Heyy,
Last week I spoke about the regret of not ever living in London and the city and the life that I could have imagined living if it weren't for different other life events that lead me on the path I am today. And yet again I sit here in regret.
Back in the Autumn of 2018, my Mr Warehouse proposed. I remember it so clearly, walking on ahead with my little winner following a fun dog show which our (now) eldest pooch (the only one at the time) won for coming first as "The dog that the judges would most like to take home". So in my own world was I, I didn't notice as Mr Warehouse came up alongside me and almost in slow motion, my boyfriend of nearly four-years knelt down on one knee and pulled out a grey box from his pocket. As if it was yesterday I recall how I felt as my mind adjusted to what my eyes were seeing, he opened the box only to reveal a beautiful White Gold Diamond ring. A part of me had not quite realised that this was it and instead was just thinking how nice it was that he had bought me a nice gift. Then I think everything caught up with me and as my gorgeously handsome, cute bottomed Mr Warehouse asked: "Will You Marry Me?"
After choosing the wrong size I had to re-pick my ring, mainly as they could only size up and down 2 levels and I needed more than that. I selected the beautiful Revere 9-carat White Gold Cubic Zirconia Oval Halo Ring, classic and elegant. After whizzing over to Stevenage to collect it in my size, I was overjoyed and couldn't stop staring at my hand for months. But soon enough the whirlwind had worn off and I found a new shiny thing to think about.
Back in the Summer of last year, I was sat in a meeting in early June and noticed a small spec of dust on the desk. I swiped it onto the floor, thinking nothing more of it. A little while later I ended up looking down and playing with my engagement ring. However, on closer inspection, I realised a stone was missing. Panicked I realised that the "speck of dust" was actually one of my stones! There I was, on all fours in this bloody sales meeting. I picked up the crystal and wrapped it in a piece of paper, stuffing it into my bra for safekeeping. Calling the store Mr Warehouse (and I) bought it from, I explained what had happened and asked if I could bring it in with a photo of the receipt that I had on my phone to be repaired. They said it would be fine and I brought it in that evening once I had finished. With weeks before we jetted off on our last holiday as an unmarried couple, I was itching to get it back.
Several weeks later I was days away from mine and Mr Warehouse's holiday and I was even more desperate to get it back to go on holiday with. It would be the first time it had been on holiday and would be the one and only time it would be seen on a beach, fore next time it would be accompanied by my wedding ring! Eeeek! But after calling several times I was told that the ring was not back yet and they would be in touch soon. I did have a contingency plan though. I had ordered a lab-created diamond ring from eBay that looked similar, although disappointingly it had not arrived in time for my holiday only adding to my heartache. However, once it had (eventually) arrived was not quite for me and so I sent it back, awaiting any day for my beloved ring to be back with me. And so, regrettably, I skipped off on holiday without my ring.
Coming back home from Malaga Mr Warehouse and I waited in the airport, ready to board our flight home, swollen and in pain with blisters and sores. I had a phone call from the store we sent the ring back to get repaired. Unfortunately, it would have happened that when the repairers went to fix the ring, it bowed and warped so much so that whilst they had been able to fix it, the repair was not guaranteed and that if any more stone fell out I would have to go through the whole six-eight week process again. I decided not to accept the repair and instead opted to have the ring returned and have a replacement, thoughts of the new shiny thing I had seen in the shops a few weeks before.
Truth be told I had fallen in love with a 9ct White Gold Cluster Ring. The claw set cushion design is a real beauty. Handset with DiamonFlash Cubic Zirconia it creates a ring of perfect proportions with lots of sparkle and style. A fabulous accessory for any outfit - Including my wedding dress. Lusting after it for a while I was still waiting to hear about my ring being returned, I couldn't help myself and after calling a local branch in Milton Keynes and being told that my exact size was in and was on sale, I dropped what I was doing (which was decorating our hallway at the time) and headed over. However, on making the half-hour round trip and paying for premium parking, I was more than annoyed to try on the ring and for it to barely get past my knuckle.
"This is not the correct ring size," I said to the sales assistant. She disagreed saying that of course, it is.
"I can assure you that this is not my ring size," I said again asking her this time to size it on her ring chart and, sure enough, it was wrong, coming up nearly three sizes too small. Fuming I tried to control myself in a shop busy with people, but explaining politely to the sales girl that I have come in especially for this and what it is simply not really acceptable to just say sorry and make an excuse that someone had labelled it incorrectly, especially when I had called in advance too. Nevertheless, the young girl helped by ordering the ring in, although not before trying to charge me more because I was ordering a "bigger size". I paid in full and left, sitting in my car before I left and typing out an angry tweet. Venting through the interwebs seems to help as I had a response within a few hours and was told that because of my troubles I would have my ring especially shipped in from the manufacturers directly and that I could collect that Friday.
What happened to the other original engagement ring? Well, whilst I loved it, I love this one. Although I should have listened to the doubt inside my head at the time. Writing in "Rings and Tings" that week I really had to ask myself if this new ring will have all the same significance and special feels as the OG. Several months down the line I can promise you that it does not. Silly old me back then thought "I mean of course it will look a little odd in photos and I will have to explain every time someone asks what happened to my old engagement ring, but this one is soooo sparkly and soooo beautiful it won't be hard for them to see why I fell in love with it." Oh how wrong I was.
I have since just spent pretty much the entire evening looking for this damned ring. The original of course. I am absolutely gutted though as Argos have stopped selling it, literally as of January 2020! Alas Revere 9-carat White Gold Cubic Zirconia Oval Halo Ring, you were the one and I was hasty to let you go for now I regret my decision and whilst I continue my search online for ex-models or ex-stock items, I can only hope I can find you item 724/8119 ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Regret. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Regret. Show all posts
Monday, 24 February 2020
Monday, 24 October 2016
Fin d'une époque ...
Evening All,
Collecting my dearest Vivienne on Thursday evening (after numerous occasions being told it was ready and then it was not) I was more than excited to hit the road in her little Pumpkin coloured shell. Heading to the doctors, supermarkets and even being so kind as to drop Mr. Warehouse off to work on Friday morning, bright and early at seven in the morning.
Arriving at work, just minute after dropping off the boyfriend it suddenly hit me that this would be my last day here at a company where I had been for over two-and-half-years. The place where my life began. Who knew that walking through those doors all those many moons ago that I would not only acquire the skills for dealing with difficult customers, sales reps and colleagues, but also that I would learn things about myself, like how to love again, trust and make friends. I never expected that I would get a taste for anything more than just a job to pass time and fill up the years before I settled down to have children. I know now that I want more than that for myself and my future. I want to have a job my children can be proud of, doing something that I am good at with people whom I enjoy being around. Some would go as far as to say that I had all of that at the place I had just left, but there was more to life and I needed to spread my wings and fly off for a new adventure. Oh, and the money helped I suppose?!
Walking to my desk for the last time and placing my new car keys on the wooden finish I was sad to be leaving. With a tear in my eye I had plenty of work to be getting on with and so, before anyone could distract me, I rallied on with my inbox. As lunchtime approached I had already seen so many people, popping into the offices to say goodbye. Some of them drivers, some of them engineers and technicians; All of them friends and some of them even more. So many people questioned if I really had to go.
"Maybe it is all one big joke and I will see you here again next week, laughing about how you fooled us all, yeah?" someone said. I wish it were true. I wish I could stay. But it was a decision I had made and now that the wheels were in motion I couldn't turn back now. If I did it would have been one of life's biggest regrets for me and I would always be left wondering 'What if?!'
I mean don't get me wrong there were moments over that last fortnight whereby I worked my notice that I thought I can't wait to get out of the rut I had found myself in. A constant cycle of boredom and repetitive non-sensical tasks that made no difference to my working life apart from making my job harder and more complex than it needed to be. I had walked into that place a twenty-two year old girl who didn't know what she was doing or what she wanted from life. But I was handed a newborn of a company and asked to raise it into something respectable, which I like to think I did; Very, very well. But now, nearly three-years on I was in my mid-twenties and wanting to be taken more seriously with more responsibilities and managing more than just schedules. But this was something that would never happen there. I needed to be treated like an adult and given responsibility and room to grow as opposed to being undermined and questioned constantly.
But for every moment that I thought thank fuck, there was a million more in the back of my head asking: 'What an earth am I doing - Am I doing the right thing?'! With all the training and compiling all my workload into one Fountain of Knowledge Bible for whoever was brave enough to step into my shoes I hadn't really had time to think or realise that this was it. I was not sure if I was ready to leave. But as the time approached to go home, I realised that I would not be saying "See you Monday" but "Goodbye" for good. Of course I would see them all again, most of them were practically family anyway so I would have no choice but to see them around. But it was devastating saying my farewell messages to those that weren't such regular faces. A few tears from Miss Hackney and the Storeman whom I had grown very fond of were certainly testers in my confidence to leave.
Goodbye gifts in hand from my wonderful work colleagues including Christmas baubles (Because I had already started my Christmas Countdown) Cinderella Goodies (Because of that one time I dressed as Cinders and won my award for Administrator of the Year) and car stuff for my gorgeous Vivienne, whom everyone was cooing over in the car park; I picked up my box of belongings that had creeped into my work space over the last few years and descended the stairs. Bidding farewell to the building I had practically called home I walked through the green glass door for the last time. Walking out into the freshly chilled air I looked back at the bricks and mortar. I became tearful and fell into the arms of Mr. Warehouse who had come to meet me from work on my last day and to head to the pub for some after works drinks to send me off in style.
After a weekend of driving and seeing friends and family I was ready to start my new job. Only my first day today but will definitely look forward to the coming days and weeks. Hopefully I will become a part of their family and they will accept me as a bright, intelligent and witty work colleague whom not only can be fun and playful but also reliable and integral part of the team.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Collecting my dearest Vivienne on Thursday evening (after numerous occasions being told it was ready and then it was not) I was more than excited to hit the road in her little Pumpkin coloured shell. Heading to the doctors, supermarkets and even being so kind as to drop Mr. Warehouse off to work on Friday morning, bright and early at seven in the morning.
Arriving at work, just minute after dropping off the boyfriend it suddenly hit me that this would be my last day here at a company where I had been for over two-and-half-years. The place where my life began. Who knew that walking through those doors all those many moons ago that I would not only acquire the skills for dealing with difficult customers, sales reps and colleagues, but also that I would learn things about myself, like how to love again, trust and make friends. I never expected that I would get a taste for anything more than just a job to pass time and fill up the years before I settled down to have children. I know now that I want more than that for myself and my future. I want to have a job my children can be proud of, doing something that I am good at with people whom I enjoy being around. Some would go as far as to say that I had all of that at the place I had just left, but there was more to life and I needed to spread my wings and fly off for a new adventure. Oh, and the money helped I suppose?!
Walking to my desk for the last time and placing my new car keys on the wooden finish I was sad to be leaving. With a tear in my eye I had plenty of work to be getting on with and so, before anyone could distract me, I rallied on with my inbox. As lunchtime approached I had already seen so many people, popping into the offices to say goodbye. Some of them drivers, some of them engineers and technicians; All of them friends and some of them even more. So many people questioned if I really had to go.
"Maybe it is all one big joke and I will see you here again next week, laughing about how you fooled us all, yeah?" someone said. I wish it were true. I wish I could stay. But it was a decision I had made and now that the wheels were in motion I couldn't turn back now. If I did it would have been one of life's biggest regrets for me and I would always be left wondering 'What if?!'
I mean don't get me wrong there were moments over that last fortnight whereby I worked my notice that I thought I can't wait to get out of the rut I had found myself in. A constant cycle of boredom and repetitive non-sensical tasks that made no difference to my working life apart from making my job harder and more complex than it needed to be. I had walked into that place a twenty-two year old girl who didn't know what she was doing or what she wanted from life. But I was handed a newborn of a company and asked to raise it into something respectable, which I like to think I did; Very, very well. But now, nearly three-years on I was in my mid-twenties and wanting to be taken more seriously with more responsibilities and managing more than just schedules. But this was something that would never happen there. I needed to be treated like an adult and given responsibility and room to grow as opposed to being undermined and questioned constantly.
But for every moment that I thought thank fuck, there was a million more in the back of my head asking: 'What an earth am I doing - Am I doing the right thing?'! With all the training and compiling all my workload into one Fountain of Knowledge Bible for whoever was brave enough to step into my shoes I hadn't really had time to think or realise that this was it. I was not sure if I was ready to leave. But as the time approached to go home, I realised that I would not be saying "See you Monday" but "Goodbye" for good. Of course I would see them all again, most of them were practically family anyway so I would have no choice but to see them around. But it was devastating saying my farewell messages to those that weren't such regular faces. A few tears from Miss Hackney and the Storeman whom I had grown very fond of were certainly testers in my confidence to leave.
Goodbye gifts in hand from my wonderful work colleagues including Christmas baubles (Because I had already started my Christmas Countdown) Cinderella Goodies (Because of that one time I dressed as Cinders and won my award for Administrator of the Year) and car stuff for my gorgeous Vivienne, whom everyone was cooing over in the car park; I picked up my box of belongings that had creeped into my work space over the last few years and descended the stairs. Bidding farewell to the building I had practically called home I walked through the green glass door for the last time. Walking out into the freshly chilled air I looked back at the bricks and mortar. I became tearful and fell into the arms of Mr. Warehouse who had come to meet me from work on my last day and to head to the pub for some after works drinks to send me off in style.
After a weekend of driving and seeing friends and family I was ready to start my new job. Only my first day today but will definitely look forward to the coming days and weeks. Hopefully I will become a part of their family and they will accept me as a bright, intelligent and witty work colleague whom not only can be fun and playful but also reliable and integral part of the team.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 7 December 2015
Terror Is What You Regret In Life!
Hallo Everyone,
Lazing away my morning in bed I was glad of a Friday off work. Thrilling though it is, sometimes it can be nice just to have a break from it. But I couldn't lounge around all day, I had a train to catch!
Off to London I went, mini case and signature Eggnog Latte from Starbucks in toe as I boarded my train to The Big Smoke for the weekend with Mr. Warehouse whom was still hard at work and would be joining me later for dinner. I was looking forward to my weekend away with the boyfriend and even more-so to be spending Saturday evening eating German Sausages, Candy Floss and Fudge all whilst in the company of Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee. And as if the couldn't be more exciting we were all going to be in the company of Miss Tweedle-Dee's most recent Beau. I was more than made up that my little Tweedle-Dee had found someone and was excited to meet her and experience Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland 2015 all together. I had also planned something for Mr. Warehouse that he was not expecting on Saturday which was going to also add to the magic of a relatively romantic weekend away before Christmas. Although in hindsight maybe everything from Six O'Clock on Saturday evening onwards should probably be swept under the Klusterfuck carpet and never spoken of again?!
Being pampered and getting my hair done was, as it always is (isn't it gals), a pleasurable experience and even more so when it only costs you fifteen-quid at a top London salon in the heart of Hatton Gardens - Jewellery quarter of the city. Strutting my stuff I barely had enough time to head to the hotel which was nearly an hour outside the city (hastily bought due to a discount and very heavy eyes on a Sunday evening a few weeks ago) and back into the city again before Mr. Warehouse arrived.
Trotting down to the platform at Baker Street, transferring from one tube to the next I stood on the platform awaiting the 1704 to Farringdon on the Circle Line (Yellow), due in just under two-minutes. I couldn't wait to see my baby and have a lovely meal and maybe some cheeky cocktails before bedtime! But as I approached the platform I noticed from the corner of my eye something strange. There was a man. Standing there just behind the yellow safety line. He was white, dressed in muted tones, a Khaki coloured, large, bulky coat covered him. His eyes were wide, like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car down a country lane. He looked worried. Scared even. I looked away but something pulled my gaze back towards him. Then I noticed it. He had a rucksack on.
I turned away not wanting to believe that I could have such horrible dark thoughts about someone. I was kind and loving and enjoyed making people laugh and smile. How could I think that of someone, especially someone I never even knew? 'He didn't look like a terrorist? Did he? But then again - What do they look like?' I thought silently to myself. Trying my hardest not to be judgemental I thought that maybe if I spoke to him he would give something away that would enable me to realise I was just being silly and that he was just a normal bugged-eyed human being like me?!
"Excuse me, Sorry but do you have the time please? My phones just died" I asked the stranger, lying through my teeth as I hide my luminous, 78% battery life-d phone in my coat pocket.
"Yes, its coming up to Five O' clock" he replied, gentlemanly with a normal, English accented voice.
It didn't work. I still felt uneasy in his company on the platform. Swamped with thoughts the announcement for the tube blasted out over a tannoy and I was face with what was now seeming to me to be a very real life or death situation. I had built it up so much by this point I was expecting it to happen. Watching him shuffle from foot to foot as I recalled the rest of the passengers seemingly unaware of the turmoil I faced as the tube roared onto the platform - 'If I get on this tube, I may die!'
It was something I had never considered ever in all the times of coming to London, even when visiting Mr. Cheese every other weekend. I had never felt so vulnerable and unsafe. If I missed this tube and waited for the next one I would almost certainly be late, ensuring and argument with Mr. Warehouse after leaving him to wait in the cold darkness of Farringdon Station awaiting my arrival which he did not know well. Alternatively I could board the tube and everything would be fine, I would alight a few stops down and I would arrive on time if not early, therefore impressing Mr. Warehouse and getting the evening off to a good start. with seconds to spare and the door alarms screaming in my ears I ran to get into the carriage.
As the doors closed I looked across to my fellow passenger. It was the same man I saw on the platform, only now under the lights of the carriage I could see clearly that there was a small, perfectly square box in his jacket pocket. I caught his gaze. A cold steely stare from those bulging eyes. Even before the tube had set off I noticed beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had not ran anywhere. And it certainly did not feel so warm that you would break out into a sweat. He took his hand from his pocket and wiped his brow. But as he placed it back in his squared pocket I noticed that he was tapping his fingers, drumming them rhythmically along the yellowed bar of the carriage. He looked nervous. Again looking around everyone was oblivious to the fixation I had with this man. Looking back towards the doors I could see they were open. I tried moving closer to them but it was no use. I was stuck. Jammed in with commuters, tourists and the like of rush hour people traffic in London on a Friday evening.
As the doors closed I turned back around and caught my own reflection in the glass. There I was. Twenty-Four. A little on the podgey side, but better than being stuck on a constant diet of gluten-free this that and going to the gym. I had people who loved me. My father. My grandparents and family. My Mr. Warehouse. My friends; Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. My work colleagues. I never had children, or the chance to be a mother. I never got married and felt what it was like to have someone call you their wife. I would never get my white picket fence and lovely four-bed fully detached family home. I had got my hair done real nice, dark chocolate in colour and with a slight curl for my date night with Mr. Warehouse. It cost me fifteen-pounds. What a waste that would be if the only place anyone ever saw it was in a body bag, pieces of me all contained after the explosion. It may seem silly and over-reacting now, but right there in that moment it seemed so damn real I was shaking where I stood. I was scared. Scared of dying and living with regrets of never being able to get to that point in my life where happiness was every day.
After what seemed like minutes I was jogged forward as the tube started moving and with that I instantly looked at the man in the Khaki Jacket and Backpack. What I saw next terrified me more than anything I had seen so far. The man that I barely knew, that I had lied to just so I could gauge his person, began to cry. Silent, wet tears spilled over from his bulging eyes as he looked back at me in utter despair. That was it I knew that I had to get off this tube and as the next station approached I poised myself for a click. But it never came. Instead the platform arrived and I flung myself through the crowds to the doors and to what I presumed was safety.
As I walked down the platform and away from the tube I waited in anticipation that it might happen now. It didn't. As the tube rolled off in the direction I needed to go I waited for the next one, keeping an ear out for any loud or suspicious noises. Nothing.
As I sat on the next tube that came along I was overtaken by a feeling of guilt and disgust with myself. I had judged someone on what they were wearing and what they had in their pockets. I had persecuted someone (albeit in my head) based on their body language and the fact they were carrying a rucksack on their back. 'He may have just had a bad day? His dog might have died? He might have had some bad news?' I tried to reason with myself and could come up with nothing more than the question that if anyone else was faced with that situation; Eyes wide, pupils dilated, sweaty palms and forehead, huge coat and a rucksack coupled with a nervous disposition and deathly silent tears rolling down his face - Would you have stayed on board to await your fate?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Lazing away my morning in bed I was glad of a Friday off work. Thrilling though it is, sometimes it can be nice just to have a break from it. But I couldn't lounge around all day, I had a train to catch!
Off to London I went, mini case and signature Eggnog Latte from Starbucks in toe as I boarded my train to The Big Smoke for the weekend with Mr. Warehouse whom was still hard at work and would be joining me later for dinner. I was looking forward to my weekend away with the boyfriend and even more-so to be spending Saturday evening eating German Sausages, Candy Floss and Fudge all whilst in the company of Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee. And as if the couldn't be more exciting we were all going to be in the company of Miss Tweedle-Dee's most recent Beau. I was more than made up that my little Tweedle-Dee had found someone and was excited to meet her and experience Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland 2015 all together. I had also planned something for Mr. Warehouse that he was not expecting on Saturday which was going to also add to the magic of a relatively romantic weekend away before Christmas. Although in hindsight maybe everything from Six O'Clock on Saturday evening onwards should probably be swept under the Klusterfuck carpet and never spoken of again?!
Being pampered and getting my hair done was, as it always is (isn't it gals), a pleasurable experience and even more so when it only costs you fifteen-quid at a top London salon in the heart of Hatton Gardens - Jewellery quarter of the city. Strutting my stuff I barely had enough time to head to the hotel which was nearly an hour outside the city (hastily bought due to a discount and very heavy eyes on a Sunday evening a few weeks ago) and back into the city again before Mr. Warehouse arrived.
Trotting down to the platform at Baker Street, transferring from one tube to the next I stood on the platform awaiting the 1704 to Farringdon on the Circle Line (Yellow), due in just under two-minutes. I couldn't wait to see my baby and have a lovely meal and maybe some cheeky cocktails before bedtime! But as I approached the platform I noticed from the corner of my eye something strange. There was a man. Standing there just behind the yellow safety line. He was white, dressed in muted tones, a Khaki coloured, large, bulky coat covered him. His eyes were wide, like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car down a country lane. He looked worried. Scared even. I looked away but something pulled my gaze back towards him. Then I noticed it. He had a rucksack on.
I turned away not wanting to believe that I could have such horrible dark thoughts about someone. I was kind and loving and enjoyed making people laugh and smile. How could I think that of someone, especially someone I never even knew? 'He didn't look like a terrorist? Did he? But then again - What do they look like?' I thought silently to myself. Trying my hardest not to be judgemental I thought that maybe if I spoke to him he would give something away that would enable me to realise I was just being silly and that he was just a normal bugged-eyed human being like me?!
"Excuse me, Sorry but do you have the time please? My phones just died" I asked the stranger, lying through my teeth as I hide my luminous, 78% battery life-d phone in my coat pocket.
"Yes, its coming up to Five O' clock" he replied, gentlemanly with a normal, English accented voice.
It didn't work. I still felt uneasy in his company on the platform. Swamped with thoughts the announcement for the tube blasted out over a tannoy and I was face with what was now seeming to me to be a very real life or death situation. I had built it up so much by this point I was expecting it to happen. Watching him shuffle from foot to foot as I recalled the rest of the passengers seemingly unaware of the turmoil I faced as the tube roared onto the platform - 'If I get on this tube, I may die!'
It was something I had never considered ever in all the times of coming to London, even when visiting Mr. Cheese every other weekend. I had never felt so vulnerable and unsafe. If I missed this tube and waited for the next one I would almost certainly be late, ensuring and argument with Mr. Warehouse after leaving him to wait in the cold darkness of Farringdon Station awaiting my arrival which he did not know well. Alternatively I could board the tube and everything would be fine, I would alight a few stops down and I would arrive on time if not early, therefore impressing Mr. Warehouse and getting the evening off to a good start. with seconds to spare and the door alarms screaming in my ears I ran to get into the carriage.
As the doors closed I looked across to my fellow passenger. It was the same man I saw on the platform, only now under the lights of the carriage I could see clearly that there was a small, perfectly square box in his jacket pocket. I caught his gaze. A cold steely stare from those bulging eyes. Even before the tube had set off I noticed beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had not ran anywhere. And it certainly did not feel so warm that you would break out into a sweat. He took his hand from his pocket and wiped his brow. But as he placed it back in his squared pocket I noticed that he was tapping his fingers, drumming them rhythmically along the yellowed bar of the carriage. He looked nervous. Again looking around everyone was oblivious to the fixation I had with this man. Looking back towards the doors I could see they were open. I tried moving closer to them but it was no use. I was stuck. Jammed in with commuters, tourists and the like of rush hour people traffic in London on a Friday evening.
As the doors closed I turned back around and caught my own reflection in the glass. There I was. Twenty-Four. A little on the podgey side, but better than being stuck on a constant diet of gluten-free this that and going to the gym. I had people who loved me. My father. My grandparents and family. My Mr. Warehouse. My friends; Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. My work colleagues. I never had children, or the chance to be a mother. I never got married and felt what it was like to have someone call you their wife. I would never get my white picket fence and lovely four-bed fully detached family home. I had got my hair done real nice, dark chocolate in colour and with a slight curl for my date night with Mr. Warehouse. It cost me fifteen-pounds. What a waste that would be if the only place anyone ever saw it was in a body bag, pieces of me all contained after the explosion. It may seem silly and over-reacting now, but right there in that moment it seemed so damn real I was shaking where I stood. I was scared. Scared of dying and living with regrets of never being able to get to that point in my life where happiness was every day.
After what seemed like minutes I was jogged forward as the tube started moving and with that I instantly looked at the man in the Khaki Jacket and Backpack. What I saw next terrified me more than anything I had seen so far. The man that I barely knew, that I had lied to just so I could gauge his person, began to cry. Silent, wet tears spilled over from his bulging eyes as he looked back at me in utter despair. That was it I knew that I had to get off this tube and as the next station approached I poised myself for a click. But it never came. Instead the platform arrived and I flung myself through the crowds to the doors and to what I presumed was safety.
As I walked down the platform and away from the tube I waited in anticipation that it might happen now. It didn't. As the tube rolled off in the direction I needed to go I waited for the next one, keeping an ear out for any loud or suspicious noises. Nothing.
As I sat on the next tube that came along I was overtaken by a feeling of guilt and disgust with myself. I had judged someone on what they were wearing and what they had in their pockets. I had persecuted someone (albeit in my head) based on their body language and the fact they were carrying a rucksack on their back. 'He may have just had a bad day? His dog might have died? He might have had some bad news?' I tried to reason with myself and could come up with nothing more than the question that if anyone else was faced with that situation; Eyes wide, pupils dilated, sweaty palms and forehead, huge coat and a rucksack coupled with a nervous disposition and deathly silent tears rolling down his face - Would you have stayed on board to await your fate?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 7 May 2013
The Grass Might Not Always Be Greener On The Other Side
Evening All,
I hope you have been keeping well. I have. So, after last weeks awkwardness with Miss Tweedle-Dumb's and Miss Tweedle-Dee's work colleague, Miss Lace, I am pleased to announce that everything is as normal and we are in mutual agreement that Miss Lace's feelings are not serious. At least that's what I am being told, I still feel that there might be more than meets the eye - Watch this space!
This week I finished my job with the local flooring company and once I had passed all my training with my new company I took my last journey to outer Bedfordshire to say my goodbye's and collect my things from my old office. Everyone was somewhat shocked to see me go which surprised me given the fact that nothing was rarely kept quiet, especially someone leaving. Regardless they were all lovely and courteous about my departure and wished me all the best as did I. To be honest I actually felt a little sad I was leaving despite only being there less than four months. I suppose I just felt as if this would be the final in a a long string of jobs I have previously had. A small part of me felt let down recalling what Mr. Workaholic had said last time I had to encounter his massive, fat head. (See Post 'A Shock, An Invitation And Compulsory Meeting') Mr. Workaholic's words still ring clear in my ears as I remember him attempting small talk in the seating area of my local bank. Referring to the flooring company role I had recently landed at the time he scoffed 'So, are you actually planning on keeping this job then?' At the time I was so shocked and taken aback by what he had said that I simply brushed it off icily and said something like 'Of course' but secretly I was completely blown away by his arrogance and sheer uncompasionate nature, given the fact that we had sent nearly two years of highs and lows together, you would think he would be more thoughtful of what was coming out of the hole in his face. Maybe not though! However it is not this Ex that plays on my mind as much lately. Following a date night with Miss Chocolate and and old college friend, Miss Tatts, of ours a few weeks ago my first serious boyfriend has been popping up more often than usual. As we all bumbled down the residential street towards Miss Tatts house we passed a familiar driveway. Upon closer inspection I noticed a copper haired gentleman in the driver's seat of a learner vehicle. Chills sparkled up my spine as I realised I had just seen my first love in nearly four years.
I suppose we all have a love boxed up inside us labelled 'The One That Got Away' and for me that was my first serious relationship with Mr. Ginge. Now, Mr. Ginge arrived on the scene shortly after I finished attending High School with Mr. Coffee and Mr. Woof; and long, long before Mr. Workaholic. We met rather conventionally though Sixth Form. Childhood sweethearts you could call it. On my first day I made friends with a young chap who introduced me to all of his peers. Amongst the misfits and outcasts was Mr. Ginge. Taller than the rest at about 6ft something and with fiery red hair he was hard to miss. At the time I was unusually shy and when it came to our first encounter Mr. Ginger made sure I wouldn't forget him. Thinking I was cool a few days into term, I handed round a note pad for everyone to sign their mobile numbers and e-mail addresses so as to contact them outside of the study hours. But when it came to Mr. Ginge's turn he disregarded my simple blue Biro he took out a massive black marker pen and began to write his details in the rest of the book, using up a page for a single, scrawled letter. Smiling and acting coy we flirted for a week or two both inside and outside of the school gates. Looking back I can see that he boyish pokes, jokes and hitting was just a bad attempt at flirting and an excuse to touch me. Men, eh?
On the eve of my 17th birthday we began chatting via E-mail. Mr. Ginge had just got in from doing Cadet's training to be in the Army and was tired but had something to tell me. As my eyes scanned the laptop screen that evening I read over and over how this handsome lad that I had only know for less than three weeks was telling me how beautiful I was and how he loved to hear me laugh. "I love your cuddles," he typed continuing with "your eyes are something magical too." Flattered and still in slight shock he asked me to be his girlfriend. Cockily I said that if he had the balls to do it in person I would oblige and so he vowed that tomorrow on my 17th birthday he would ask me out. Less than 12 hours later were standing on opposite ends of the court-yard at Sixth Form avoiding each other completely and discussing what to do with friends. Finally after a whilst our friends forced us into a quieter area together and then scurried round the corner to hear what was going on. With me hiding behind a fan of birthday cards and Mr. Ginge chewing on the end of a yogurt sachet, he made the proposal again. within moments of me saying 'yes' we had all our friends rallying around us congratulating and asking for kisses and weirdly pictures of the newly 'wed' couple. Following that happy moment came more than a years worth of terrible times in my life, all of which Mr. Ginge stuck by me. I think its safe to say that there were more low's than high's and he could have easily ran a mile at the first whiff of trouble. But he didn't. He stayed with me and made life bearable. Some of my brightest moments I shared with that man and I can honestly say that there will always be a place in my heart for him.
However all was not well in paradise and after transferring to College in mid-September we hit a rough patch. Mr. Ginge and I went from seeing each other every day to barely seeing each other once a week and it took its toll. After a while I wondered weather this was it. Was Mr. Ginge 'The One'? Was he the man I was destine to grow old with and start a family? Was this all life had to offer? After a year and a month I called an end to mine and Mr. Ginge's relationship. He was devastated and completely at a loss with heart-break. Ironically I was to undergo the exact same treatment less than three years later with Mr. Workaholic. Like me I never fully explained myself before calling it off and like Mr. Workaholic, wanted to see if there was more to life than just that. Sadly I think that that initial first experience with Mr. Ginge made my separation from Mr. Workaholic all the more harder. I knew that this was something that Mr. Workaholic had to do in order to live life in a way that would not have been possible given our relationship, but ultimately that decision is one I hope he both regrets and looks back on as I do with my relationship with Mr. Ginge.
A part of me wonders weather Mr. Ginge thinks about me as I think about him. Does he wonder what I am doing? Does he think about what I do? Does he reflect on the memories we shared? I do. I sometimes contemplate what life would be like now if we had stayed together. Would we have moved away together to university? And would we have built the foundations of life yet? All these things I shall never know. So maybe I learnt the heard way that the grass might not always be greener on the other side ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
I hope you have been keeping well. I have. So, after last weeks awkwardness with Miss Tweedle-Dumb's and Miss Tweedle-Dee's work colleague, Miss Lace, I am pleased to announce that everything is as normal and we are in mutual agreement that Miss Lace's feelings are not serious. At least that's what I am being told, I still feel that there might be more than meets the eye - Watch this space!
This week I finished my job with the local flooring company and once I had passed all my training with my new company I took my last journey to outer Bedfordshire to say my goodbye's and collect my things from my old office. Everyone was somewhat shocked to see me go which surprised me given the fact that nothing was rarely kept quiet, especially someone leaving. Regardless they were all lovely and courteous about my departure and wished me all the best as did I. To be honest I actually felt a little sad I was leaving despite only being there less than four months. I suppose I just felt as if this would be the final in a a long string of jobs I have previously had. A small part of me felt let down recalling what Mr. Workaholic had said last time I had to encounter his massive, fat head. (See Post 'A Shock, An Invitation And Compulsory Meeting') Mr. Workaholic's words still ring clear in my ears as I remember him attempting small talk in the seating area of my local bank. Referring to the flooring company role I had recently landed at the time he scoffed 'So, are you actually planning on keeping this job then?' At the time I was so shocked and taken aback by what he had said that I simply brushed it off icily and said something like 'Of course' but secretly I was completely blown away by his arrogance and sheer uncompasionate nature, given the fact that we had sent nearly two years of highs and lows together, you would think he would be more thoughtful of what was coming out of the hole in his face. Maybe not though! However it is not this Ex that plays on my mind as much lately. Following a date night with Miss Chocolate and and old college friend, Miss Tatts, of ours a few weeks ago my first serious boyfriend has been popping up more often than usual. As we all bumbled down the residential street towards Miss Tatts house we passed a familiar driveway. Upon closer inspection I noticed a copper haired gentleman in the driver's seat of a learner vehicle. Chills sparkled up my spine as I realised I had just seen my first love in nearly four years.
I suppose we all have a love boxed up inside us labelled 'The One That Got Away' and for me that was my first serious relationship with Mr. Ginge. Now, Mr. Ginge arrived on the scene shortly after I finished attending High School with Mr. Coffee and Mr. Woof; and long, long before Mr. Workaholic. We met rather conventionally though Sixth Form. Childhood sweethearts you could call it. On my first day I made friends with a young chap who introduced me to all of his peers. Amongst the misfits and outcasts was Mr. Ginge. Taller than the rest at about 6ft something and with fiery red hair he was hard to miss. At the time I was unusually shy and when it came to our first encounter Mr. Ginger made sure I wouldn't forget him. Thinking I was cool a few days into term, I handed round a note pad for everyone to sign their mobile numbers and e-mail addresses so as to contact them outside of the study hours. But when it came to Mr. Ginge's turn he disregarded my simple blue Biro he took out a massive black marker pen and began to write his details in the rest of the book, using up a page for a single, scrawled letter. Smiling and acting coy we flirted for a week or two both inside and outside of the school gates. Looking back I can see that he boyish pokes, jokes and hitting was just a bad attempt at flirting and an excuse to touch me. Men, eh?
On the eve of my 17th birthday we began chatting via E-mail. Mr. Ginge had just got in from doing Cadet's training to be in the Army and was tired but had something to tell me. As my eyes scanned the laptop screen that evening I read over and over how this handsome lad that I had only know for less than three weeks was telling me how beautiful I was and how he loved to hear me laugh. "I love your cuddles," he typed continuing with "your eyes are something magical too." Flattered and still in slight shock he asked me to be his girlfriend. Cockily I said that if he had the balls to do it in person I would oblige and so he vowed that tomorrow on my 17th birthday he would ask me out. Less than 12 hours later were standing on opposite ends of the court-yard at Sixth Form avoiding each other completely and discussing what to do with friends. Finally after a whilst our friends forced us into a quieter area together and then scurried round the corner to hear what was going on. With me hiding behind a fan of birthday cards and Mr. Ginge chewing on the end of a yogurt sachet, he made the proposal again. within moments of me saying 'yes' we had all our friends rallying around us congratulating and asking for kisses and weirdly pictures of the newly 'wed' couple. Following that happy moment came more than a years worth of terrible times in my life, all of which Mr. Ginge stuck by me. I think its safe to say that there were more low's than high's and he could have easily ran a mile at the first whiff of trouble. But he didn't. He stayed with me and made life bearable. Some of my brightest moments I shared with that man and I can honestly say that there will always be a place in my heart for him.
However all was not well in paradise and after transferring to College in mid-September we hit a rough patch. Mr. Ginge and I went from seeing each other every day to barely seeing each other once a week and it took its toll. After a while I wondered weather this was it. Was Mr. Ginge 'The One'? Was he the man I was destine to grow old with and start a family? Was this all life had to offer? After a year and a month I called an end to mine and Mr. Ginge's relationship. He was devastated and completely at a loss with heart-break. Ironically I was to undergo the exact same treatment less than three years later with Mr. Workaholic. Like me I never fully explained myself before calling it off and like Mr. Workaholic, wanted to see if there was more to life than just that. Sadly I think that that initial first experience with Mr. Ginge made my separation from Mr. Workaholic all the more harder. I knew that this was something that Mr. Workaholic had to do in order to live life in a way that would not have been possible given our relationship, but ultimately that decision is one I hope he both regrets and looks back on as I do with my relationship with Mr. Ginge.
A part of me wonders weather Mr. Ginge thinks about me as I think about him. Does he wonder what I am doing? Does he think about what I do? Does he reflect on the memories we shared? I do. I sometimes contemplate what life would be like now if we had stayed together. Would we have moved away together to university? And would we have built the foundations of life yet? All these things I shall never know. So maybe I learnt the heard way that the grass might not always be greener on the other side ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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