly receptionist. Unlike last time I came for a check up, whereby I was over forty-minutes early because Mr. Warehouse had rushed me out the door, I only had a few moments to wait before I was called for. And so, up the wooden staircase I ascended, dramatically thinking as I always do that I may never return and I somehow may meet my death in a Sweeney Todd Style Murder a la Dental Practise. But as soon as I walked into the room and was greeted with the same, slightly foreign and overly-made-up dentist I was at ease - slightly!?

As the chair reclined once more I opened my mouth wide and stuck in my headphones with a preplanned playlist consisting of mostly club but certainly all loud songs ranging from guilty pleasure hit "Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue" to the 2003 smash "Milkshake - Kelis" and even a new favourite of mine "Gimme Head - Shystie" which is vocally, erm, interesting, but more importantly would definitely take my mind of Miss Tooth-Decay drilling away in my moush. But as I felt the prickly jab of the needle going into my gums, flooding my mouth with local anaesthetic, I tried to relax. Liking the fact I had already put together a compilation of my favourite tunes for my impending doom at the Dental Surgery. I even got a chance to relax enough to tap my toes to a few beats. I had somewhat even started to enjoy the drilling sensation and started to play silly games like running away from the mini-sucky-thing they use! 

But before I had even got a chance to get to some of the better song on my playlist of pleasantness the chair was re-clining back up to an upright position. Taking my headphones off my ear holes I asked if that was it. My kind Dentist friend nodded and went on to say how well I did. "I wonder if I am going to get one of those overly-sized stickers for being such a good girl today?" I thought to myself as I listened to her saying something about flossing more. Woozy from the injections and sudden, unexpected right-angle position I found myself in I exclaimed that I felt like a cat, feeling my swollen face and cheeks, checking that I didn't in fact look like a balloon. Thanking my Dentist and nurse I exited the room and descended the stairs, without the body bag and still very much alive. As I turned into the main staircase there he was, Mr. Warehouse, waiting patiently for me with a concerned yet proud look on his face. I knew he had not been there for the full time I had been in but I appreciated the little white lie he told me, despite not being able to uphold it later on when questioned. I made an appointment for February next year and promised to see them soon. I don't know if I will go in six months for sure, but rest assured I am slightly less scared of the Dentist, although I am not fully cured. I will now be on my way to alleviate any more worry and have a giggle by Googling tooth fetishes and dental depravities. Good Night Mon Frere's!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Head to Head!

Evening All, 

As the sun slipped away into the shadows it began to pour with rain on a dreary Wednesday night. Pacing the canteen, I didn't need to be told twice. I already knew my plans were a bad idea but still I grappled with the thoughts and wonders of 'What If'? I knew he was right, I just didn't want to admit it. I was meant to be awaiting a connection in Bedford for a bus to a little village I knew well. I was meant to be on my way to an audition. I was meant to keep my foot in the door. Tonight was the night I was going to start my Quest in attempting to win back my Ex - Mr. Cheese. And whilst The Cheese may be over four-thousand miles away in Ghana on a *insert posh voice* "Gaaap Yaar" I still thought that auditioning for the part of Dorothy in his eldest brother's rewritten adaptation of The Wizard of Oz would maybe somehow make him realise just how fricken' amazing I am. But as I began talking to Mr. Warehouse on what seemed to be a now regular occurrence of us meeting as I finished work and he started a night shift, he silenced himself as I rambled on about the Pro's and Con's of attending tonight's social activities. It was as he gazed into my eyes with his goofy hippo-grin that I realised it was time to let go. And as simple as that, it was gone. Deleted. Erased. Forgotten. If he hasn't realised I am mind-blowingly incredible by now then he never will. Why would I ever want to go back to someone who didn't please me in the way I needed? Why an earth would I want to endure any more torment or hell that is Mr. Cheese and I. Yes he was lovely and romantic and wonderful at times but at twenty-three I have needs and have to have them attended to as regularly as possible. He was never 'The One' so I should take myself off the hook and move the fuck on! I know right - Hallelujah!

Changing the tune from Cheese (finally) and after last weeks post I gathered that maybe I needed to distance myself from Mr. Warehouse. Although this proved harder than expected and before I knew it I was finding excuses to see him; making everyone in the office tea at precisely ten-to-three in the afternoon and staying later in the canteen after work just to steal some moments alone in his company without the beady eyes of gossip-queen's about. Even not texting back was a struggle. But I needn't be so cautious as Mr. Warehouse and I were just reaching the peak of the roller-coaster. So after having no entertainment for Friday night and feeling reluctant to work it at my second job in the call-centre, I messaged Mr. Warehouse to enquire of his plans for the hours that followed home-time on a Friday. Other than looking after a Nephew there was no other plans but to hit the pub with Mr. CWG and within a split second I knew that some dodgy village pub would be better than my plans of a my sofa and surfing YouTube for Pugs making noises. Hitching a ride into the small village just outside of where we all work I knocked on his door with anticipation and a slightly nervous stomach. '"Mr. Warehouse is in there alone" I thought to myself as I waited patiently for the door to open. "What happens if he tries to kiss me? What happens if something happens? We have a work's night out tomorrow! They will ask lots of questions!" My head began to lose sight of what this was. Just two friends from the opposite sex hanging out on a Friday night. 

Snapped back into reality the door clunked open. Standing before me was the giant that was Mr. Warehouse. Towering over me he welcomed me in and ushered me through the small porch to the cosy sitting room. Commencing a tour I was showed every nook, cranny, cupboard and crevice. Once that was done Mr. Warehouse and I slumped into the soft sofa, Relaxing after what had been a long week at work I let the sofa swallow me in its plumpness as I rested my head on Mr. Warehouse's shoulder. And so commenced the flirty games once more. In a mixture of flirting, play fighting and serious talk about academics and how he failed most things at school there was a heady tension that was nearing breaking point. Just as we encountered one of these moments the baby Nephew arrived and so the roles changed. Whilst my body went ridged with tension and anxiety at the presence of the child that may at any moment start crying and howling, Mr. Warehouse became a completely different person, playing the doting Uncle, making giggles and soothing screams even feeding. As surreal as it all was I took a look at the situation from my minds-eye. There I was looking as uncomfortable as hell for the fear that 'Baby' would cry and I would not know what to do with him! I was a female. I am meant to be maternal and child-friendly. It was as if our roles had been switched and as I watched Mr. Warehouse play with the most recent edition to the family unit, my thoughts turned to the inevitable when in that situation. Shaking them off and telling myself not to go there I tried desperately to think of something else to distract my mind from blissful fantasies I hoped one day would be reality. 

Soon enough though it was time to head to the pub and with the baby gone my body was relaxed once more into the plush settee. Heavily flirting again this time there was no getting away from the fact that every time Mr. Warehouse brushed my face with his palms I felt my heart melt a little more. Was I slowly falling? But my mind had no time for questions as the tension reached a new height. Stubbornly arguing over something petty we reached a nose-touching, head-turning, mouth opening conclusion and after donning our coats and jackets we headed out to Mr. Warehouse's local to meet Mr. CWG and company. After a leisurely twilight walk we arrived at a small quaint pub that was about the same size as a family home. Cosy and busy with regulars including an old blind man and his dog that looked very similar, we joined in with the rest of them and before we knew what had happened we were all celebrating pay-day with Jagerbombs. Several hours later and with the alcohol flowing, Mr. Warehouse and I began to loosen-up even more and with a cheeky spank here and a naughty look there we were glad to share at least one secret between us. At least for now anyway!

As the hours flew by in a slur of posh accents and bad jokes about a poorly phrased raffle, I decided it was time for the last cigarette of the night before I called a cab home. Whilst perched on a bench I revelled in the attention as a couple of old men complimented on my drunkenly posh accent telling me that I "obviously went to private school somewhere in Berkshire" and that I probably worked in finance somewhere in London. Taking humour in this I then attended to a conversation with Mr. CWG but from the corner of my eye I watched the night unravel quickly. As I noted the dry heaving I could tell that any moment now Mr. Warehouse was going to chunk-up. Thinking fast and being an expert when it comes to a tactical chunder I moved an empty pint glass towards him. My fast-thinking went unnoticed and within minutes of us sitting down I had sick on both my shoes and my handbag. Without a care in the world Mr. Warehouse continued his decent into the sweetcorn-pit-of-doom, proceeding to barf everywhere. As the bell was rung for last orders and the Landlady arrived it was apparent she was not happy and asked us to leave. 

Staggering outside I took ahold of Mr. Warehouse; With his arm slung around my shoulder and struggling to keep him up we stumbled to the front of the public house. Making it only just to the drainpipe I began my mother-hen duties and started to rub Mr. Warehouse's back and help him to be sick. As gross as this all sounds I am well equipped to deal with pukey pals. Many a night out has ended and indeed some cases began with a little vomit between friends. This was no different, except its alot easier as Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hair always had some renascence of spew tangled in it the next morning from me not being able to hold it all back. Sobering up quickly, we stumbled along the path where I was joined by Mr. CWG and the others, although unsympathetic to Mr. Warehouse's self-made situation I was worried. Struggling to walk I turned round to find my date for the evening was passed out cold on the grass verge by the road. Someone called an ambulance stupidly and I concluded that we just simply needed to get Mr. Warehouse back home to bed. After much heaving and attempting to lift his heavy and by this point limp body off the pavement I made Mr. CWG call a friend to help ferry the Drunken Mess back to his Mom's house. 

I couldn't just ship him off without a word and so as we watched the black estate speed off into the night Mr. CWG and I made our way too. Arriving at Mr. Warehouse's door for the second time that evening I suddenly became very aware of myself once more. "Inside these brick walls is Mr. Warehouse and his life with his mom! Oh dear lord his mom! I will have to meet her! She will want to know all about me and Mr. Warehouse. I will be asked questions about whether we are an item or not! She may fall in love with me and think I am the next bearer of grandchildren!" I panicked. But before I even had a chance to think about anything the door was opened and we were ushered in. Without thinking about anything else I quickly attached myself to Mr. Warehouse's sickly side, positioned on the arm of the couch and stroking his head as he continued to throw-up I laughed along with his mother about the predicament he was in. Sympathy lacking Mr. CWG, Momma Warehouse and I listened to the wonderful words of a more than tipsy gent. I think the penny finally dropped. 

"I'm sorry you had to meet my mommy under these circumstances!" A weary Mr. Warehouse slurred in between burps and dry retching. Glancing shyly over to Momma Warehouse I smiled as she said "So you must be Abbey?" Agreeing and introducing myself we resumed listening in to the ramblings. I was asked yet again for my hand in marriage and, after declining the woozy proposal with an awkward look shared at Momma Warehouse I continued to care for him, making sure his airways were clear enough to be sick so he could heave into my towel covered hands. 

After hours of apologies, drunken rants and targeted abuse at Mr. CWG, I mentioned about getting Mr. Warehouse into bed. This kindly gesture was only to be followed by a sweet but slightly embarrassing request for me to join him. Looking at his Mother in shock she made me feel at ease with her sniggers. However I would have to endure many a more moment before we eventually called it a night. As I stroked his head and patted his back down I felt a familiar hand on my thigh but before I even had a chance to swat it away a bark from Mommy Warehouse made his hand retract quicker than a turtle on a BBQ. After saying goodnight to Mr. CWG I asked for a cab number. Being told that I was not getting into a cab this late at night (but by this point it was morning, 4:34am to be precise) I was offered Mr. Warehouse's bed since he was not moving from the lounge. Graciously accepting I ascended the stairs in consideration for the day that would follow. So many questions will be asked and to think that we both will have to do another night out all over again. Only this time I don't think Mr. Warehouse will be drinking anything but Coke. Waking in the morning and with traces of Mr. Warehouse's sick on me, I reluctantly left and went to work but not before I said good morning to a rather sore-headed bear still lying where I left him. Telling him the tales of the night before I bid farewell and thanked Momma Warehouse for what was a really, really comfy bed for the night. Just a shame I suppose that the only spooning happening was between me and the wall. 

Nevertheless the weekend as a whole was more dabaucherous and messy than expected. And as Mr. Warehouse and I joined the rest of our work colleagues at a local Tavern we could help but smile in the knowledge that still our little secret was safe. As we partied the night away in a cycle of betting, winning and losing I soon made the grave discovery that I had lost my mobile phone. Mourning its loss and with the lads from work checking all the bars, toilets and ballot booths I concluded I had left it somewhere. Saddened and upset at the fact I had lost my life (pretty much) I headed to the dance-floor and in turn ended up having a cracking time with the lads, dancing and flirting outrageously with them all in the knowledge that even though we were playing it made Mr. Warehouse squirm with jealousy. Feeling sorry for myself at loosing my phone I decided to head back with Mr. Warehouse so I could use his phone in the morning to call my network and cancel my contract. That was until we arrived back to the car and realised that the flashing object on the back seat was just my mobile, complete with forty-two missed calls from an gentlemanly Mr. Warehouse who had been constantly calling it all night from the moment the news broke. 

And so with that I declare this weekend as over. Tired and developing somewhat of a flu I am really feeling the effects of two-nights out in a row. How do students do this I have no idea but all I do know is that I need my bed. But I am sure as I lay my head on my silken pillows tonight I shall cast my mind back to the little moments stolen when no-one was looking!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Flood

Afternoon Chaps,

As the taxi pulled up to whisk me away and the Cab driver asked of my destination I smiled to myself as we pulled out of my road. Stomach acid crashing around in my stomach I tried desperately to hold it together as I made small talk with my driver. Nerves were mounting as we approached the turning down the long bumpy road. Taking a deep breath I paid the Cabbie and prayed that I wouldn't be calling him any time soon. As I was wished good luck I closed the car door and headed to the familiar looking cottage in the country - Somewhere I once felt was like home. Taking a deep breath I stepped  inside. After being welcomed in with hugs and taken-aback smiles I was ushered into a room filled with faces of familiar origin, but many blank expression I had never seen before and in all honesty would probably never see again. Standing there like a Lemon holding a bottle of something I had discovered unopened and of alcohol content under my sink I felt very out of place. Although warmly welcomed, there was one person whom had not greeted me yet. That somebody was Mr. Cheese.

We had not spoken in several months but now I thought, for some strange and unbeknown reason, that now would be the best time to start building on a friendship that was never there. You see as many of you know, myself and Mr. Cheese had been seeing each other for nearly a year before we the curtains were closed for the last time back in June. I knew that as soon as we broke it off that I couldn't just be friends with Mr. Cheese straight away and that it would take me time to adjust to the dynamics of a friendship rather than a full blown relationship. Since we separated, there has been little to no contact between the two of us and whilst Mr. Cheese has had a busy time finishing work in London, moving back to the family home in the Shire, going on holiday and preparing for his trip to Ghana I have been dealing with death, jobs and hideous dates. Both of us have been busy but after scrolling through social media one morning on my commute to work I noticed that there was an invitation to a certain someones birthday party. And that is where I was. In the middle of a crowded kitchen watching his Grandma drink Whiskey from a pint glass and awkwardly talking to a Tom Cruise lookalike.

