Love is friendship that has caught fire

Good Afternoon,  

Snow melted (again) and all but a distant memory from last week, although the lightness of the flurry made it seemingly stick around for longer, making me feel like I lived in Michigan or Canada every time I walked out of the front door to empty the bins. Alas there has been not much further progress with the spare room come office. Whilst I have indeed moved everything around and bought a nice office chair, the funky beanbag for the corner of the room has yet to be sourced, and said Mandela wall art has yet to be hung. To be honest I know how this will work - I will find multiple other things to occupy my weekend and evening time with than finish off said office / spare room and by the time I even think about getting round to it Boris would have said it is time to frequent the office again. Although when that is is another question entirely.

A week from now the country will be sat on tenterhooks as we wait to see which journalist was correct in their PM's predictions and which Newspaper is just full of dog shite like normal. This time next week we should hopefully know a little more about the reopening of the UK and a road-map to get out of this awful mess caused by Coronavirus. The BBC confirms that the death toll is fading fast with just over 250 being recorded yesterday (Sunday 14 February 2021), a drop of 50 or so in the last week. With more than 15 million people in the UK have now had their first dose of a coronavirus vaccine everyone is certainly pushing for the reopening to happen sooner rather than later. Prime Minister Boris Johnson has been aloof in his replies and ever so careful with what he is saying now in the count-down to when the government will set out a "roadmap" for easing restrictions in England on 22 February.

With months of frustration being cooped up in our houses, some with kids and others with snoring partners, you can understand why the public are chomping at the bit to get out and back to normality That being said though, this weekend I felt quite happy with the situation as it is. Celebrating Valentine's day yesterday was simply wonderful. Now I won't lie, it was hard looking back on Valentine's days of yesteryear knowing this one is not the same. Mr. Warehouse and I are not hopping on a train to London for the weekend as we would normally do. We were not, as we were last year, writing in our cards to each other the number of days until we were husband and wife, and I have yet to save that "Hubby" card for yet another year.

But despite the hardship and turmoil, we had fun. The morning was spent sipping coffee and reading our cards as we watched mindless TV and ate Percy Pig Pancakes (But I like to call him Peter Pork Head - sounds more street) from Marks and Spencer (which, like a brat, I was insisting Mr Warehouse buy me - Although annoyingly we forgot the Percy Pig Sauce). The afternoon we donned our wellies and fluffy big coats to walk the puppo's down at a local park and I was pleasantly surprised at the little one's recall ability, albeit with a tennis ball in hand.

That evening, after Mr Warehouse's other love (Arsenal) he made me a beautiful dinner which was incredible, again from the British establishment - Marks and Spencer. On the website First Dates (not from when I was on it I must say) Fred Sirieix serves up a fuss-free and next-level-tasty Dine-In-deal; Because to be fair where else are we going for a meal out other than maybe another room of our own home!? For us, it all started with a Gastropub inspired Runny centre scotch egg served on a bed of rocket. Next up was a rack of lamb smothered in a mustard herb crust served with the most fluffy and crispy triple cooked chips. To end on a super-sweet note, it’s got to be the cookie crumb topped billionaires dessert with chocolate and caramel sauce with caramel and Belgian chocolate ganache! Although by the time we got round to the dessert we were stuffed.

Of course, no Valentine's feast would be complete without a top tipple and chocs so the chocolate love bug choccies and dessert are our little Monday night treat. Speaking of which, I best go an stick dinner in ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou x

Everybody needs good neighbours!

Hello Hello Lovelies, 

Following our arrival, Mr Warehouse and I had been in the country for less than 24-hours before the UK government had listed Turkey as a no-go-zone and from that Saturday morning at 4am (Saturday 3rd October 2020) would impose a fourteen-day quarantine rule on anyone returning. Safe to say I was annoyed and frustrated but it did make me think though - Why? 

As the new broke on the BBC website, Mr Warehouse and I read on as the article stated that holiday-makers arriving from Turkey and several other places will have to self-isolate for 14-days. This is because it can take up to 14 days for coronavirus symptoms to appear.  The UK government said it removed Turkey "over concerns about the way the country reports its data" something which I feel ever so strongly about considering the UK government haven't exactly been shit hot on reporting figures anyway. Meanwhile, the Scottish Government weren't exactly blameless in the scrutiny as announced in a statement that it was "clear that case numbers in Turkey have been under-reported" and that whilst Turkey's reported infection rate has dropped to 12.9 cases per 100,000, down from 14.2 in the week prior. 

Frustratingly the BBC report goes on to explain that if you look at the official data coming out of Turkey then it sits comfortably well below the UK's benchmark for applying the quarantine of 20 cases for every 100,000 people, but revelations that the number of cases in Turkey has been under-reported has put the country onto the "red" list, despite the UK, or any other country for that matter, being no better. Whilst Mr Warehouse and I are just on the cusp of our "release date" as family and friends are now calling it, The Department for Transport is still no closer at looking to whether testing can be used at airports to reduce the quarantine period from 14 to seven days. 

This being said, however, the self-isolation and quarantining on return from holiday doesn't sit well with every traveller. It is almost impossible for the police to enforce quarantine rules so it is hoped heavier fines for repeat offenders will mean fewer people will break the rules. But with the increase in tougher fines for those who fail to self-isolate, it could be a costly mistake to break the rules. Fines for the first offence of failing to self-isolate when required will start at £1,000, before increasing to £2,000, then £4,000 up to a maximum of £10,000. The upper limit for repeat offences was previously £3,200. This was something Mr Warehouse and I nearly found out the hard way!

Three-days into our fourteen-day personal lockdown we had little left in the cupboards. Momma Warehouse had been living in our humble abode for the week we were away, looking after the puppies and enjoying some time with family and friends whilst down hear from her home in Cambridgeshire that she shares with her Boyfriend. This coupled with the fact Mr Warehouse and I never expected to have to self isolate, food supplies were running low. So waking on Saturday morning we took the decision to break the rules and step outside. 

Now I know what you are thinking - You could have got a delivery and yes we could have, had it not been for the fact all the slots were taken until the following weekend thus leaving ourselves in an even worst situation that eating natty Special K for six days in a row, breakfast lunch and dinner. Yes, I suppose we could have gotten someone to go and collect some things for us and helped out, however, when you were expecting to do a full month's worth of shopping on your return totalling over £100, it's a bit of a big ask and would have either meant me giving out my bank card and pin (not safe if you had to wonder why) or transferring money over to someone's account and asking them to go out for several hours in order to purchase everything, and that's all in the hope that they would get all the correct items within budget. 

And so with that option being too much of a burden on the very little friends and family we both have locally, considering my family is mainly back home in Luton, Momma Warehouse being the other side of Huntingdon over an hour away and both of us being estranged from the other parent, we decided to look up our options. 

The GOV.uk website states that it is very important that travellers stay in the declared accommodation as self-isolating will reduce the chance of a second wave (which is and was basically already upon us and fucking inevitable). Mr Warehouse and I must self-isolate at the address we had provided on the public health passenger locator form, despite no one at the airport actually asking for it. GOV.uk continues; "You cannot go out to work or visit public areas and should not go shopping. If you require help buying groceries, other shopping or picking up medication, you should ask friends or relatives or order a delivery." Although note please the above comments as to why these options were not possible for us and as the absolute key point here - In England, you can only leave your accommodation in limited circumstances including but not limited to accessing basic necessities like food and medicines where you cannot arrange for these to be delivered. 

And so Saturday afternoon Mr Warehouse and I hopped in the car and made our one journey outside our accommodation, all the while staying alert and staying safe as per the government's website advice in order to do enough food shopping so we can survive our self-isolation period. We were gone just over an hour, good innings considering the amount we had to buy and money spent. We wore our masks constantly and kept to more than the two-metre social distancing rules where possible. Nevertheless, within two hours of arriving back home, there was a rather ominous knock on the door. Confused at who might be calling at such a late hour I got up to answer. 

There standing at the door was a female police officer. I was shocked, to say the least, but now she and her male counterpart were there in front of me I knew I had some explaining to do. I answered her questions honestly and explained the situation in hand, that we had tried in vain to get a delivery and we did not have many friends or family local to help us. I was informed that Amazon delivers to my address (which on later inspection I found out was a crock of bullshit as they don't due to us living in a newly built housing estate) and that I really should not be venturing outside of my home address. I apologized and promised that since we had now got the provisions we needed we would not be going out again. Seemingly pleased with my responses they left, but not after answering my question about who the fuck on the street ratted me out. 

The answer - Two! Two separate complaints and calls had come into the desk about mine and my fiance's escapades and as such, they had to investigate them thoroughly, which is fair enough. I knew that we had done everything by the book and made allowances where we could have but a trip was necessary and needed. And we are not alone. As reported by the BBC, since the introduction of the travel quarantine regime in the summer, police officers have investigated more than 4,000 alleged breaches of the rules with more than 200 people were found to be ignoring the quarantine requirement, but escaping a fine because they listened to the officer on their doorstep first time around. 

Closing the door my blood boiled. Explaining what had happened to Mr Warehouse, tucked away in the living room, I fumed about the fact that someone snitched. You see I wouldn't have minded so much if it was that kind of neighbourhood, but I figured, since every fucker n this street had broken all manner of lockdown rules from the maximum 6-person rule to having people actually in your home to whether that trip to the shops was truly "essential" for paint and decorating materials?! Every. Single. One. And not even just a little bit either, most of the time rules were not adhered to, however, I saw it as it was not my business and to keep my nose out. They weren't harming me or interfering in what I was doing so why should I care. But apparently, someone else does! 

I think the worst thing is that despite that, Mr Warehouse could have been leaving the house on Saturday afternoon for anything. Our neighbours didn't know where we were going or what we were doing. For all they knew we could have been bombing it over to the vet's with one of the dogs, going to visit someone that was dying or even rushing to the accident and emergency after injuring ourselves - All reasonable excuses, by law I might add, as explained on the GOV.uk website. But no, rather than having some balls and rapping our door to ask if everything was OK or if we needed everything or even just how our holiday was they decided to waste police time and resources. I suppose I can't judge everyone else's behaviour on mine or what I would do in that same situation - Because had the shoe been on the other foot and I had seen someone go out when they were meant to be self-isolating I would have made an effort to go over and talk to them, rather than being sneaky and sly.

So far I have had several messages from neighbours on our street checking in and making sure everything was OK, although probably moreso to see why the effing cops were at my door more than everything, of which I am more than welcome to share my story. As one neighbour put, it is just a shame that whoever it was didn't have the guts (we still don't know for certain, even though I think I have a damned good idea who) and instead hid behind their anonymous phone calls and twitching curtains. 

I get it I broke the rules, but I also look out for people and mind my own business when needed to, not stabbing people in the back without knowing the facts first. It is a crying shame that whoever reported me and my future Hubby felt they couldn't come and talk to my face about it because after all is said and done, and COVID-19 has gone away, we will still be living next door to one another. I will still watch out for your kids when they're playing out front. I will still lend you jump leads when your car battery is dead in the middle of winter. I will still watch your house when your away on holiday. I will still take in that parcel you needed delivering today. I will still keep an eye out if I see someone dodgy skulking around. Why? Because I am not a slimy snake. But don't worry friends, I got the best revenge party lined up for when this is all over including base so loud you can hear it from the other end of the cunting village ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Vacation Over: Officially time to return to knowing what day of the week it is!

Evening everyone, 

Crashing back down to earth I would sooner be writing to you all from the beach bar in sunny Marmaris, Orgasm in hand and cocktail menu not too far away than where I am now. But alas our "Up yours COVID" holiday had to come to an end soon and so I am here writing to you from a very dark, blackened Autumnal night with drizzly rain and cold weather that hamper my spirits. Now, where did I leave you all ...

So after booking some excursions and haggling down the price, we had indulged already in a traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (again I urge you if you have yet to see some uncomfortable bathtime photos you should really head over to my social media, they're a right scream) and also sampled some of the best Turkey had to offer with a boat trip. However what was meant to be our wedding night had been messy, to say the least, not many cocktails consumed but nevertheless woke up with a sore head. 

You see it all started the previous evening when Mr Warehouse and I were trying to enjoy a nice steak dinner with each other at a time when we should have been dining on our wedding breakfast and dancing the night away with friends and family. As I have been doing throughout this holiday I was capturing our holiday and tonight was no different so as we grabbed our banana and strawberry daiquiris and posed for a selfie this strange man came out of nowhere and snatched my phone from out of my hands. Shocked I looked at him in absolute horror and disbelief as he placed the phone on the table and asked us to pose whilst he took a photo on his professional Canon. I was fuming and instantly it had ruined what was meant to be a happy moment in a bitter situation. 

Now it was more bitter than a lime that had been snubbed for an Oscar. The last few days have been wonderful and now this. Mr Warehouse was pissed and asked him what the fuck he was doing and to hand the phone back to me. He didn't. As Mr Warehouse, my knight in vest-tops and jean-shorts (not the hot pant kind don't worry), got up to grab my phone from just the other side of the table our Turkish answer to Annie Leibovitz snatched it back and attempted to take photos on it. This is when my Beau really lost his rag. He demanded that the blog give the phone back or he would knock him to the floor. I knew he meant it, despite being such a reserved character normally he could see it was upsetting me and obviously wanted to make things better. But it was too late, we were flat and done. As he shrugged his shoulders and walked off after handing back my phone I looked at Mr Warehouse. He was ready to walk out. We had full and overflowing frozen cocktails but he was millimetres from throwing in the towel and just walking off and I could see it. He was fuming. Seconds later the bread come out and we had to say something. 

The waiter apologized and explained it was a photographer from the strip that had nothing to do with the restaurant and was not affiliated. We explained the situation to both him and management and they seemed to take it seriously enough when we started we were seconds from walking out. Finishing our meal, however, we were brought a complimentary (although disgustingly toxic) shot of alcohol. Lord knows what the frick was in it, but it tasted like anti-freeze. And that's how we got talking to Mrs & Mrs Brave. 

Leaning over the Scottish wife and wife asked us if we knew what was in the virulent shot. We shook our heads but laughed along as we all swigged in unison. As we got up to leave they asked about what had happened and we gladly explained. Mrs & Mrs Brave explained that if we were looking for a good night out we should head over to "Talk of the Town" as they knew a lot of the locals and some of the lads in the show, one of the only one's still operating in the small tourist hotspot. And so on the authority of good advice from some lesbians, we had just met we headed on over and booked our tickets for the following night. 

And so following the football, Mr Warehouse and I spent the rest of the afternoon doing some more shopping (albeit stumbling around due to the intensity of said Orgasm cocktail) and hunting out fake goods at bargain prices was a breeze, including a Gucci scarf I am in love with for the upcoming season, a YSL glittery pink bag that screams "Clueless" or "Mean Girls" plus some cute Gucci sneakers a la Insta, Nike sliders for some poolside chic and a Gucci beach towel to make sure those Germans know we mean business with our sun loungers. Oh, did I say I liked Gucci? 

Once we had shopped until we dropped, we headed back to the hotel for a few drinks and a chill by the pool before heading out. And tonight didn't seem to be faring much better in the way of drinking as we donned our glad rags for one of the only shows still in town. "Talk of the Town" has been one of the most hilarious shows in Marmaris which dates back to 1996 with a cabaret that guarantees a humorous evening out filled with outrageous antics and laughs all round. And Mrs & Mrs Brave did not disappoint. I had been to one or two drag shows and nights in the past but honestly one of the best nights I think I have had in my entire life. With the lad(ies) belting out hits such as Disney's Frozen; Let It Go and Titanic's OST My Heart Will Go On by Celine Dion I was sure that I was being left with no voice tomorrow. Heck, they even put on a performance of Baby Shark halfway through which was a right roaring success, clearly among adults escaping the kids for a week or two. 

Mrs & Mrs Brave seemed to enjoy it too whilst we shared their table and got to know them a bit more. I thought to myself as I sat talking to these married women, maybe fifteen or twenty-years my seniors, how similar they are to myself and my very own lover. Like chalk and cheese one of us was singing our lungs out whilst the other tapped their foot along in appreciation. Both quite short and portly, one with dark short hair and the other long and greying blonde they spoke fondly of their daughter back home and son and his new wife out in Australia whom they seemed to miss deeply. I couldn't help but think that maybe for a night or two, we were the replacement family - And they treated us as such, even inviting us on a specially arranged boat trip with a local friend for a couple of evening's time, just the four of us so as to celebrate a wedding that never happened and I suppose a holiday friendship. My god, is this how it starts! 

Walking off after the show I was high on cocktails and my cheeks hurt from laughing (even if it was interrupted slightly by a brawl between two-lassies and their mom's beefing it out because someone was dancing to close to their table and you know, 2-Metres and all). This was insane. Swapping numbers Mr Warehouse and I made out way back to the hotel, laughing at the fact that one day were eating out at a crumby restaurant with basic steaks, the next were drinking in the company of some amazing Scots-women and in the next couple of days, we could be sharing their chartered Yacht around the small secret islands off Marmaris.  

The alcohol soon wore off though and as we awoke early the following morning, promises of not getting too drunk that night we slipped into our swimming gear for our Jeep Safari. Looking for some sheer adventure during our Marmaris holiday, Mr Warehouse had really run out of steam by the time our adventure awaited in the form of a Marmaris Jeep Safari. The day started off well enough with us shunning the fried breakfast offered by the pitstop and instead opting to hunt out a local corner shop for something fresher, an apple it was decided and a bottle of water. As we continued our journey, exploring the terrain around the countryside among the stunning Bozburun Peninsula and the Marmaris National Park all in military designed jeeps (ours was aqua coloured!) As the convoy of jeeps bombed it down the highway at full throttle we soon reached the well-beaten tracks that we struck at full force! 

As sold to us we were soaked by the time we came to our second stop of the morning, a small family-run resort, seemingly someone's home come pool, come shop, come cafe where we met the most adorable Akita pup, still teething and quite bitey at only a handful of weeks old. It took every ounce of Mr Warehouse and I not to smuggle him into said jeep and take him home with us. Heading to our next stop was Jesus Beach, jam-packing it in so you could walk the famous lake where the water was so shallow you could look like Jesus walking on water (although unfortunately thy hallowed had not been a visitor before) all before whizzing off for a basic yet tasty chicken and pasta salad lunch in a dusty layby hideout seeming for locals and probably home for them too. No rest for the wicked though as we were all frog-marched into the Jeep's for our next and final stop before home to the hotels - A beautiful natural spring pool and waterfalls, Turgut Falls, set deep in the forests outside of İçmeler to the west of Marmaris. 

As Mr Warehouse and I headed back to our plush and less dusty hotel for a shower and freshen up before dinner, we thought it a good idea to decline the invitation from Mrs & Mrs Brave. In the joyousness of the evening, I had instead taken their number and them not mine, therefore meaning unless we reached out we would be nothing more than a tale to tell. One of the reasons I couldn't fathom a private chartered sunset cruise on a Yacht was that it did simply seem too good to be true. We had only just met these people and as red flags go, not knowing their actual surnames is probably one of them. Now I am sure it would have been fine, however I have watched enough serial killer docu-films and read enough crime books on murder and homicide to know that this has "press conference to find our missing family members" all over it. Now I am almost certain as I write this that our Scottish lesbian holiday friends were just looking for some simple company to share their boat trip, celebrating a wedding that should have been and welcoming in a new friendship soley exisisting over social media with the odd Christmas card thrown in. But I just couldn't shake the feeling that Mr Warehouse and I knew nothing of them, barely where they were from or what their lives were like, and being on a boat in the middle of the ocean with no phone signal and no internets connection just screamed Channel 5 documentary with a grizzly end. 

Suffice to say the rest of our holiday was spent lazing by the pool, splashing around, drinking cocktails, reading a good book and of course some last minute spending, haggling (or at least Mr. Warehouse was, I seemingly, had lost my touch and couldn't haggle my way out of a paper bag) on hoodies and handbags we definatly didn't need. Leaving our luxe surroundings and comfortable hotel, our journey back home was not as eventful as the journey we started with however within moments of Mr Warehouse and I grabbed a bite to eat in the airport we had located out friends, brick-shit-house-Stormzy otherwise known now as BSS, Regina George and some other face from the Airport scrap that nearly happened on the way into our holiday. However, a couple of noted faces were missing including the someone impersonating Post Malone and the white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. We chose to believe that the threat about "meeting outside the airport" was true and it had all ended in hideous bloodshed and we would hear all about it when we got home, which of course, never actually happened. Landing on a darkened and drizzly Thursday morning at 1am I was ready for bed and excited to be soon at home with our fur babies - Oh and our Fourteen-day self-isolation to begin!!! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Hand(luggage), Face(mask), Space(-d out sun loungers)

Heyy Heyy, 

Following on from last weeks McDonalds brekkies, Bottomless brunches and heavenly crepes, I have not exactly been going in the right direction when it comes to my newly started Slimming World Journey. I get that everyone has put on a pound (or twelve) during the whole Lockdown thing, however I think if anything, and maybe it is the age thing talking now - I just dont give a fuck. I enjoyed last weekend so much so I think I have realised that yes, whilst I, like most people, need to eat more fruit and veggies and maybe move a bit more, I enjoy food and I dont want to be sat in a room of people every Tuesday evening clapping for Brenda or someone else who lost half a pound. I wanna be boosting Brenda up and telling her I fricken love those sweatpants she is rocking or how she has her hair today. I want to be around empowering women and not making them feel bad that they fell off the wagon a few days in a week and had a damned KitKat. And so I think when I return from my holiday (less than 48-hours to go and counting) I will rennounce all Slimming World visits only goign in for the bare minimum whilst I see out my remaining week's I have pre-paid for, checking in on my ever fluctuating weightloss. 

And sowith less than eight hours of work to go, the countdown is well and truely on. As I had explained last week, my finaly year of my twenties I want to do stuff, see stuff, visit places and just tell Corona to do one. COVID-19 really has fucked everything - Weddings, Work/Life balance, Halloween, Career, Parties and social activities, even holidays - Or so I thought before I got the most incredble present I think anyone could get on their birthday - A FUCKING HOLIDAY! This time next week ladies and gentlemen get ready to be green with envy as I will be 2,393 miles away from here in Marmaris, Turkey. 

Flying out Wednesday, Mr Warehouse and I will be leaving our pups behind to play with their sister (Frankenstien's Pup-Sister) and Momma Warehouse AKA 'Grandma' for a whole week with friends and family dropping by throughout the time I am sure. Jetting off to the Mediterranean resort town along the Turkish Riviera, also known as the Turquoise Coast, Marmaris is a dreamy location with pebbly beaches and long seafront promenades, perfect for just getting away from it all. The seaside, tourist hotspot is known for its lively nightlife on Bar Street which is home to open-air clubs and music venues, however from some of the YouTube videos and vlogs we have watched over the last fortnight or so, most of them seem closed. Marmaris sits in a valley between pine-forested mountains and clear waters, which are popular sailing and diving destinations, something Mr Warehouse and I are hopihn we might be able to find an excursion or two.

Our hotel is to die for as well. Situated right on the beachfront sea lapping up against your toes, The Poseidon Hotel offers a private beach area with a jetty and free sun loungers, parasols and cabanas beds. The hotel has both an indoor and outdoor pool as well as a Turkish bath, sauna and a fitness centre. All room are beautifully carpeted throughout and what looks like marbled stone private bathrooms with a hairdryers, free toiletries and everything else you could possibly need for your stay. Air conditioning as an absoloute must for Mr Warehouse after several dodgey budget hotels with little or none and I am sure that the TV and minibar will be put to good use also. 

With the All Inclusive menu there will be plenty to pick from I am sure, or maybe something à la carte where Mr Warehouse and I can enjoy selected dishes from Turkish and international cuisines. If we fancy it Marmaris city centre is less than a two-mile walk from the hotel with plenty more options for food and nightlife. According to Booking.com, "according to independent reviews, this is guests' favourite part of Marmaris and Couples particularly like the location rating it 8.9 for a two-person trip." so I am positive we will have a good time and with Free WiFi available throughout the hotel I am sure you will all be getting sick and tired of my constant 'Gramming by Thursday Morning. 

Oh and did I mention - Its adults only! No screaming Wayne's around poolside wanting their fifth ice-cream in a row. No crying Abigail because she cant use the Hammam mud chambers. No silly slides or water fountains (although not going to lie, probs gonna miss that myself). So grab your overpried straw sun hat from Accessorize and the Haviana's you bagged from your bestie when she was having a clear out and let get our holiday on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Don't worry my tattoo's don't like you either

Heyy, 

So following last weeks feelings of never having felt so at a loss, thinks are getting better, but seemingly as with everything during Corona, it is slowly, slowly. With Mr Warehouse and I having to postpone our wedding due to the uncertainty and coronavirus threat, making the decision several weeks ago now I was expecting many of the benefits to have taken effect including cramming in more holidays or maybe some more time to expand on my career or side hustle and ake some more money before the inevitable onset of children happens, probably within a year or so of being married. However, with the lack of training opportunities, work scope and growth and most holiday destinations facing some sort of quarantine risk, it's becoming a struggle trying to look on the positive side of things. 

Week fifteen and I am honestly, like most people I think, wondering if and when this will never end; I am well and truly fed up with it all. The BBC released today (Monday 24 August 2020) confirm that there have been more than 320,000 confirmed cases of coronavirus so far in the UK, only climbing 1,000 in the last week. However, with over 41,000 people to have died, government figures show we are still not out of the woods yet. Whilst those figures may seem steep, there have only been four people who have died as a result of Coronavirus in the last 24-hour period in the UK which contributes to a fortnightly decline since the beginning of the month. As I explained several weeks ago, the more that you test and trace this horrible disease, the more people will come back with having contracted it or be known to be infected, asymptomatic or not. It is a statistic that the more cases of detected COVID-19 the more deaths there will be as the Government grapple with the science and the research as we learn new things about it day by day and as the months go one we will be sure to learn even more. 

Anyway, things have been starting to go back to normal now and with everything opening up again I was happy to be heading to the tattoo shop. Planned for May 2020, I had booked in to have a commemorative piece done for the one-year anniversary of little Frankenstien blessing our lives. But Corona had other plans and as tattoo parlours and other establishments got shut down,  so did some puppy-inspired ink. Nevertheless, as the day rolled around I became more and more nervous of the design, what the studio would look like (since I hadn't been there before) and what my artist would be like. But I needn't of worried. 

Gravity Tattoo Shop had graced one of Leighton Buzzard's main street's for sometime now and become a very well established and well-known tattoo studio. The cute and classical design of the shop front instantly makes you feel at ease and at peace with the desicions you have made in life and the ink that shall imbed your skin to reflect them. Knocking the door I was greeted by a lovely young women whose friendly tone instantly made me feel welcome and safe. Decending the stairs I was greeted with a very clean and clinical enviroment, as one would maybe expect from such a place. But the colour and vibrancy was what I noticed first. No black walls and heavily gothy or macarbre vibes. Quite the opposite in fact. Colour everywhere. Pastels and bright neons. Bunting was hanging from the staircase and artwork adorned the walls. I felt very comfortable here. 

Sitting on the couches and "borrowing" dome sweeties left out I forgot for a second that I was not at a kids birthday party and suddenly started to feel a little nervous. Although no sooner had I filled in the welcome forms, I was introduced to my Tatter - Leanne. @leanneleavestattoo as her instagram handle suggests is a tattooist in the making. Her social media is littered with beautiful pieces of work including flowers, animals, insects and some realistic forms of womens bodies, not my taste but beautiful and brave to get done. As we went through the design and what I wanted and how I wanted it to look I was excited and as Leanne set up her station I couldnt help but continue to look upon the vast array of just stuff. Fascinated they had a wall of things ranging from stuffed animals to plant pots and folders all as a dort of Cath Kidston inspiration board in real life (Cath Kidston head office has a "inspiration cabinet" where all the little trinkets and things live so that designers can draw inspiration any time when designing new fabric or item). 

Hopping myself up onto the bench I reminised to the last time I found myself on a massuse bed and how I was the wrong way round for a back, neck and shoulders. Anxiously I looked away as I began yabbering on about my boy (the puppy) and the story on how we ended up getting him. I had barely felt any pain until she reached the centre of my wrist when the vibrations seared up my arm. Not the worst pain I had ever felt, but it was enough for me to go 'Ooohff'. 

"It was like I could feel it rattling up my arm" I said to Leanne, to which she chuckled and said sometimes that happens as it is a really sensative part of the body. 

Soon enough though I was done and as I looked down and in the mirror for the first time it was like I had fallen in love with my Pup all over again. The moment I laid eyes on the black line-work design I was smitten. I couldn't wait to show it off and I could feel myself getting really emotional. Controlling myself I got cleaned up properly and proudly flaunted it to the other artists in the shop. A simple paw print, probably the same size as his, with a crude stitch running through it and Frankenstien bolts either side. The cutest thing I ever did see. Thanking Leanne again I headed out into the sunshine, ink covered and protected. Even now I cant stop staring! Although I must admit I don't think my wrist has seen so much oilling and moisturising, and yet despite this it is now developing an itch. My hands are basically like a slip-and-slide. Suffice to say I am hooked and already planning my next one ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

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

An Early Morning and A Very Cornish Adventure

Morning, 

1.50am. It was early and I couldn't sleep. It was dark outside and I had only been asleep for a few hours. But it wasn't because of noisy neighbours or COVID induced insomnia, something I have struggled with since mid-lockdown. No. I was up because I was excited and just couldn't sleep. Within a matter of moment my alarm, along with my sleeping beau next to me would go off, alerting us to the time we need to get up and leave - 2am. 

After a quick stop off for petrol, we were off, a flask full of sugary coffee and Pain Au Chocolat and Blueberry muffin to keep us full, we hit the road. Our dogs safely tucked up in the back started to settle more as we headed down the motorway in the darkness of the night. Several months ago in what can only be described as a wet and uneventful January, I wrote New Year, Newquay, and finally, now we were here at that moment. With Mr Warehouse not wanting a holiday at all and me craving something remotely similar to Malaga (minus the skin cancer-inducing sunburn) I knew he wouldn't be able to resist, one of his favourite places - Newquay.  

Pulling over at a service station just outside Basingstoke I swopped with Mr Warehouse to drive the rest of the way. Two-hours down, only four more to go. Heading into the country lanes from the larger A-roads I knew we would be stopping soon. It was just coming past 5am when we stopped in a little car park in the middle of Dartmoor National Park. A vast moorland in the county of Devon, southwest England, the Dartmoor ponies roam its craggy landscape, defined by forests, rivers, wetlands and rock formations. With its multiple trails that wind through the valleys with Neolithic tombs, Bronze Age stone circles and abandoned medieval farmhouses it is certainly a beautiful landscape. The area is dotted with villages, including Princetown, home to Dartmoor Prison used during the Napoleonic Wars which was where we stopped near for a quick toilet break and walk with the pups. 

The rain soon put a holt to that though and we headed back to the confines of the car. Heading out onto the long and winding roads again we were met with some of the local wildlife including Cows, Ponies and lots of Sheep. After possibly getting lost, and many more hours on the road, much larger than the dirt country lanes and paths we nearly got stuck down, we soon arrived at the Ladyevelyn. Situated at the heart of the Newquay Bay Resort, just two miles from Newquay this peaceful holiday park is set in a peaceful valley, amongst the surrounding countryside, allowing us as guests to enjoy the best of both worlds. Obviously, due to the Coronavirus, the normal facilities including bar, heated indoor and outdoor pools, sauna and steam rooms and excellent entertainment were all out of action. 

That being said though, our holiday chalet, Ladyevelyn, offers accommodation with WiFi, private parking and dogs were welcome. With what was quoted as a "fully equipped kitchen" I would hardly classify it as such. Granted it came with a microwave and Iron as well as a fireplace, seating area with a sofa and a flat-screen TV it was comfortable and modern, however, there were no bowls just large tapas dishes, the cooker didn't work and most of the lights didn't work either. There was a fridge and a kettle however the coffee machine wasn't anywhere to be seen and there seemed to be a lack of any other amenities - I mean it wouldn't hurt to have a welcome pack including some tea, coffee, sugar and maybe a loaf of bread and some milk. A little gesture that wouldn't cost a lot but would honestly make a world of difference. The private bathroom came with a shower however the hand towels were threadbare and the mirror had rust around the edge.

However as we settled in and had a little snooze, we learnt later on that afternoon walking the dogs that the park is less than a mile to Porth Beach, however, this was not really somewhere we could have walked to easily as there were steep hills and narrow lanes everywhere, and the twenty-minute walk would have killed our eldest pooch who turned thirteen next week. It was our youngest pup was annoyed by the wind and kept barking at it into the ocean wind. As the waves came splashing in they both loved it feeling the sand between their toes and watching them both run and play on the shoreline was honestly memory I shall treasure forever. "I promised we would get you here hun, and now look at you," I said to our Golden Oldie, recalling the horrible moment I had to drop her off at the Vet's before her emergency Pyometra operation a few years back. 

Our first night was spent watching telly and chomping down on Chinese from the local. Today we visited Healey's Cyder Farm where Mr Warehouse and I explored the Bottlery, Distillery and Cellars full of apple wine, cider, brandy, whiskey and now gin. On their website, the history describes how Kay and David Healey went from turning the key in their first off-license, to bringing a 150-year-old farm back to life. Buying up a 16th century press, planting orchards and turning the fruit from their trees into world-renowned drinks and produce, this is now an award-winning cider farm. 

Overseen by their sons Sam and Joe, the Healeys are a family that’s long been in love with Cornish cyder and their's is the first Cornish distillery in 300 years. For more than 30 years the family’s been living and breathing apples every day which is why it made such a good day out ... and I suppose the free samples helped. Tomorrow's activities are sea fishing for mackerel and Wednesday we are taking a trip out with the dog's to Lands End. It's a shame to think next time I write I will be home!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Little Puppers All Grown Up!

Heyy, 

Lounging on the sofa at Momma Warehouse's house that she shares with her boyfriend, it was like being a kid again and coming back home (I imagine haha). Coffee was made for you and barely mentioning the fact you liked the coffee percolator earned me one that they had hidden in the backroom somewhere. Roast dinner to follow with heaps of food and pudding to drown in. This was living the life right? 

And so as the conversation turned to wedding stuff, dresses, outfits and hen-do's, I happened to be constantly distracted by my little bundle of fluff. In less than a month Frankenstein would soon be a year old and as he rough-and-tumbled with his sister, a short-haired double of him and looking more like a Dachshund than a Jackapoo, I knew that getting him was one of the best things in life. 

I will never forget that Tuesday evening, as Mr. Warehouse and I had prepared ourselves for bed with our eldest Pooch as we normally did, turning off the telly, closing down the lights and going into lock down making sure all doors and windows were shut. It was about quarter to ten at night when the phone rang. I looked at Mr. Warehouse as I showed him the caller ID. It was his Mom, my future mother-in-law. Worried I answered and before she even had a chance to explain I promptly told her that this was about the time that people call in the night when someone has died. 

"Do you want to see some puppies?" she said simply and calmly like some sort of child molester. I mean, of course I did. Immediately hitting redial to facetime her. No sooner had she accepted the call I saw a bundle of fluffiness. A little white girl with patches of brown and black splodging her body, another smooth black and tan puppy and a third wirey black and tan fur baby. Instantly I start freaking out. 

"I am being serious" my future mother-in-law continued, stern "We're leaving in five minutes and were taking one of the girls so which one do you want?" 

Suddenly everything seemed real and I focused my twilight mind from puppies and cute faces on a screen. Like a child to her parents, I turned to my beloved fiance and pleaded with him to let me get one. After a few pushes, he seemed to give in reluctantly knowing I would probably do whatever I would want regardless of what he had to say. After further talks, we discovered that it was a friend of a friend who used to breed toy poodles who gave it up to look after her sick husband at home who was rapidly deteriorating into dementia. Unfortunately one night back in early December the Husband had let the breeding stud in with the family pet, a Jack Russell terrier and she fell pregnant. several months later and around Valentine's day a surprise, or nine, were delivered. The lady herself knew nothing about it as she had been so busy with Christmas, New Year and looking after her husband and home she had neglected to notice her dog's belly growing. 


With the unexpected litter now twelve-weeks old they were already a month passed being legally allowed to leave their mother and so she took the decision to find them homes. One of the first questions I asked my future mother-in-law was how much. Bearing in mind that the Toy Poodle / Jack Russell mix would already be a popular choice for families as they are intelligent, active little things, small enough to be around kids and hypoallergenic so great for allergy sufferers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The reason being is that not only was it a terrible accident because her poorly husband had not known that they no longer bred dogs, but also that as a result of this expenses had already been stretched by extra food and what not. The added vaccinations, chipping, insurance and everything else that normally comes with a new puppy would have financially not been possible for the poor lady and her husband and so she wanted to give them away to families that would love and care for them as she had, making sure they were their forever homes. 

Within a few days there I was, gazing out of the window at the setting sun. I had been waiting all day for this moment. Truth be told, I had been waiting for this moment for pretty much my whole life since being a toddler. Seeing the blue rickety old van pull into the street I came running down the stairs, the pit of my stomach flipping nervously as it filled with anxiety and anticipation at what was to come. 

"They're here! They're here!" I squeaked excitedly at Mr. Warehouse as he too peered out the window at the arriving vehicle. 

Opening the door I stood patiently at the front door with the rest of the family, like a mother ready to accept her newborn. Ushering me over to the van I peered in and saw the sweetest little bundle of tuft. Black and tan, with a white belly I scooped him up and took him into his new home. Welcome home our little Frankenstein - An homage to my love of all things spooky, Halloween and macabre. That but also the fact he was made by mistake and pieced together from two different breeds of dog. 

And since that moment we really have been through hell and back. My practise baby has well and truly tested my limits and pushed me to extremes I thought were not possible with a small tiny fluffy. From the early days, it wasn't easy. Mr Warehouse were on the back foot when it came to training after getting Frankenstein at twelve-weeks we had already lost a month of the most crucial period of a young dog's life. Sleepless nights ensued as my Fiance and I tackled the Satanic Separation Anxiety, from yips and howls to barks and cries. But it didn't just stop there as when we went to work we would be constantly worried for the text that would come through from the neighbours, politely asking if we were coming home soon as our little monster was kicking off. 

Nearly a year since he was born I can honestly say it is not for the ill-equipped or the faint-hearted. Puppy ownership is hard. Owning a dog is difficult, but one of the most rewarding things I think I have ever put my time and effort into and I don't know if I could be more in love with my little man if I tried!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx