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

Satanic Separation Anxiety

Heyy, 

Last week I was dreamily gazing out of the window at the setting sun awaiting my new arrival and now I sit here and listen to him cry and winge as we try and attempt one of the hardest things about puppy ownership - Training. Little Frankenstein (made by mistake and pieced together from two different breeds of dog - Jack Russell Terrier and Toy Poodle) has been somewhat of a little horror this week in terms of separation anxiety. Whilst his time alone is arduous, to say the least, I look at other owners we know and their animals as I am glad we don't have it that bad! 

A quick Google of Dog Separation Anxiety come up with hundreds of helpful pages with useful tips, tricks and hints on how to have a happier pup! One website, in particular, I have referenced for a bit of help has been PetMD. Their article on "Five Steps to Preventing Dog Separation Anxiety" has some really great information that I think would be helpful for all levels of Dog momma out there. 

Separation Anxiety can show itself in animals and in humans, however, for man's best friend this could develop if left into a psychological disorder of hyper attachment that manifests as barking, crying, urination, defecation, and other destructive signs when the dog is left alone in the house.

Veterinary behaviourist Lisa Radosta from PetMD recommend to ignore and not pay attention to your dog when he follows you or your family around the house. "Many attention-seeking behaviours, including dog and puppy separation anxiety, can simply be corrected by ignoring them." 
I have done this pretty much from day dot, just simply because I want to get in through the door, put down the bags of shopping or kick off my shoes and down my laptop bag before even saying hello to the animals, Mr. Warehouse is exempt from this of course!

The article continues with "hiding all departure cues from your dog so that he or she can’t begin to associate them with your departure". 
This is difficult as for us it is not leaving the house that seems to be an issue, although we haven't yet heard any complaints from the neighbours, but itis night time and the routine surrounding that my fiance and I find difficult. Everything seems fine, up until we leave the lounge and leave him with his blankets, toys, chewy things and play stuff. You would think he would be entertained but our little Frank just isn't happy when it comes to bedtime! Howling and crying were the first problems, but then, after looking after friends dog's for a few nights last week, he really learned how to use his lungs and has even started scratching at the inner lounge door, which we have tried to train him out of doing, but it is hard. 

Avoiding having a meltdown was another point in the "Five Steps to Preventing Dog Separation Anxiety" from Lisa Radosta at PetMD. Keeping your dog from having a full-blown emotional response is difficult as we are finding. However, the Veterinary behaviourist says that he "should not be following you to the door when you go to leave. Instead, put him in his crate with something really fun to do, well before we are getting ready to leave or go to bed." Coupled with this the article carries on to say that we should, in addition, confine our dog in his crate for 10 to 15 minutes a day when at home. The problem we have with that is that I don't want to crate train Frankie and neither does Mr. Warehouse by the sound of things. They are ugly and space eating but also I am not sure that they actually help, I feel it is the lazy ladies answer to training and only makes for a less family feel of owning a dog. Obviously, I understand it is helpful but whilst crate time can be fun and never used as a punishment, I just feel that for us as a family, not to say that is wrong, it's just not right for us. 

Top Tip we haven't tried yet is the treating method, which, in itself seems pretty counter-productive. Veterinary behaviourist Lisa Radosta from PetMD recommends associating our departure, be it night time or otherwise, with something wonderful, like rare dog treats that he only gets at that time of day. We have however started the task of always asking Frankie to sit before we interact with him and this includes leaving as well. This will hopefully in time set up a predictable, structured relationship between us all and help him to understand how to get attention from us in the best way and by doing things we want him to do like wee's and poo's outside and staying put when told to do so. 

Training other than the whole night time routine seems to be going OK though as he now knows his name and comes back most of the time when called, he knows a little on how to play fetch and catch, knows the command down or no, although little most toddlers and puppies, sometimes selectively hears what he wants to. I am sure we have made the right decision after the hell of the first few nights, but only time will tell how much of a clever little boy we have. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Hot Days, Hot Wings and Hot Messes!

Good Morning, 

So you know how last week I was telling you about how great my dog is, let's just say my expectations of her have severely gone down the pan. Let me tell you the story and set the scene ... 

Imagine my joy of a bank holiday weekend all to myself, at least Saturday anyway. With Mr. Warehouse working overtime on Saturday, I thought that I would spend my morning catching up on some telly and relaxing on the sofa with my partners pooch. The morning soon turned into the afternoon as Mr. Warehouse turned out to be working longer than usual. Finishing just before the FA Cup final started (not my decision to watch it of course) I collected my Bae and headed to get some food from the local KFC. After ordering food with headed home and to the comfort of our cool front room and our little poochie-poo's to watch the FA Cup Final and following our a cosy night in we headed to bed as we had an early start the next morning. 

Sunday in true British fashion we headed out to a car boot sale in a neighbouring Village and dog in tow we headed out to look for some bargains. Returning home in the early afternoon I  started to bake a cake for Miss Tweedle-Dumb's Birthday meal that evening. All of a sudden and realising what time it was, I dashed out to run some errands and get the car valeted before returning home to get ready and throw on something half decent, grab the cake, and Mr. Warehouse, feed the dog and leave for the forty-minute car journey back home to Houghton Regis / Dunstable, and all before Six-O'Clock. 

Regardless of our lateness, Mr. Warehouse and I got to the restaurant on time and even had time en route to pick up a few stragglers. Although arriving on site and parking the car was tricky for Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Mr. Warehouse and I had not had enough time to drop off the cake to the restaurant prior to collecting Miss Tweedle-Dee and her Boyfriend so I gave the job of hot-footing it into the restaurant with said cake, styled on some sort of Instagram unicorn cake that totally did not turn out as I expected, basically looking like a melted down version of its well prepared social media cousins. Nevertheless we all had an amazing dinner and finished it all off in the garden of my childhood bestie. 

Returning home however I was shattered as was Mr. Warehouse. We had been very productive and got a lot of things done that we had been meaning to get round to for a while, but I suppose that is what Bank Holidays are for right? Drifting off into dreamland I wondered what tomorrow would bring and what both myself and Mr Warehouse would be doing on our last day of freedom before heading back to work. We had ideas and pipe dreams about going to London or even to an attraction nearby but after not booking anything and a late night Sunday we decided we would take the day as it comes and not making any expensive or big plans. 

Waking up this morning though I was disappointed when I sat down on the sofa with my morning coffee only to realise what carnage had happened either last night or in the early hours of this morning, As our dog walked around the side of the sofa and sat on the floor I wondered what was poking out from under her blonde fluffy bottom, She was trying to hide it I could tell but there is no getting past what I was seeing in front of me and after calling my boyfriend into the room, we both started to snigger. 

As I asked my dog to get up she agreed but looked at me with regret and guilt. Under her bottom was a torn open bag from  the local KFC we had a few nights ago. Bad I know but I had put my Hot Wings in a bag on the side, ready to eat them later on. unfortunately it looks like someone had beaten me to it and as Pooch hid her sorry-ass face from me I tried to install some discipline and tell her that she was naughty and a "Bad Bad Girl". Immediately she retreats to her bed, knowing what she has done wrong, all with a silly grin on her face as if to say "You know one day we are all gonna laugh about this"

Throughout today her hunger has obviously not been appeased for she has eaten breakfast, dinner, some left over yogurt, gravy and her usual doggy dentastix. I would have thought you were full up, but no, how stupid of me to thing that my Labrador is full. I caught several looks today as if to apologise for eating my beloved Hot Wings, but I also saw a few that in my head taunted me with phrases like "I enjoyed your Hot Wings" and "You should feed me steak like the poodle two doors down" all accompanied by the look stating that within the next few days I will be recovering chicken bones from a hot mess on the floor of the grass patch she has taken for herself on our walks. 

Despite all of this however she is still my Step-Pup and no matter how much you annoy me or shit so much it over fills the bag or even how much you enjoyed eating my fucking Hot Wings, I love you. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Blues of Bank Holiday in Britain!

Howdy Ya'll, 

Sorry about that intro - Definitely been watching too much Teen Mom OG there! Little obsessed at the moment, especially with Caitlyn and Tyler's gorgeous wedding (Tyler had me in tears with that speech). Anyway! On with the show!

So with this weekend being a bank holiday in the UK you would have guessed I might be off on another adventure somewhere abroad or maybe living it up here in good old blightly with some pals, heading out to a farm or a theme park. Sadly to say I am poor. Slumdog Nill-ionaire that's what they call me! With another week until payday and already on my last few pennies, this weekend has been a frustrating mess of odds and sods dinners, household chores not getting done and catching up on good telly. Apart from collecting Mr. Warehouse's pooch on bank holiday Friday and getting her settled in, maybe the only highlight of my weekend otherwise was heading out with Mr. Warehouse and my other work colleagues to celebrate (or commiserate) the leaving of another member of staff in the sales department, a lovely gentleman with a sick sense of humour and a shark-like hairdo. 

By the time Mr. Warehouse and I had arrived at the first pub of the evening my feet were soaked from the pissing rain. And so, dress clinging to my body making me look like a boobalicious washed up seal, I headed to the bathroom in order to attempt a blow dry of both myself and my clothes. Sadly to say the shoes and my hair, of which I had spent some time on, was unsalvagable. Onwards and upwards I thought. Necking my Vodka and orange, vodka supplied from my house and carried in a handbag, we headed onto the next place - A high end, extortionately priced cocktail bar, The Auction Room, away from the strip of Bedford town centre. "Alright for some," I thought, wondering how much my colleagues had been paid that day, all in the knowledge that it was another eight-days before my money would hit my account!

Getting a cheap bottle of Cider, I joined my other half and friends over on some plush sofa's whilst we sipped our drinks and made small talk. I took a moment to notice our surroundings and revelled in the fact that last time I was here I was with Mr. Cheese and company. Now I was with work colleagues, some of which looked very comfortable together. Very, very comfortable indeed! Putting it down to alcohol it wasn't until later that some of these feelings towards certain people was very much unappreciated and in a polite way, a gropingly vulgar
nuisance to both the recipient and others whose distaste for such thing in public matched my own - Shocked and outraged!

Nevertheless the evening continued and into another bar we went. Although this time it was our usual haunt! The Rose on Bedford's High Street. However this time there was no dancefloor! No DJ. No Disco. No Bumping and Grinding to be had! With several tables adorning the dancefloor area and disappointed to say the least we had one drink and then headed next door to another old favourite, a Yates! Hitting the dancefloor almost as soon as we got in there and having a good time as usual, we enjoyed being in each others company. Aside from the lack of bar staff and increasingly outrageous behaviour from some party-goers, I was having a good time. I think I had found my place for the evening - The four-person-deep bar in the background, dancefloor and lights everywhere and four Sminoff Ice for Six-Quid I had minimal complaints! Now yes, I acknowledge the fact that Sminoff Ice is something for the younger audience of a restaurant-come-bar but I am more broke than the Pigeon lady from Home Alone.

So as the moments drifted by in a hazzy-blur, I had noticed that a few faces had left in quite a rush. Where they went no-body knows but I have my suspicions?! Carrying on dancing and having a good time I noticed there was an altercation with one of the bouncers. Going over to see what was happening it was apparent my Mummy of the office (who has actually now left to go on to do bigger and better things but is still invited on nights out and so therefore still an integral part of my life) was being chucked out. Why? Because apparently she had been asked by a bouncer once before to put her heels back on as she had taken them off which was very common for my Office Mom! Having none of it the bouncer chucked her out. At that point my Office Dad stepped in to explain in his drunken slur that is was not OK to do that and treat someone that way. And then he got chucked out. The guy who was leaving stepped in at this point, equally intoxicated as the last who tried it on and again, was escorted off site. And if they went we all did. So grabbing our things we headed to the rainy streets outside, putting a downer on everything. 

But as if that wasn't enough, someone had stolen some coats belonging to Office Dad and the guy who was leaving. Becoming the mother of drunkards I took it upon myself to go back inside and look for them. Well that and the fact by this point I was the only one that wasn't barred. Coming back with nothing we continued onto the nightclub next door although with the night on such a southern turn it wasn't long before Mr. Warehouse and I called it a night. Reluctantly on my part as I still wanted to carry on, but the Boyfriends tooth was hurting him so it was probably best that we left together before I got annoyed at him for just moping in the corner. 

The rest of the weekend pretty much has been wasted browsing holidays I am not going on and begrudging the fact that I am not somewhere in Europe right now talking to you as I try not to think of my desk tomorrow. And another bank holiday is over, the longest one we get every year, Easter, is over with and I did nothing but boil in my own annoyance and ordering our new arrival to go and poo. This time next year I will be somewhere other than Bedfordshire on Easter ... Trust Me!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Home Town Glory!

Morning Everybody, 

So after last weeks debacle in regards to when would be the right time to move in with someone, Mr. Warehouse or anyone else of romantic intent that is, I decided to have the talk with Mr. Warehouse himself, slightly prompted by a deep meaningful conversation with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, a rather odd dream involving a perverted man and some snide comments from my father over dinner. All is well that ends well and I am glad to say that both Mr. Warehouse and myself are on the same page when it comes to our living arrangements and are more than happy with how things are right now! If it ain't broke they say, don't fix it. 

Then again speaking of fixing stuff - Remember that long and drawn out saga with British Gas? Well nearly twelve weeks on and I have discovered that I am on the brink of a breakthrough. After much speculation on my £2,000.00 bill and pressure from unscrupulous and supposedly 'helpful' case handlers I have now been fitted (or my flat should I say, Haha) with a new electronic smart meter which I have now left running for a fortnight and tomorrow I shall take my first reading. Hopefully this one will be accepted and I will be able to see the light at the end of my energy-draining tunnel, and who knows, maybe even some compensation!

A right resulting week with what should have been a cracking weekend spent with back home in the blazing sunshine! But after finishing work on Friday and attending a doctors appointment only to find out that I actually have Seasonal Asthma (and yes apparently that is a 'thing') I was not in the best of moods. Tired and hungry I wanted my bed and cuddles the the Boyf. But the medical pa-lavas weren't over yet as Saturday afternoon I stepped outside, Mr. Warehouse in-toe, ready to face ... The Dentist! But as we neared the surgery I could feel my heart racing and pounding to get out of my chest. Squeezing Mr. Warehouse's hands tight I stared up at the tall brick building in front of me. It looked like a house. "It probably was" I thought, optimistic at the thought of a little Georgian family living there with the Nanny and little lap dog. "Yeah, a house of doom!" the other side of my mind said as my imagination played out thunderstorms and lightning cracking above the surgery, raining and with a deathly cold look about it! Suddenly I was snapped out of my daydream and was asked by Mr. Warehouse if I was going in or just viewing form the outside. Reluctantly I took my first steps inside a Dentist surgery since I was sixteen. Haha, a lot has changed since then. I have lost my virginity for one, shaken off the shackles of my overbearing mother and moved into my own little palace in the clouds all with a few broken hearts, tears and laughter along the way not to mention a while tonne of growing up to do. Yes, so much had changed. But the way I felt about the Dentist was not something that had altered. I still hated it. The smell. The noise. The odd tasting water. Nope. I was not a Dental Fetish kinda gal! 

After speaking to the receptionist, who to be fair was not anything like out of the Addams Family, I was informed I was more than forty-minutes early for my appointment. With the look to Mr. Warehouse about venturing outside for a look along some shops I was given a stern look back, needless to say that I was staying put. In all fairness I think if I had left it would be doubtful that I would come back. After a relaxing half-hour or so in the waiting room of the homely surgery I was called upstairs. Climbing the wooden, creaking staircase I worried about the people whom had come here before and never made it out alive. I was being silly though. Upon entering the spacious room I was greeted by a lovely lady who sat me down and discussed all my fears before rooting around in my gob. Now I wont lie, it wasn't the worst thing in the world and not as bad as I expected granted but with one cracked, half-tooth on my left upper jaw and a filling to sort out I knew that I would have to come back for some more treatments. Haha! Treatments they call them - As if it some sort of fucking day spa! And in all fairness it bloody should have been at those prices. NHS Service in England is free at the point of use for anyone whom needs it says the government website. But they can fuck that up their fucking arses! A scrap, a poke and £51.20 later I have an appointment booked for the beginning of August and whilst my teeth may not be in bad shape, my purse certainly was! Bugger me this National Health Service malarkey is crap! I pay my taxes, pay my way and earn my money and I still have to pay for my dental bills and prescriptions! Bleeding joke if you ask me?!

On with the day I thought and after visiting my grandfather who yet again was in hospital due to yet more ill health (He usually resides in a very nice £900.00 a week care home back in Luton - Again something that my taxes are being put to good use on!? Hmmm). Rounding off the day though and entering into the evening Mr. Warehouse and I embarked on an evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb's family and a few close friends which I would class as my second Mommy and Daddy. A home from home you may say. But as the evening rolled on, BBQ blazing, shots being poured and cheese board brought out it was time for Mr. Warehouse and I to catch our last bus home of the night. Making sure we were at the bus stop in plenty of time we waited a further twenty-minutes for yet more of my taxes to arrive. When it did I stated where Mr. Warehouse and I were heading and the driver nodded and allowed us to board. But after a few minutes of our journey beginning we were asked to depart. Why? Because apparently it was the end of the line. As I stopped to enquire as to why we were told that the bus goes all the way to Luton train station, I soon found out that Mr. Warehouse and I were just palmed off and were promptly told to look at the other bus boards for the next one. And with that the doors shut and he drove away. With is being Edi in the local area, I knew we would be hard pushed to get a cab, and especially at gone midnight. But after calling round a few, with limited signal in the area we stood in the middle of my home-town a cab finally pulled up. Taking our chances and knowing how dodgy it was to get into a cab that wasn't pre-booked Mr. Warehouse and I took our chances and hopped in. After reeling from the double figured cab journey price totalling over fifteen of my English pounds we reluctantly paid and were on our way. 

Arriving at Luton station I was greeted with yet more good news. As Mr. Warehouse asked why there were numerous coached parked outside the station I noticed from the corner of my eye streams and streams of people evacuating the train and walking along the platform and out of the station to the waiting coaches. Ahh yes. The rail-replacement! How could I have known. So perfect to end this evening on a cunting bus filed to the brim of clubbers and party-goers wearing next to nothing and the majority of them loud. Continuing the party I noticed one of the scantily clad blonde bimbo's was someone I used to car-share with regularly at my last job working in Credit Control. I wondered if I should say hello, but given my mood, and how our relationship was left I think it was best for all parties if I just turned my head and pretended that I never saw that scratchy whining little voice. As the bus pulled off I was duly informed by a very tired Mr. Warehouse that not only was he on the brink of following through on one of his many wet farts of the evening so far, but that he also had major travel sickness and didn't deal well with huge crowds and being sat on an over crowded and cramped coach full of them. 

Finally we arrived home at nearly 2am, more than £100.00 light from the weekend and with very, very tired heads. We didn't wake the following morning until gone midday and even then we only really made it out to the shops for provisions and TV snacks. But suffice to say that sometimes I don't need to look far for inspirational writing. Safe to say that it wasn't how I imagined Mr. Warehouse's first experience of my home-town to be, but then again, it wouldn't be home without the mishaps. 

'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