I knew that it probably was not the best idea I had ever had coming here but equally there was no one that could stop me, mainly because I didn't tell anyone. No one knew I was there. I had not consulted the Tweedles as I knew that their reaction would be somewhat fiery. I dare not ask them their opinion on going to the party for I knew exactly what they would say. I spoke to no one else about it and kept it a secret. Not even the birthday boy himself as nobody could find him. Momma Cheese had gone off to find him but to no avail. Awkward as that was I was then approached by the youngest of Mr. Cheese's brothers and was told promptly that I was more than welcome and that everyone was happy to see me. 'All bar one person though whom has yet to be found' I thought to myself. Having no choice in the matter I was then escorted by Momma Cheese, Auntie Cheese and the youngest brother through the now hushed and on-looking party guests. Out onto the patio I stepped, in bright pink shoes that had seen me through many an occasion. raising my head as I slid down the steps and onto the soft grass the mood shifted and the crowd that once surrounded the recent twenty-three-year-old dissipated onto the rest of the lawn. Like magic, Pappa Cheese had switched on the fairy lights in the trees surrounding the garden giving the atmosphere an almost storybook feel.

As we stared at each other I wondered if I should be here at all and although I had been thinking about this moment since we broke-up, I struggled for words. Usually I had a soliloquy rehearsed ready to say, repeatedly drummed into my head as the last thoughts of mine before drifting off to sleep but nothing. Diddley-Squat. I felt ridiculous. And whilst conversations began to start up again around us I could still feel eyes burning into my skin, waiting to see what happened next. I'm not going to lie, of course I wanted this meeting to be as romantic and rekindling as the twinkling lights above us but I knew that would never happen. Mr. Cheese did not want me as his and that was that. Not knowing what to say I thrust the now clammy bottle of Apple Schnapps his way, exclaiming that if I was not wanted then I would leave for fear of making it awkward for everyone. 'Ha, as if that hadn't already happened' I thought. Taking the bottle off my graciously he smiled his typically crooked British grin and ushered to a garden chair away from the family paparazzi.

Although perplexed and caught completely off guard, Mr. Cheese warmed to me fast and said that whilst he didn't expect my arrival he had hoped I would come. Somewhat at ease after that we chatted about how things had ended. I knew I would have some questions I would have to answer honestly but I was more prepared for those than about the meeting itself. I explained that now was a gooder time than any to try and build a bridge, at least if it went horrible wrong I would be safe in the knowledge that I would be on a plane to Southern Ireland in less than twelve hours and that after the last time we spoke (whereby it ended with me hanging up the phone in tears) that I simply needed time to adjust and work out in my head what we were now. The dynamics of our relationship had changed drastically and while Mr. Cheese was able to accept that and move on immediately I could not. I think we both needed space to breathe but between that, the death of my Great Aunt and working my ass off I hadn't really thought about it as much as I probably should have. In all honesty I think going on other dates, although they were awful and fruitless, helped in coming to terms with the realisation that Mr. Cheese and I were friends now and that maybe in the future there could be more but right now was just not the right time, for either of us.

After the questions and explanations came the small talk. Part of me wanted to tell him of all the hilarious dates I had been on but then the thought crossed my mind of my Cheese with someone else and that was something I knew I was not ready for. Will I ever be ready to hear he has someone knew, I don't know but all I know is that right now it makes me nauseous just thinking about it. I fought the urge for the first time that evening to tell him I loved him. I knew that this would be hard because I had been here before whereas Mr. Cheese was in virgin territory. I knew what was to come; The flirtatious banter, needless touches and worst of all resisting the urge to just jump on each other. Yes, all of which were to come.

As the evening continued I felt oddly out of place. In the kitchen trying to explain to Auntie in a polite way why I was there and why myself and her nephew were now no longer an item was difficult to say the least. When asked by another member of his family the same question I shuffled around it only to be given the reply that "you too were so good together." It seemed that whilst there was a gap of nearly eight weeks since I had last seen his family the reasoning and explanation as to our relationship demise was still amiss. At every turn I was being hugged by all manner of relatives and told that I was a pleasant appearance all of which should have made me feel better but actually just made me question how I would have felt if I was still 'The Girlfriend'. I know it would have been a hell of a lot easier but that is a choice that is not mine to make.

Juke box going and drinks flowing I huddled round the Champagne fountain to fill up my glass. I steadied myself not wanting to embarrass myself in front of family and friends alike. Noticing some old university and school friends of Mr. Cheese's I headed for their alfresco conversation and tried not to be awkward. On approach I was complimented on my 'sexy' outfit by both Mr. Cheese's brother and ex-flatmate. A cheeky smile did cross my face when I heard that. Perching myself on a chair I struck up conversation and as the party goers left in due course to find a slice of birthday cake I remained with the ex-flatmate to talk of work, business, travel and dating.

Enjoying the company of someone more like-minded than anyone else at the party I was saddened by his departure early on in the evening. Work commitments called early on Sunday morning and so a cab was called to take him back to the station. A part of me did wonder why I did not just leave with him, would have been easier and cheaper to split the price of a taxi between two. But alas I stayed to endure more of Mr. Cheese's friends and families upper class waffle. I suppose given the fact that I am not Mr. Cheese's girlfriend anymore I can say that his friends are quiet literally insufferable. Non-stop talk of shopping at Waitrose, supporting conservatives and being just a general toffee-nosed arsehole leads me to believe that whilst I can fit in with classes above mine I struggle to keep tolerant or even quiet about some of their drivvle.

Snuggling into the brown leather sofa I pulled down on my rising hem-line. As I turned my head to the side, Mr. Cheese matched so that now, centimetres apart, we were gazing into each others eyes. Maybe now would come the fairy-tale moment. No. We both knew what the other one was thinking.
"Told you it would be hard, didn't I?" I coyly said in a voice deeper than my own. I was rewarded with a subtle nod and a glance at my chest. Catching his eyes I saw the twinkle that was previously missing in our relationship. That twinkle that would lead us to bed and a night to remember. Turning my head and giggling like a petulant teenager I began to flirt with my Ex. We both knew I think where it would end. Of course we did. That is the worst thing with being friends with ex-partners; You know what they look like under all them clothes and you know what your getting when you lay down beside them.

After discreetly poking and prodding each other I joined Mr. Cheese innocently to collect some duvets and cushions for those staying over and sleeping downstairs. On meeting in the long corridor of the first floor family home I was pulled in for a hug. Holding on tightly I whispered how I had missed this, just being held. I noticed then that I was equally being held just as close. Snuggling my head into his neck and chest I felt like I was safe and at home with him. Feet aching from the shoes I was wearing I shuffled from foot to foot worried that someone would intrude and think that there was something happening when there wasn't. As the bathroom door opened down the hall and someone left I was pulled in tighter, as if Mr. Cheese knew I would instantly try to pull away. He wanted me, even if only for a little while. In fact I could feel exactly how much he wanted me. Reluctantly pulling away from the cuddle I  went to move and put away a blanket. As I moved slowly round him our noses brushed and the Eskimo kisses began. Before I knew what was happening we were kissing more passionately than we had ever done before. Holding me close and pressing his palms against my hips I let out a soft moan. I couldn't help myself. Pushing me against the wall holding my face in his hands it was as if he was doing everything I had always loved about us. Ticking all the right boxes we continued our passionate embrace. held stiffly against the cool wall we were completely taken with one another, spurred on and goaded by frustration, lust and a need for each other. Lifting me up against the wall I knew he wanted more and as we kissed our way into his room we both knew what would come next.

The next morning as we woke I opened my eyes to see lying there asleep, half-spooning me, something he never done and to which I resented him for his lack of intimate sleeping arrangements. But that night Mr. Cheese could not be faulted for we both were entwined in one anothers limbs wishing it was as simple as this. Some of Mr. Cheese's first words yesterday morning were of an apology for the previous evenings lustful convictions. I too apologised but explained that this kinda thing happens from time to time with ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends so just don't think too much into it. 'Haha, says me!' I thought to myself. Trying to give and reasoning as to the events that unfolded last night I put my foot down and halted his conversation in its tracks explaining that it was simply sex, nothing more. Yes it was good but we were not getting back together and whilst it was nice it was not to be a regular occurrence. Getting dressed and doing that god awful walk of shame I passed Mr. Cheese's youngest brothers room. He called me in unexpectedly. I obliged and perched on the end of the bed as he sat up bleary eyed and tired from the night before.

"Can I ask you something Abbey?" he croaked in his just-broken teenage voice.
"Yes of course, go on" I beckoned.
"What is it between you too?" Baby-brother Cheese asked. Taken aback I was stunned by what was such a simple, almost childlike question. Desperately I clambered in my head for an answer but nothing came to me. Noticing I was struggling with a reply Baby-brother Cheese finished our brief conversation by saying that the family and him in particular missed not having me around. Blushing he went on to say that whatever had happened between me and the birthday boy, it had left his big brother not quite himself. Silence fell on the messy box room after that comment as we both reflected on what had been shared. As I got up and went to leave Baby-brother Cheese finished with a poignant message saying that "It just confuses me." It was almost like conversing with a child rather than a sixteen-year-old lad but agreed with him and left to call a cab home.

Saying goodbye, Mr. Cheese and I promised to try and stay friends, after all that why I came. Whilst he didn't want to make a relationship work we both argued that a friendship would be better than not having each other in our lives at all. And so I left; relaxed, at ease and much, much less frustrated. For the first time in weeks I felt happy about the situation. And whilst there will always be people waiting in the wings for lactose-fuelled reincarnation, right now is not the time. It seems ironic doesn't it that it was exactly a year ago today that we met on the wrong bridge on a sweltering sunny day. Life moves on, and suffice to say that a part of us will always belong to the other one ...

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

The Drought!

Morning All, 

So with last week melancholy nature well and truly put to rest (no pun intended) and with my addiction to boys slightly scarred by the previous few date I have been on I have officially picked myself up and am ready to start again with dating - In more ways than one!

More than six-weeks have passed since I was last laid. Six Weeks! I didn't even know such a drought could happen like this. But whilst I wonder every night laying there drifting off listening to cats killing themselves or my middle-aged neighbours (whom I am pretty sure are swingers) my thoughts turn to why I am not hanging off the end of my black iron bed-frame. I am single. Still. Now this would not be such a bad thing but I feel that in some respects I am more highly sexed than your average female and as a result when I don't get it I end up tense, achy and stressed constantly. The effects of not having regular bodily stimulation takes on a physical as well as mental toll on my gorgeous body (Ironic there you see! Aha). Like today at work. I nearly hid under my desk from all my problem emails and phone-calls but instead I took my lunch and ate Cous Cous to which everyone from the office and adjacent warehouse now thinks I am a Toff! Mental note for future - You know you need to get some when you are reaching for the Ainsley Harriott Red Pepper Couscous in the supermarket. Step away from the freeze-dried goods aisle and hit me up someone on Tinder! And yes I am still addicted ... 

Now whilst being single is definitely not a problem, in fact I think I much prefer myself out of a relationship, at least one that was as stifling as the last one I encountered; I still find that my needs are not being met. You see I am unfortunately a girl whom is unable to satisfy herself. Odd as it sounds and as strange as it may be I have never taken much pleasure in twilight antics of a lone nature. I find it tedious and boring. Its not that I don't like it, its just I don't see the point if I am alone. Besides, for moi, it is so much more thrilling and exciting when it is with someone else. Especially when you have been with that person a fair amount of time and you know that they have the history and skills to bring you there but sometimes just choose to keep you just beneath the peak for pure torturous pleasure until you beg them to stop. Even when your begging it doesn't always have to end. If you have a strong partner who can keep his (or her) cool then asking for something and not getting it is almost as exhilarating sending you into a wild frenzy, just itching for that release. I also have never experienced 'The Big O' yet. Now many men have tried, but most I feel have failed in there quest to bring me that wave of heat and excitement. Disappointing as it is I know that I may be one of the many women of this wonderful planet that never ever get to feel what it is like. But then again a question I always ask my friends - How do you know? I may well have had one and never even known about it. The annoying thing about all of this is that if anyone was even close to getting me there it would have been Mr. Workaholic or Mr. Cheese both of which are slightly absent right now! 

Frustrating as this all is I know that I cannot wholly become fixated on what happens between the sheets. Whilst sex is a fairly sizable part of my relationship with someone, I understand that it isn't for everyone. I need someone who I can have fun with. Something fresh and new, exciting and clean (or filthy). I want to feel giddy and woozy as well as the horn. Am I looking for Love or am I just looking for a good time? This is the question that has been battling me for several weeks now and I feel that now is the time to decide. A boyfriend is just scary and not a necessity I really can deal with right now. A relationship (of sorts) that can be loose and free within reason is something I am tempted by. It intrigues me and teases me with all the possibilities it entails. As time passes by and the longer the dry spell continues the less my 'Number' seems to matter to me. I mean, I could always lie about how many people have seen the downstairs. I remember someone telling me a rule of thumb once - Divide your 'Number' by three and then add one?! That brings me out to 3.33 recurring. How does that work? 

Maybe I need to work backwards rather than forwards with this whole dating thing! Start with the sex and see if it leads anywhere good. And whilst I like the idea of a NSA (No Strings Attached) set up I know it would be unlikely to work for both parties. An NSA programme is good in theory but it can never work when you live somewhere like Bedford where men that are pleasing to the eye are scarce. Plus I think that in the long run it would make me unhappy stuck with someone who I will inevitably fall head over heels for only to realise they like the back of my head rather than the front. If I wanted just sex I would have found that weeks ago but I am not. So what the hell am I looking for? Maybe I am therefore looking for a friends with benefits thing. The two are very different as I have come to discover. Where NSA sex is very much what it says on the tin - wham bam thank you ma'am; a friends with benefits situation is much more pleasant I feel. A place whereby if left long enough and seeds planted a fruitful, loving, nurturing relationship could blossom. The thing that I probably enjoyed most about the first few months with Mr. Cheese was simply having the freedom to do as a single girl can whilst having someone to snuggle up with and go on dates to the local ice-cream parlour. I want the cuddles at night, the spooning, the curled up TV days and the giggles and play-fights that turn into lazy but mind-blowing weekend afternoon sex. Yes, that is where I want to be. 

Naturally I invest too much in people. even in dates that are not dates. It was only just this last weekend I spoke to Miss Tweedle-Dumb of a few dates lined up in the coming weeks jokingly mentioning how Abbey *Insert Last Name* sounds blissfully better than the last few. And as my dear best friend looked at me oddly I secretly envisioned our entire wedding day together like something from a girlie Rom-Com! I seem to start making the omelette before I have even loaded up my egg basket never mind how much is in it. Always thinking far too much into stuff and not letting things go with the flow. As my father said to me the other day after nearly an hour of showing him how to use Tinder that I should slow down and stop hunting for something that will make itself known when it is ready. Pappa Bear explained that I should take a moment for myself and remember that although I am nearly twenty-three, my clock still has a lot of tick left in it. Throughout what he was saying I knew he was being truthful but it still didn't silence that little part of me that thinks that if I reach thirty and am not at least married then I will defiantly be eaten by Alsations by the time I reach thirty-two. He told me I should be young and free, making mistakes and cringingly laughing about them with friends over a bottle of wine or two. I think he was talking about Love, but it could well have been a moment of insanity in which I seem to indulge in - Alot!

And with this in mind I my thoughts immediately turn to a naughty little thing I did the other day. An UnDate - Basically Date that is not a Date or whereby one of the attendees does not acknowledge the alterer motives of such a meeting with said other party. Make sense? Probably not. But not too worry all will be revealed soon after my trip to Ireland but for the time being I can't spill too much, but all I can say is that I better get some oven mittens because I could quite well get burnt by this one ... 

''Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx

A Wayward Wedding and Some Birthday Banter!

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

Evening One and All, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx