A Tale of Sorcery & Spooks

Hello One and All, 

So after smacking my head heavy off the corner of the ice-rink entrance last week, I was dazed a little to say the least. Whilst Mr Warehouse was pissing himself, literally nearly dying from lack of oxygen due to laughing so hard, I was starting to feel the effects of such a crash landing. I had stopped for a little, more so to give my leggies a rest more than anything, although sitting down Mr Warehouse stopped laughing and made a comment about how I didn't look well. The truth was that I didn't feel well. I felt sick. Like as if I was going to vomit. My skin felt weird, like that kind of flu-ey skin you get when you are ill. I couldn't concentrate, my eyes desperately trying to focus on anything. Something wasn't right. Reaching up to my head I felt searing hot pain spread across my skull accompanying a huge lump. At the size of an orange, I began getting irritable, shaking for no reason. 

I decided that after some painkillers, although truth be told I really could have done with going to Accident and Emergency but I didn't want to worry anyone or spoil my Nephew's birthday. Snoozing most of Sunday, I knew that things were not good when on day three you still have symptoms. Returning to work on Monday was like a whole other challenge as for the first time all weekend I had to really focus my attention on something important, like my job. Answering the phone, listening and concentrating on the screens all became harder and nausea didn't help. NHS guidelines state that it's totally normal to have symptoms such as a slight headache, feeling nauseous or dazed and these can last anywhere up to 2 weeks. Where I was normally on the ball I simply couldn't take it in, sometimes taking several attempts to read the simplest of sentences, not good for a busy and fast-paced environment. As the week progressed I felt better but realistically I should have gone to the hospital. The problem is I do not get paid for being off sick, apart from statutory sick pay from the Government (£70 a week - But when I earn more than £70 a day there isn't much point unless I am dying). 

I am glad for the feeling of "normal" to return because Friday was Bestie time! Miss Tweedle-Dee and I headed for a day out, checking into a hotel for a cheeky sleepover and hanging out in the City until nightfall! My dinner date was at The Alchemist on Bevis Mark. Describing itself as a new home for The Alchemist’s unique brand of cocktail bars & restaurants in Aldgate, Bevis Marks naturally attracted curiosity and with a unique location, it was a natural choice - Standing out as a glint of pure gold amidst the charcoal & black suits of the London’s business district. Suffice to say that The Alchemist does its business in a decidedly different way. Walking in the impressive golden bar gave way to a quieter restaurant area and a beautiful outdoor terrace, a perfect place for glorious sun and warm summer nights. However, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I had to settle with the fading winter sun to sample a selection of exquisite cocktails and stunning food, all accompanied by a theatrical experience. 

Starting our evening early I entered a world of theatre as my "Sailors Punch" Cocktail told its own story. Inspired by the spirits & flavours within, the molecular madness in an augmented reality started when Sailor Jerry Rum, Banana liquor, Pineapple & Coconut Bristol Syrup, and a dash of Citrus all turned up on a weird lined coaster. But using the App I downloaded it turned my drink into a far-flung Desert Islands where Pirates poached and Mermaids Merried. Miss Tweedle-Dee made a great decision - The Banoffee Manhattan! Espresso sloshed with a good helping of Monkey Shoulder Whisky, a few squirts of Monin Banana, tickled with Briottet Banana and brought alive by the dreamy Banoffee Foam! 

To. Die. For. 

Not feeling hungry I opted for a sharing starter platter consisting of BBQ Wings, Nachos, Pork Bon Bons, Mac ‘N’ Cheese Bites, Halloumi Sticks and Veg Sticks & Houmous. Finishing up before making a dash to our evening entertainment I chose my final cocktail of the night - The Colour Changing One! Grey Goose Vodka twisted with Briottet Apple, splashed with Soda, sparkled with Citrus and a little sprinkle of Magic. had this dry-ice drink changing colours from deep navies into vibrant pinks and mysterious purples. Watching the time we fast-walked to Aldgate Station to meet a man. Sounds creepy by we were actually about to encounter something much, much spookier as we dove into 1888. 

A Christmas present to my future Maid Of Honour, the Jack the Ripper walk offered a truly atmospheric route.  Miss Tweedle-Dee and I were guided (along with others, that would just be weird) into the old, narrow alleyways where we most certainly felt like we had been transported back to the mean streets of the Victorian East End. Along the tour, our guide, an ex-MI5 police investigator and anti-terror detective accompanied us to the murder sites and locations related to the Jack the Ripper murders. Learning more than just about the murders, I must say after doing so many different versions of the Jack The Ripper tours over my years of fascination, the guide - Who had served not only in the police force but undertaken military exercises including Afghanistan, Belfast and the Falklands - an almost exact background to my father, was incredible. Hosting several investigations into who the Ripper was and having detailed documentaries under his belt diving into the possibilities and struggles the forces had in catching him I was enthralled. By the end of the walk, not only was I exhausted and in need of my bed, but I also wanted to take this guy out for a pint and listen to all his fascinating stories and tales.

By the following morning, I was refreshed after a wonderful sleep in the hotel and after a light breakfast, Miss Tweedle-Dee and I departed, but not before commenting on how we should do something like that again. I mentioned a weekend in Edinburgh - Castles, Instgram-worthy photoshoots and Haunted tours galore. But the long journey and costly expense of it all wasn't something that was within reach at the moment, especially since Miss Tweedle-Dee is only a few months off being a fully-fledged adult like moi and having a mortgage. Maybe we will have to park that on the shelf that requires bigger bank balances along with sleepover's in deranged Liverpool mental asylums and hunting down a UK Horror Convention. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Night Of Lola The Showgirl!

Hello!

Another long week over and done with I was certainly more than happy that it was finally payday. It felt as though February had been a lot longer of a month than the payday between Christmas and the end of January. Maybe it was the fact that all of my money was ploughed into a savings account ISA in order to desperately try and save for a house in order to move out before Christmas this year. This, coupled with the fact that my weight has now started to slow down after losing so much over Christmas and New Year despite all the personal training sessions and gym visits has all in all left me feeling slightly deflated. With no holiday to look forward to this year and very little planned in the calendar I was certainly struggling with my motivation for losing weight and saving for my first home!

Deciding that I was not going to spend another month not going out and being a complete antisocial recluse, I organised a works night out. Following the works Christmas party and how much fun it was, not to mention just how messy it ended up, I was certain that a good old-fashioned night out to paint the town red! On sending the email out to my colleague I eagerly awaited their response. But nothing came, only a few replies on how some people were not able to make it. There were a few suggestions that involved team activities that were not alcohol related but on trying to obtain numbers no one seemed to care. So it seemed up until last minute it was just me and a couple of the girls going out for a quiet drink and maybe a dance. 

Heading for some pre-drinks round one of the girls house's, gossipping away about music and the likes, trying to decided on what pair of shoes goes with what dress and whether anyone can see our VPL - Visible Panty Line. Frosty air nipping at our legs we were finally in a pub keeping warm and refreshed with some Prosecco or two. Later on the music started to pump and in between scrolling though social media and nattering over the tunes there would be a Selfie or two. Unfortunately none of us out saw the arrogant twat walking towards us like some sort of Andy Warhol. Dressed in an overly tight top that saw the blood supply cut off to his exterior limbs, he waltzed over to our table and failing to introduce himself like a true gent (or to be honest anyone with any ounce of dignity or respect) and practically snatched my Smart phone out of my hand in order to "help" us clearly failing and weak women take a Selfie. 

Five minutes he was still there and despite our efforts to move him along politely we had given up and lost our patience with him and his poxy photography skills fast. Insulting him as only women know how to by emasculating the little toe-rag he eventually got the picture and pissed off, leaving my phone back in my safe hands and with a dozen or so badly taken and blurred images of three women on the Razz. 

Carrying on throughout the night we were joined by some other work colleagues whom were also on a night out with some of their friends, joining together in a drunken stupor I felt like the fifth wheel in all of this. Not wanting to interrupt anyone's conversation and boring of looking at my phone I went off in search of some company. Male was my choice preferably as they were normally more friendly and usually happy to see anyone of the female variety taking an interest, even a Hepher like me! Or so I thought. The first lad I made conversation with was tall with light brown curly hair in what the kids on the street call a "Meet Me At McDonalds" Haircut. Wearing a dusty blue grey jumper and being typically British I mentioned how cold it was and we struck up a chat which eventually lead to him asking for my number. Before I even had a chance to turn around and run back to my friends or tell him I had a boyfriend I was thrust a phone and asked to put in my number. When I handed it back and said I had done it, I was promptly told that this was not true as Mr. Meet-Me-At-McDonalds-Haircut had been watching me the whole time and I had not given my number. "Persistent I'll give him that" I thought as I typed a random number into my phone and saved it under 'Lola' - And yes she was a showgirl! 

Heading off from one public house to the next I found myself in the wallet-sucking auction room and whilst its nice atmosphere, relatively good music and nice cocktails are always welcome in my books, the price you pay for a dribble of Blossom Hill White Zinfandel (my fave) you could walk up the road to the corner shop and buy a whole bottle and still have change. Separated from my work buds I made some new ones with a guy who was sat alone and looking melancholy. Striking up conversation in probably the most intoxicated way possible whereby I thrust my hand out and introduced myself. The gentleman obliged and we got chatting, later on his friends joined and I got talking to some more guys and they asked if I was single. "Wow two lots of guys in one night?! Surely this cant be happening? They must all have that 'Shallow Hal' thing going on!" I pondered. Laughing it off I found my friends and I danced the rest of the night away without many cares in the world apart from having a good time. 

I never knew that I would have been so popular with the lads. I mean granted I did make the first move in terms of walking over for a chat and introducing myself in a proper way as opposed to our All-Muscle-No-Brains "Photographer" earlier in the evening. Being the size I am (UK Size 18/20) I would have thought that men would have turned the other way, ignored me or worse made a joke but in actual fact I think they were just pleased for the attention and the fact that someone was maybe interested in talking to them for a change and not them having to do all the chasing, not that that was what I was after. I kinda feel sorry for lads sometimes as they are damned if they do and damned if they don't in many a moral dilemma, especially when it comes to dating and anything concerned with the opposite sex. 

Now I know some people may criticise me and ask why I did all those things on Friday night when I had a perfectly good-to-me boyfriend sat at home. The thing is that I did not intend to go out with the intention of pulling, cheating or handing out myself like sweeties. I have respect for myself regardless of when I am in or out of a relationship. I know how to conduct myself and am confident in the situations I put myself in. If I wanted to cheat I could and would have done it months if not years ago. But I didn't and don't. Why? Because Mr. Warehouse and I have a strong relationship which means he can go out, chat with other girls, dance with other girls and even mildly flirt with them if he so wishes just as I can and did on Friday night, but the difference between us and other couples is that we trust each other and that each night one or both of us goes out on the piss, we know we're coming home to something much, much more special, meaningful and precious than some twenty-something in "Da Club"!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx