A Wayward Wedding and Some Birthday Banter!

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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

Silly Mouth!

Well Hello There, 

So another week and yet more blissful romances have continued with my dear Mr. Cheese, that as until my ridiculous mouth said something it wasn't meant to...

I looked at the clock. It was nearly quarter-past four on a Friday afternoon and in a few moments it would finally be home time. As I shutdown and cleared down my desk for the weekend I knew that it wouldn't be long until I was rattling down the tracks to Mr. Cheese. Luckily enough I even ended up bagging a lift to the station from one of my work colleagues who lived nearby so grabbing my bag I jumped in the car and off we went. Its funny how I didn't seem to realise just how busy rush hour gets the closer you get to London on a Friday evening. Irrespective of this I still took up four seats on the train with my bags and coats and worldly possessions for the weekend ahead. Safe to say I don't travel light!

Arriving into King's Cross I speedily whizzed around looking for a less busy ticket kiosk but everywhere was manic with tourists and business people, families and general busy-bodies alike, all searching for a platform or information or like me, a ticket machine for the Underground. Finally I found one but oh wait; My card has decided to have a disagreement with the machine and so after spending a few years in the queue, several minutes reordering my tickets and annoying the forty-odd commuters and travellers behind me I went to go join another queue where a real person could help me. My card ironically worked and after an hour of wandering around looking for a ticket I eventually got one. Now for a coffee and boy did I need one! 

As I skipped off to the Underground, coffee in hand I felt my stomach rumble for something more than just an expensive beverage. I was glad that Mr. Cheese was making me dinner, even if it was all alien to me. I mean Mr. Ginge helped me cook but never took the full reins and Mr. Workaholic, well, I can hardly count chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles is hardly a romantic meal is it? Arriving into West London once more I was greeted by a warm yet slightly damp Mr. Cheese. Typical British weather. It was raining. As we let ourselves in he informed me that we were having a feast of local butchers chicken breasts stuffed with Italian buffalo mozzarella wrapped in cured Parma ham with a side of homemade seasoned fries, carrots and broccoli all coated in a rustically prepared-from-scratch white wine jus. Impressive I know. Sounds like Michelin star dining when I put it like that. And as we sat down to eat at the shiny black glass dinner table in his kitchen I thought to myself whilst being poured another glass of wine by a gleaming, gorgeous Mr. Cheese "Wow, this one is a keeper!" 

After dinner was the game. Of football. Now everyone will know I am no sports fan, as a matter of fact I am the furthest from a sports fan. London hosted the 2012 Olympics last year and the whole world watched as I avoided watching TV for fear of getting out of breath just looking at people doing sports. But somehow I have found that sports, football in particular can be very, very entertaining and by the end of the game I was holding my breath and getting excited just as much as Mr. Cheese was. I suppose what made it better was the build up of sexual tension as I unknowingly stroked Mr. Cheese's thighs and felt along his arms which were tightly wrapped around me as we cuddled watching in awe at 11 overly-paid men run around and kick a ball.

What followed was an evening of passion, one that is best kept under wraps. One thing is for sure though and that is after a few weeks of figuring out each others sexual excites and pleasures it seems that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was right. The sex does get better. Once all the anxiety is lost and the pressure is stripped away (no pun intended) there is just left two people that fancy some fun, and what better way than to get your rocks off with someone who fancies the pants off you ... quiet literally! Saturday morning again was 'orgasmic' in a way that I have never felt before up until then. Somehow Mr. Cheese has an uncanny ability to make me want him, even when he is getting dressed. After sectioning myself to the corner of the bedroom we were both finally dressed and ready to have breakfast out at a posh restaurant on the local high street near Mr. Cheese's flat. Smooth small talk and conversation bubbled across the breakfast table whilst we both gazed into each others eyes longingly although unbeknown to me something was brewing. Something big ...

Rushing, Mr. Cheese and I paced down the steps to London Victoria's Underground station. We both knew we might be a little late to our appointments that afternoon. As the two tubes stormed into the platforms we quickly hugged and said our goodbyes. It was at this point it spilled out. 

I meant to say something nice and sweet and lovely, something that I say to Mr. Cheese all the time because there are no other words to say how I feel. And then. Out of no-where. Like a freight train it comes steaming out my chest and through my mouth but before I have a chance to cover my lips it escapes ... I Love You. Fuck! Everything slows down and for a few seconds I wonder what just happened. He turns to walk away and I pray to God that he didn't hear that profanity. I had promised myself I wouldn't say it. Not until I'm ready. Not until the moment is right. 'And Victoria Tube Station was not the right time mouth!' I scolded  myself. As I stepped inside the closing doors of the tube I wondered how I may tell my children about 'Love' one day. 

"Mommy, How do you know when to say I Love You?" my children will ask me. And what shall I tell them - "Well my child. When your in a stuffy, crowded Underground station in the middle of London. When your cooking alive because your wearing seven layers plus a coat, scarf and gloves. When your standing across from the man you have been nurturing feelings for ever since you went to the wrong damn bridge on your first date. When both of you are finally ready to depart one anothers company and there is seconds to spare before the tube doors shut and your left stranded on the station. That's when my dear. That's when you say I Love You. Then you turn, curse yourself for saying it and continue beating yourself up about it all weekend hoping that, despite your love-interest saying that he didn't hear, a little part of you wonders if he secretly did." Yes. Sounds about right. 

So as I made my way to the hairdressers to have a fringe cut into my long locks that I had been growing for nearly three-years I wondered how Mr. Cheese's journey was, en route to volunteer at a local Charity. Auuhh! I had tried so hard and convinced myself that I didn't feel that strongly for him, fooling myself into understanding it was just infatuation and smitteness with something or someone new. But maybe this is my sub-conscience telling me that in actual fact I do. Do I? I mean I have come around to the idea that it is now beyond sex and there are the foundations for something special. Mr. Cheese has had a lot of me and my life to deal with and he still wants to spend time with me. My family adore him and my friends are just as besotted as I am but is it Love? 

Well if that isn't enough I am sure that this weekend will be a sticky one. I am meeting some of Mr. Cheese's closest friends. Friends of his I might add that are under the impression that we are an item. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Item. Question is, by the time Sunday evening rolls around will I? Or will Mr. Cheese explain to his friends that we are simply "friends"? Will I be friend-zoned? What will I be telling you all next week? Oh, Silly Mouth! How I love you so.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx