Having a Whale of a Time!

Hello there one and all from a strangely sunny Dublin?! 

Now, I say strangely as they don't call it "The Green Isle" for nothing you know and every time I have ever visited it has always been dreary and raining. However my holiday so far with Mr. Warehouse has been brilliant. Obviously last week there was talk of getting my Ta-Ta's out, although I think that was slightly optimistic given the fact that the weather out here is about the same temperature as back home in Blighty, not very warm indeed - ergo, no Ta-Ta's out this holiday! 

Lets start from the beginning shall we? So finishing work on Thursday at half day was as blissful as all half days usually are, although this one was manic as I had been up since 6am and had not stopped to sit down until I was either at work, the nail salon or the hairdressers! It was go-go-go from the moment I got up and after finishing my working (half) day it did not stop there as I continued my day collecting medication for Mr. Warehouse, posting parcels, sending letters, buying some last holiday bits, collecting some clothes and packing my case and that was not including the pampering disasters I had on the way. I arrived at the nail salon I went to just before Christmas to get my nails did which incidentally made no difference what-so-ever as they were chipped by the time I finished packing Thursday night in turn putting me in a foul mood to start with. And the foul mood didn't stop when I woke up on Friday morning ready for our afternoon flight from Birmingham International as the hair cut I had the previous day that looked lovely, if a little on the short side, I now discovered that in actual fact I had been given what can only be described as a wonky graduated bob resulting in me loosing more than double what I asked her to trim. Royally fucked off now I had no choice but to don my rat-tail extensions in the hope they looked relatively real. Sipping on a Caramel Latte from my beloved Tassimo I went through the days travel plans to get us to the airport, before getting dressed and ready to leave. 

Getting to the airport I thought would not be as faffy as it was, however with a journey time of around three-hours from door to airport check-in I was exhausted already. The slow train was very, very slow and with a connection time of seven-minutes I was anxious to get there in good haste. Sitting in Birmingham International Airport I was excited to be finally a little closer to our holiday away, although regretful slightly that it wasn't somewhere more adventurous on the departure board. 

Several hours and an uneventful flight later we touched down in what appeared to be a very grey and overcast Dublin. My hopes were not high and whilst I knew we were not going to be sweltering in forty-degree heat I so wanted Ireland to be the place where Mr. Warehouse fell in love with it as much as I have in my years of coming here. Whizzing through airport security as usual with only a glance at who we all were, Mr. Warehouse and I headed to the exit only to be told that since the bus had to leave on time we would have to wait for the next one which was only an 'Irish' five-minutes away. I say 'Irish' as Irish people seem to be on a different time-scale, something which I am more than accustomed to. An 'Irish' five minutes is more like twenty, very similar to the commonly used phrases 'I am on my way' and 'I just need to do my make-up'. 

After waiting around for more than twenty 'Irish' minutes, we had arrived at our final destination, our hotel! Discovering our room was 202 in the heady heights of a five-storey Georgian town-house with no lift access Mr. Warehouse reluctantly grabbed the bags and headed for the stairwell. Our room was tiny, smaller than Mr. Warehouse's bedroom at his mothers house back home it was nicely decorated and was situated only a few moments from the hub of Dublin's City centre including shops, restaurants and tourist-y things! Our first evening in the city we had agreed would be a slow one, so we headed to the Tourist Information and paid upfront for a Gravediggers Ghost Bus Tour, which is happening tonight - SO excited! 

For dinner we had settled on a teeny-tiny burger joint called BoBos Burgers! Now everyone knows how much I love a good burger and believe me nothing could top my favourite place for burgers - London's Honest Burger! Last years first holiday to Lyon with Mr. Warehouse nearly toppled it with King Marcel, again feeding us on our first night to the French Foodie City! After reading on-line about how good this place was I knew I would have to try it out, and boy am I glad I did. I cannot recall the burger I had but in it was sweet red-onion chutney, a medium-rare Irish beef burger, yummy cheese, and other gorgeous ingredients! I opted for chips as well although after finishing my burger, I could only stomach a few fries. Feeling bad and after passing more than a handful of homeless people on our travels, I got the restaurant to bag them up ready for someone else's dinner tonight. Only a few metres down the street from the restaurant and outside a posh delicatessen, Mr. Warehouse and I spotted a homeless man who appeared to be asking for food and money. I bent down and explained that we were tourists and that after our meal just now we had not been able to eat all our chips (two buckets worth I might say adding up to over seven-euros). They were still warm and as I handed the grubby man the bag he continued to thank us, explaining that we were angels and that this was his dinner tonight. It was freezing out, not much more than one or two degrees so the fries in all fairness were probably nearly cold but for him we had possibly made his day and that is something money cant buy. 

Saturday we travelled round on the tourist buses all day, attending the site of the Guinness Factory and walked past the Guinness hospital, set up by the Guinness family for the employees of the factory. The top two conditions doctors would see - Alcohol poisoning and sclerosis of the liver?! Enjoying our bus ride we headed back to the hotel to get ready for our all-Irish night out on the tiles in Dublin. The Temple Bar District of Dublin seemed to be the place to be and after heading into several pubs, having one drink at each we found ourselves at the end of the night in the same bar as we started at with the same Irish musicians as before. Drunk as Irish Husbands we headed for home collecting a McDonald's en-route (which tasted incredible I might add as my burger has crispy fried onions in it was amazing, although that might have been the umpteen ciders I had been drinking that evening) before we hailed a man with a bicycle-took-took to take us the ten minutes back to the hotel. 

Waking up yesterday morning, Mr. Warehouse and I felt like the back-end of a Donkey with breath smelling much worse. Happy Valentines Day! Not being able to remember much that wasn't fuzzy or blurred, Dublin had well and truly fucked us in the bum. Hanging, I drank some water and took some paracetamol and got on with it whilst Mr. Warehouse groaned for about twenty minutes and then got over his hangover too. Boarding the bus we headed to Europe's third largest Zoo after London and Paris - Dublin Zoo of course! Walking around we saw babies such as Lion cubs, Elephants and Giraffes as well as their mommies and daddies too. Enjoying every bit of the day we ended it in the gift shop of all places where Mr. Warehouse bought me an adorable cuddly toy Lion - A romantic gesture I have always wanted a lover to buy me from the Zoo, something Mr. Warehouse probably won't know until reading this the sweetheart! 

So my holiday so far has been wonderful and very romantic given it Valentines weekend. Walking around Dublin with my other half is lovely but I am also looking forward to the next part of our trip which commences tomorrow, where Mr. Warehouse and I will head down to Southern Ireland near Kilkenny and visit my Aunt and Uncle and their farmyard animals in the thickness of the Irish countryside. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Its My Birthday I Can Do What I like!

Hello everyone!

I am writing to you all from my new stance this week situated at the front of my new flat that is both grander and more superior than the one directly two flights above me in which I was calling home not only three weeks ago. Settling into my new flat has been relatively easy and fun and even better when you end up sourcing a bargain like the desk I am tapping away on right now, instead of my couch as usual. Yes I thought I would make the effort as a fairly established writer (I jest) to invest in a desk for such an occasion. My desk I am at now is made of heavy wood and looks very office-y, more than just a family home type. Drawers and Cupboards either side of me I feel prepared and ready to start with whatever errands and home office duties that may befall me. And it was all for free. The guy even dropped it off and carried it indoors for me. Not. A. Penny. Where I hear you 'Holla'?! The Freecycle Network - A community based group in any city, town or village that advertises stuff for free. A fabulous find for someone whose life is always on some sort of budget. And for free you can hardly complain. 

Another thing I got for free this weekend was far from satisfactory, and I could have very much done without when accepting my newly found desk was a thumping headache and maybe a slight hangover! Yes since it was my birthday I decided to make a right weekend of it, much to the dismay of Mr. Warehouse whom I think by Sunday afternoon was sick to death with the phrase "It's my birthday - I can say/do/be/have what I want". But its OK because in eleven months he can do the same. Turning twenty-four is so not cool. And if you haven't noticed over the years that the older you get the less people seem to care that it is your birthday. I (and anyone else for that matter) should be a princess (or prince) on their birthday. It is the one and the only day you get to be a complete diva and pretty much no-one can tell you off. Unless its the police. Or your boss. Who conveniently was not in for the majority of my birthday day spent at work. 

But firstly we should probably start with the first 'classified' day of my birthday weekend. After work on Thursday I finished and made my way through town with a top on that was probably inappropriate for dinner in a nice restaurant, and most definitely inappropriate for the work place to meet Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. I chose to keep dinner local to me in Bedford as Milton Keynes and surrounding areas albeit would have been nice and maybe more commercial choice, I knew Bedford had choice-a-plenty and such variety too, not to mention being minutes from my bed. Stepping into Mimo's Steak and Grill I was perplexed as to why, on a Thursday evening it would be so empty. Sitting down we were handed menu's and after reviewing them online for the past week or so I knew what I would be ordering. And so between idle chitter-chatter of work, weather and upcoming plans for the rest of the year we tucked into tasty Mediterranean dishes including Calamari, Halloumi and Whitebait to start, Home-made Burgers and Lamb Kebabs for mains and silky smooth Creme Brulee (my new favourite desert) for pudding. Making it home, all four of us stuffed following our £103 meal I was put through the same saga as I am every year. Like a child I sat eagerly awaiting Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee to come and join me and my boyfriend in the front room for some food-comatose natter before home-time. But alas they had other plans and whilst I knew what they were doing in my new and improved kitchen, I never anticipated a Reeses Peanut Butter Krispy Kreme Donut as a replacement birthday cake! I thought it was wonderful and truly a fantastic idea. No cutting, no fannying around with plates and cutlery. Just an individual donut for me and three. Rounding off the evening with presents that included tickets to see the real life Magic Mike at The Dreamboy's Show in Bedford's Corn Exchange from Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Gig tickets to see one of the first Bands I ever saw live as a teenager - Fall Out Boy supported by none other than Professor Green at Wembley as well as amongst other things such as a carrier bags worth of Reeses Peanut Butter sweets and chocolate including Reeses Peanut Butter Peices, Peanut Butter M&M's and Peanut Butter Hot Chocolate! This was only to be added to over the next few days as copious amounts of more chocolate were added. To bed though myself and Mr. Warehouse went for the next morning was my actual real-life birthday. 

Waking in the morn I was ready to start the day, even if it was half-five in the morning. Yes I had to be in work early to do invoicing, but at least I finished early which in turn meant I could have a little cat-nap before getting ready for the nights activities. Opening my presents in my pyjamas and on my bed with Mr. Warehouse by my side was intimate and magical, especially since most of the presents were stuff I loved and didn't have to pretend I liked. "This one's a keeper" I thought as I opened some silver feather hair-clips he had bought me on holiday in Lyon, now my only reminder after loosing my rings last Saturday. Hair Chalks and bath bombs followed all with their little clues on the tags. Then I was handed a box. On the label it said "You are my world ... " and as I opened it I wondered what it could be. On opening the white box with Pandora on the box lid I peered inside to see a sliver and jewel encrusted globe of the world, engraving swirling it saying 'Around the world'. Another few more and I was done. Covered in wrapping paper and glitter I was happy to get my day off to such a good start. As I read Mr. Warehouse's card I started to well-up inside, overcome with joy and happiness and love. He wrote: 

Yes, today is your birthday - But I am the one who has the gift. 

The gift of you being in my life for another year.

Finishing off my invoicing around ten-past nine I got away with pottering around looking busy, which was both hard and boring. Nevertheless home-time soon came and as I met my wonderful Beau downstairs in reception we alighted for a quick snooze and getting ready for what was to be a much anticipated messy night out. 

Throwing on a pair of heels and donning a sexy but classy plum mini-dress, Mr. Warehouse and I headed into town. Soon the Smirnoff Ice turned into singles and then they evolved into doubles finally culminating in shots of Sambuca to toast any old thing of celebratory value! Heading to the next venue and the next the drinks kept coming and the dance moves kept grooving. Some good pictures were to be had that night, including one of the whole team on what we disclosed as a thoroughly good team building exercise. Although I did nearly end up in a bit of bother with some lad on the dance-floor. I mean does he not know who I am. This, today of holy day's was my actual birth day and I am having a photo taken of me (obviously) with my work colleagues and here he is, this chav from the back end of no-where special trying to encroach on my happy-snappy. Suffice to say as soon as I barged the little tosser out of the frame we took a good shot. But that didn't stop him squaring up to me in my seven-inch-platforms and trying to have a go. I mean really? Mr. Warehouse, whilst I know is a soft cuddle-bug inside, he is built like a brick shit house and to start anything with me is certain to involve him. I am his Princess. His Queen and anyone to intrude on my thrown, or selfie as it so happens, will suffer the wrath of "Lui et Moi"! With the dance-floor waning, people drifting off to the taxi rank and some stragglers left kanoodling I looked over to Mr. Warehouse from my prime position on the dance-stage and knew by his little tired face that it was time to call it a night. Heading for a standard drunken Subway and home to bed I knew that whilst still relatively early - 0200am to be precise, it was appropriate clocking out time for a lady of my age now. 

Raising my heavy head the next morning, Mr. Warehouse and I agreed that it was about time we did something more sophisticated that getting pissed every pay-day. I was twenty-four (and one day) now. I should be investing in a good, possibly antique dining table and inviting people over for dinner parties rather than being known as the girl who doesn't just go to the bar for one drink but for two. Getting up and lounging around I made the flat look presentable for Mr. Warehouse's mother who was coming over before Dunch (A Dinner Lunch). Seemingly pleased that her son had found a self-sufficient girlfriend who was able to look after not only herself but several pot plants was clearly something she was both happy and proud of. Nattering away over posh coffee and Saturday afternoon telly before going out for a very late-lunch otherwise now nicknamed by me as Dunch. A spicy handmade pizza and glass of milk went down a treat, I even had some to take home with me for supper later on. 

Sunday was somewhat a day of rest before heading over to my grandparents house for a family get-together of sorts and time to share in all the gorey details from the past few days. Yes, my nana does like to hear about my escapades of a night on the tiles. But as I sat in the sunshine, blinded by the afternoon rays I sat and wondered what the next year will bring for me. Yes. I need to think out my life for turning twenty-five will definitely be worse than twenty-four for sure. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Bonjour! Merci!

Bon Soiree mon ami, 

Finishing work and hurrying out the door of my office before anyone could ask me another thing I was more than ready and very excited for my holiday away in the Mid-South of France. Lyon was a place that I have thought about going to but as with most I did not know a lot about it and chose not to research too much into it so as to fully experience the city when I arrived. Watching the time I headed to get my nails done and pick up some bits in Bedford Town Centre before heading back to my little apartment to meet with Mr. Warehouse who was soon en route with the suitcase which by his own admission he had filled more than half of the twenty-kilo allowance EasyJet was giving us. Nevertheless we packed what I needed and double checked all our tickets and passports before settling down for a cheeky Chinese takeaway and some GBBO - The Great British Bake Off for those whom are unfamiliar is a show in which contestants slave over a hot oven in order to impress and 80-year-old and a pompous old git, and all whilst trying their best not to let their Pavlova end up on the floor. I don't know whether you can receive this in other countries such as the States or Asia, but you cannot receive in Europe, at least through the BBCiPlayer. 

Anyway back to the holiday. So after getting up at about the same time I would usually be going to work (6.30am to be precise) all because Mr. Warehouse didn't want to be late for his flight. In turn after arguing about when to call the cab we arrived at London Luton Airport so damn early that our flight (that didn't take off until 11.50am) wasn't even on the board. Grabbing some breakfast and checking our hold luggage in we headed to the security. Once passed their which was smoother than other times I had flown though London Luton Airport we arrived in Departures with just over an hour and a half to spare. So i did what I knew best, headed for duty-free and Starbs. But as usual my beloved Coffee Frappuccino barely made it onto the flight and once seated and up in the air Mr. Warehouse took it upon himself to order himself a beer and a rather hefty bottle of Prosecco for his lady in waiting. Anticipating a two-and-a-bit hour flight we dug out our free papers and started reading. But no sooner had I finished my bottle of bubbly we were on our decent into Lyon. Shocked at the speed of which we travelled I soon packed things away and prepared for the barge that usually happens when a flight lands on the tarmac. No sooner than we exited the air-plane we were hit with a warm breeze and the smell of a foreign land.

Getting through customs and immigration we soon were at a sticking point as the travel money card I had got before travelling was being temperamental and after nearly four hours stuck in the airport with soaring temperatures we were more than ready to get to the hotel. So when we checked in and slotted our card through the slit in the door we were more than grateful for the super large king-sized bed, cold water in the fridge and clean areas we could relax in before getting ready for dinner. And boy did we eat dinner. Lyon, known otherwise as the gastronomical capital of France and world known for its foodie-influences we soon settled into the life of luxury, dining out three times a day and enjoying all the delicacies the city had to offer. Sadly as I write to you on my last night here in France Mr. Warehouse and I have yet to try Frogs legs and Snails, although me-thinks that this is something for the less sophisticated parts of town. And since our hotel is located just metres from International brand stores such as Cartier, Louis Vuitton and Hermes just to name a few, I doubt we will be dining at anything less than four-star. First night we dined on French styled brioche burgers with a wonderfully rich sauce and fries to rival anywhere at King Marcel, certainly a contender for my fave London burger joint Honest Burger. Later throughout the holiday we dined at typical Lyonaisse Bouchon and Restaraunt A La Traboule where I indulged myself in Beef Carpaccio and Roasted Duck Breast all washed down with a cocktail or two. 

City sites have included the wonderful Place Du Jacobin which is seconds from our hotel room. A simple square surrounded by boutique shops and world-wide high end stores, it hosts an impressive water fountain, encased in marble and white stone. If you look up at the overlooking buildings you can see why it is called Place Du Jacobin as the architecture and building beauty is to be desired by anyone, especially a resident. Oh what it would be to have an apartment overlooking the city, cast-iron curly balcony and  modern Parisian inspired interiors to match. Another place we visited was the Place Bellacour, again, not far from our hotel. Red Sand, Pigeons and a huge statue of a horse mid-trot; it reminded me a lot of Trafalgar Square back home in Blighty, only a lot bigger, and less busy. Throughout our stay Mr. Warehouse and I went through these two tourist attractions almost every single day, at least twice, and still were in awe of their beauty right up until the moment we leave tomorrow probably. As well as visiting these Mr. Warehouse and I have seen the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière, a seventeenth-century cathedral that was built with the pretence to inspire the Parisian create of Notre Dame and other European cathedral's. A sneak peek into the world of the Roman settlement here in 43bc with the Theatre et Odeon Gallo-Romain. We even had time to be dragged along a guided walking tour through the Traboules which are little residential and secret streets throughout the city leading to houses and apartments that only the locals know about. This hurt my little piggies a lot and as a result I laughed hysterically when our guide announced it was over and ran all the way to the nearest pub. 

To my surprise I have done little shopping and the only thing I have bought so far for myself other than food and consumables was a silver ring etched with thirteen little diamonds round the outside from a little independent French boutique whereby no-one spoke a word of English. But that didn't bother me and as I went to pay for my items I noticed Mr. Warehouse too was at the till, anxiously awaiting the cashier to gift-wrap something. I asked what it was and he turned to me and smiled. The store owners looked at each other and back at myself and Mr. Warehouse. With broken French vs English the cashier ushered to Mr. Warehouse and then to me as if to ask if what was concealed in the little pink bag was for me. With no French vocabulary, Mr. Warehouse said Birthday and put his finger to his lips, all the while looking at me. As the staff giggled and wished me a Bon Anniversaire (Happy Birthday in French) we headed for the exit into the now 34-degree-heat. Being a jewellery store, specialising in Silver and Gold as well as accessories I wondered what it could be, however as we passed through the little stands near the door, Mr. Warehouse was keen to not let me peruse any further for fear I might buy the same. Sneaky man! Very sneaky man! And so sly and stealthy. If I hadn't been paying attention I don't think I would have ever known he had bought something until we were outside the shop. Hmmm, only a matter of weeks before I know what it was he purchased! And as if that wasn't romantic enough we spent that evening cruising along the Saone and Rhone rivers by the light of the huge moon and glistening lights of the city. 

And so on our last day of our holiday in Lyon, Mr. Warehouse and I are more than ready to go back home. We need rain! I loved the holiday but I will be the first to admit that the weather has been so very, very hot. Every single day we have been here has averaged between 32 and 36 degrees and all with no breeze. Tomorrow it is very likely to rain here but as our flight is at 2.55pm we will probably get that in about three-days over in England. I can handle heat, but this was way too much! Mr. Warehouse and I are already budgeting and planning for our next adventure. Maybe over Christmas we will head to another European city, Copenhagen, Belfast, Dublin, Lille, Berlin - Who knows. But as for our next Sunshine holiday ... Definitely in order for the same weather, just maybe a sea and sand instead of city-living. Although I must say, this is probably the best way to spend a Bank Holiday!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx