Hello,
After missing the turning twice already, Mr. Warehouse and I pulled into the driveway of the photographers studio once more and the gates opened, I wondered as to where that ponsy family went and how their wonderful Swarovski encrusted lives had got to. Nevertheless as Mr. Warehouse anxiously waffled on about what our budget was for photos was and if we needed a safe word for when we were in the viewing room (Anyone would have thought we were arranging some sort of BDSM relationship with our slightly-camp photographer) I parked my little Vivienne and took the short gravel path to the studio's.
Sitting down in the viewing room I got ready for the hard sell and eye-watering prices. Watching the initial video of our little pooch and us. Music with an upbeat tempo and the seventy or so images that were taken during our shoot. Settling into the comfy sofa's with our lattes and cappuccino's the video ended and Mr. Warehouse and I were left to whittle down the photo's into the yes, no and maybe piles. Nearly forty-minutes in and we had binned more than half and were left with sixteen images we were struggling to pick off. With Mr. Warehouse looking to me for my advice I simply didn't know what to say and maybe a safe word at this point would have been a good thing.
Silence breaking we listened to the photographer as he asked us what our budget was. We had not even really planned to be asked such a question and as silly as that sounds we really hadn't thought about how much we had or wanted to spend. I responded with a polite but reasonable offer of up to £400.00 since it was on the run up to Christmas and all that it brings we wouldn't be able to stretch much farther than that. In all fairness if I could get a package for half of that then I would be walking out of those doors a happy lady, but I had to remember that for me it was just flicking through pictures of Golden Labrador Retrievers but for Mr. Warehouse that was his baby. His furry, excitable, traffic-detesting, tennis-ball loving, scratch-my-bum-please and constantly hungry baby.
Since the moment the bundle of fur arrived they were inseparable, firstly being bought by his brother but being unable to keep her in his rented accommodation he palmed the pup off to his mom and teenage brother, the pre-teen Mr. Warehouse. Plonking this little Andrex-puppy-lookalike down into his lap, Mr. Warehouse raised her through puppy-hood to an adult and what I can only describe as the most happy-go-lucky dog I think I have ever met and that not to mention her perfect temperament and ability to respond brilliantly to any situation be it children, fireworks, loud noise's, different transportation and new places. She is the best step-pooch I could have ever asked for and for the majority of the time she is very well behaved apart from maybe that time she stole my pizza slice. Oh and that time she got tangled up in the doggy-boot protector whilst I'm hitting seventy on the motorway when I look in my rear-view mirror only to see her swaddled like a newborn. Or that time she tried to steal the KFC from the builders in York. Yes. Other than these moments she was a very good dog.
So now was crunch time. Money. I feel that its a dirty subject to talk about and in all fairness I think rather vulgar in any situation to discuss finances or wealth or money. Now its not like I own a yacht in the South of France, but equally I and not rummaging thought the bins to find something remotely edible to have for dinner. I am a JAM - Just About Managing. I have enough money to spend it on nice things for me and other people, but also enough to go out to dinner once a week or just go for a drive because I'm bored. I think sometimes money is a subject left to those in jobs whereby it is necessary and for me that is not the case.
Anyways, there we were in the photographer viewing room looking at sixteen beautifully remastered images of Mr. Warehouse, the dog and I, with some of the snaps just her by herself. Looking at one another again in a hope some money might just fall out of the sky at this point in time, the photographer broke the ice by stating that he could do us a deal with the sixteen images on screen and the full feature-length video included for £300.00. Totting it up in my headed it worked out to be a good deal, and so it should be - We had to be mucked about for some wanky posho's to have their snotty brats photographed. I mean in all fairness there wasn't much cheaper we could get it for with the video being £100.00 alone and the photo's including copyright laws were working out to be about £12.50 each I thought it was a cracking deal.
Shaking on it, Mr. Warehouse pulled out his card and we paid in full, leaving very happy customers and even more anxious and buzzing to see the results. I felt like new parents and that we had all this news and photos to show off to everyone and I just couldn't wait. Late last week they arrived and I am overjoyed with the prints and images. The video is just as good as Mr. Warehouse and I remember it and I am pleased we will soon have some wonderful prints and canvases to adorn our walls with. I don't have any reason to use the photographer any time soon unfortunately but certainly when life's big events conclude I will think of no-where else but his studios and lens. Maybe now I can have my own photogenic pup!?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Poor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poor. Show all posts
Monday, 28 November 2016
Monday, 28 March 2016
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
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
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