The next sands I feel between my toes ...

Evening, 

And so back down to earth and to the "new normal", or in our instance, just the plain old normal from before, just with the added holiday blues. Last week I wrote to you from our holiday chalet caravan in Newquay. This week I write to you from my desk, or at least what can be called my desk, in my spare room listening to the rain in the background as Mr Warehouse watches some loud twenty-something Youtube Vloggers loudly discussing their sexual exploits and prowess. 

After Monday's visit to Cornwalls pride, Healey's Cyder Farm (and after spending a small fortune on apple juice, cider, chutneys and jams) Tuesday was a more relaxing day out to St. Ives, just a few miles down the north coast of Cornwall. Known for its surf beaches (and I mean isn't everywhere in Cornwall), its art scene is just as prominent. The seafront Tate St Ives gallery has modern art exhibitions focusing on British artists and outside in the harbour isn't any different with many an art shop or small independent gallery. And if the beaches and harbours weren't tickling your fancy you could always take a stroll through the nearby Barbara Hepworth Sculpture Garden. However, Mr Warehouse and I did not nearly get into an argument on the train with a local "Asthmatic" over not wearing a face-covering for nothing (from Monday 15 June 2020 everyone must wear a face covering when travelling by public transport in England - Unless you have a valid exemption certificate of which my fiance had. Me, on the other hand, kept quiet and hoped she wouldn't start on me). 

Oh no. We were stomping down to the jetty to board a vessel that would take us to sea so we could fish. On the website where we (I) booked, StIvesFishingtrips.com, they say that the St Ives bay is by far "your best chance to catch mackerel in the summer months as it is and has been a mackerel hot spot for years" and to be fair to them, that it was. 

As well as mackerel we were expected to also catch other species including Cod, John Dory, Red Gurnard, Scad, Pilchards and Haddock for your tea, or not. Our trip was only 1 hour & 30 minutes in total and once we hit open ocean we didn't have to travel far and were fishing within 5 minutes. As the only full-time fishing boat in St Ives, Mr Warehouse and I expected to be coupled up with maybe one or two other couples, possibly even just ourselves given it was still early days of everything being back up and running after the pandemic, however, with our friendly but firm deckhands we had the best experience of sea fishing. And with a little help and using top of the range rods and reels I was even able to catch something. Although as our bucket filled and my future hubby and I waited for the deckhands to un-hook all of the fish (so no risk of hooks in hands which are very painful as I experienced a little prick from one) I could feel my insides squirm a little as I watched the fish gasp for air and thrash around in their final moments. I can and could understand why some people would not feel comfortable with this and whole-heartedly would be against it altogether, however, with the boat able to take up to 10 passengers I would certainly do it again and almost 100% so with kids in-toe too, moreso to teach them of life and death and the circle of life and where we all come from and that shit. Well, that and free food!

And although we never got to go to Seal Island, just west of town, to see the seal colony, we were greeted when we came back into harbour with a friendly sea-doggo. As we carried our 8 fish out of the harbour (you think that's a lot, we caught over 14 although Mr Warehouse didn't want to being any home so I thought 8 was a compromise) we felt tired and ready for home time. 

Wednesday was a day out for all the family (not that the dogs couldn't have come with us on the boat, they could have, however an inquisitive labrador and rambunctious puppy was the last thing I think anyone needed on board - Maybe next time pups). Land's End. An area of beautiful scenery and cliff faces, Ocean views for days, Lands End Landmark is a headland in western Cornwall, about eight miles west-south-west of Penzance. To the south of it is the English Channel, and to the North, the Celtic Sea. Out to the East is the rest of England and out to the West was the Atlantic Ocean. Unfortunately, it was a really foggy day and on leaving Newquay I was annoyed I may not see much and it would be a wasted trip, however, on arrival, it seemed pleasant enough. With miles and miles of open land to walk and crags to investigate it would have been perfect a few years ago, but sadly our older pooch just isn't up for walking that far now. But she did manage up to the tea room for a Hot Chocolate and some more photos. It was quite warm to be honest as well, as it had been most the week, overcast but warm. As we sat and admired the beauty I thought about how lucky I was and grateful I am of the dogs, sitting nicely and patiently waiting whilst we finished our beverages, ready for the next adventure, albeit back to the car. 

Thursday we packed up, sadly so but also looking forward to getting home and to our own comfy beds, and after a pit stop to the Newquay Riding Stables at Trenance Stables, a holiday staple now every time I visit Cornwall. Riding out along the River Gannel estuary, sandy mud bog under hoof I felt at ease and wholly relaxed. I wish it could never end, but it had too and as we trotted back into the stables I thanked the staff once again for an incredible experience riding out along the sand dunes and rivers, I just wish our little ones could join us by the hooves, riding out as many hounds and horses have done over the years. 

As lunchtime approached, Mr Warehouse drove us all back to Newquay to dine on fish and chips by the seafront. Looking out over the beach I became emotional. I thought back to the horrible moment I had to drop our Golden Oldie off at the Vet's before her emergency Pyometra operation a few years back and how I whispered in here ear flaps, soft and blonde, "I promise we will bring you to Newquay one day so you can feel the sand between your toes and run and play on the shoreline." My thoughts then turned to the fact that here we were and that the next time Mr Warehouse and I visited, maybe even to the same bench, it would not be with her at our feet. Swiping away a tear and sharing my last fish and chip scraps between the two pups, I was sad to be leaving but excited too as it meant we were just that little bit closer to our wedding. 

After a short run along the beach and a play in the wet sands it really was time to leave and as we buckled the pair of them into the back seat, boot filled to the brim, Mr Warehouse started our journey home. Six-and-a-bit hours there and just over five-hours back wasn't bad going. For the short term, we will have our fudge and rock, jams and cider, but until we meet again beachy shores. I suppose thinking about it our next beachy holiday will be our Honeymoon!

'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

Queen Eliz-a-bus and other stories from the annoyance of Public Transport!

Evening Everyone, 

So day in and day out I make the journey to work, like most people. Some people cycle, and, on the odd occasion I join them. Some lucky people drive, and, I do not join them. And with that it leaves the rest of us all commuting via public transport. Now if it so happens that you live in Europe, where public transport is some of the best in the world in my view (despite hardly ever using it) or if you live in a big, well connected city like London or another capital town such as Manchester, Edinburgh or Dublin then public transport pretty much sucks ass. 

I am a well established 'Bus Wanker' - A term coined from hit UK Telly show 'The Inbetweeners' as a mean derogatory term used for those whom have not yet purchased their own piece of metal on wheels. Now please don't get me wrong I would love to learn to drive and afford my own car but with salaries are being kept at minimum inflation rates both here in Britain but also probably across the world which means any hope of me learning, passing, buying and finally getting on the road are nigh on impossible on my annual income, especially since I have over £700.00 worth of rent, gas, water, electricity and food bills coming out not to mention council tax and the likes coming out of my bank every month it is expensive enough to live alone without throwing a car into the mix as well.

A while ago now, there I was being contacted by an Agency as I was out of work at the time and they have a job that is perfect, the boss thinks I'm fit for the job in hand and all is set up ready for me to start as soon as possible. But wait. What is this? They refuse to give me employment simply because I don't drive and so using public transport would be an inconvenience for them as a company and apparently dangerous for me to travel down long country roads after and before work. This is ridiculous and I cant believe that employers are actually getting away with this. Why would you advertise a job with an immediate start date and urgently needing to be filled if your going to refuse people that are willing to commute and are willing to work. It makes no sense. I wouldn't have minded if it had said "Driving license required" or "Needs to drive due to rural location" but no, nothing. I cant see how this would be missed off a job advertisement if it was essential or at least a preference from an employer. Surely if someone is willing to commute nearly an hour and a half they are good enough for the job. I call this false advertising of the worst kind; getting someones hopes up in offering them a job and then turning them down, just because they don't drive.

I read on-line recently that a lady was offended by the endearing term 'Bus Wanker' and most upset she took to Twitter to voice her concerns: "Whats wrong with the bus, i like it, you get to meet random people of all types, you get a free Metro to read, you can listen to your ipod, you can chat to interesting people, or drink a coffee or can of lemonade etc, have lunch on the run etc. why?" Well dearest questioner, let me enlighten you as to why *Cue twinkly fairytale music*

I think some of the worst things about having to use public transport is the fact that it is always late. Most people who know me are well aware of my inability to be on time for anything (despite my New Years Resolution of 2015) but buses, in all and every capacity I think, are just beyond silly sometimes. You could meet a man, get married, have 3.4 children with him, divorce and then have a heart attack all in the time it takes for the sodding bus to arrive. It always seems as well that buses and trains are never punctual when you need them to be. Job interviews, meetings and appointments, all of them cancelled, post-poned or delayed because of some technical error or human cock-up!

Something that has really annoyed me recently and for the last like forever is this. When your terribly late for something, job interview, work or meeting friends then it is the ultimate frustration when you get onto a bus or a train in that matter of fact and it ends up not going anywhere. Now obviously the reason for this is that it is not scheduled to leave once I am on board, but its annoying when your in a hurry and you need to get somewhere fast. Then, when it is time to go it just poodles on down the road, or tracks without a care in the world. No urgency. Just bumbling along like its on a jolly kids cartoon. Really gets on my nerves!

Another thing that really gets on my wick is this. I'm on a bus on the way to somewhere of importance. Nothing is awry, Bus is on time and I'm happily hungry so I crack out my nachos that I have just bought from a bangin' High Street food chain we all know and love (especially after a night out) - Subway. There I am tucking into a quick snack when a little old lady, sweet as you like pokes her nose in and points at the sign on the bus door. 'No food or drink allowed to be consumed on this bus' it reads. Courteously yet peeved and wishing the Grim Reaper was lurking about, I stop and put my nachos away. "Moany old bag, just on you way for a coffin fitting are we dear?" I thought, angrily. I think someone must have been jealous, I mean who does she think she is - The bus queen. Her Majesty Stagecoach. Queen Eliz-a-bus. I don't think so!

So as the bus pulls out of the station I am starting to get more and more agitated at the fact she has halted my munch time! About ten minutes into the journey I notice an Asian mother and her children on the bus when the mother gives her child a pear. I think nothing of it until it dawns on me that the Bus Queen is not interrupting their snacking. Why I think? Maybe it is because if a little old white lady in her seventy's asked an Asian women to stop her little Asian boy from eating a pear on board a bus then she would probably be shown the racist card and maybe even the finger coupled with a few choice words. So I keep quiet but secretly think to myself about how an adorable Asian boy with curly locks and big brown cow-eyes can eat a pear with his Mummy but me, a single twenty-something young (beautiful, intelligent, witty) women isn't allowed to eat her nachos in peace. I mean it's not like there is a law stating that you cannot eat on the bus. Smoking is illegal (In the UK anyway) but consumption food or beverage is not 'Queen Eliz-a-bus' so next time butt out, or my nachos will be going splat-chos all over your face. 

And with that I now come to the end of a long rant about public transport and retire to my bed, where I will rise in the morning and take the bus to work. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx