Thankful for Everything - Tangible or not!

Good Tidings MonAmie, 

Hearing my phone going berserk with its Christmas ring-tone I leaped from my bed to answer it but as I placed it to my ear I heard a familiar voice that sprung my slumbering eyes wide open. It was Christmas Eve and the manly voice on the end of the phone was my Boss. I was fully naked with not a stitch on me, blinds open, bag barely packed for staying at my Dad's and Mr. Warehouse's over Christmas and to top it all off I was due to start work in eleven-minutes. Good thing my Boss had called then, only problem was that he was currently a few streets away trying to find my flat and as a result would be turning up very, very shortly. Snatching at a cringe-worthy Christmas Jumper, jeans and some pants I struggled them on all whilst talking to my Boss and explaining that it didn't matter he was running late, I was just waiting patiently watching the news. Seeing him pull up outside my ground floor flat I knew I didn't have long to grab a few things, sling them in my mini-case and head out the door, not forgetting the lemon cake I had made especially for Christmas-Eve-do-fuck-all-at-work-day. Loading myself into the vehicle I tried not to make eye contact for I was yet to do my make-up and had only just thrown my hair into a messy bun - The stylish 'do for anyone who has a similar time keeping schedule as the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland. 

Face made up in the harsh bathroom light of the office I headed to my desk wishing Merry Christmas to all whom I met along the way. After a few hours of milling around trying to look as busy we were all told to log off and head home for the Holidays. Although as what seems to be a Christmas tradition at our place (I can only judge on last year and this year being with them) that everyone crams into someones car, usually the smallest and heads to Bedford Town Centre to see in the grey area between lunchtime and dinnertime with drink, drink and more drink. Last year, as was last year, there was five hours worth of drinking to be done, and whilst we all must have parted our separate ways at around four-ish this year, I was still fairly sozzled, despite it still being light outside. This didn't help as Mr. Warehouse, the new-ish girl at work and I stood in line for our tickets and on realising that my beloved Starbucks wasn't open I transcended into a full blown drunken-toddler break-down and all because I couldn't have my Eggnog Latte! 

At my Dad's I had sobered up slightly from the fresh air walking and coffee that was awaiting me. Warm and toasty sat in front of the fire, Mr. Warehouse and I snuggled up after our Chinese takeaway and enjoying a Christmas film, Miracle on 34th Street. As it approached midnight Mr. Warehouse and I headed up to bed to await the big man in the morning. But after a god-awful nights sleep in my old spring-fucked double bed I was less than ready to start the day. But with my Dad's forceful encouragement I got out of bed and was washed, dressed and with hair and make-up done by eight-thirty, just in time for my favourite breakfast - Eggs Royale with coffee and Orange Juice. The only way this could have been better is if it was my cherished Eggnog Latte from Starbucks. 

Finishing off breakfast I was eagerly prompted by Father to start the proceedings on opening presents. Wonderful gifts from my Dad and His Girlfriend came first a mixture of all sorts from baking goods and ingredients, a T-shirt, a much needed tool kit from IKEA, some gorgeous Christmas Smelling Yankee Candles I had been after for ages, a weird fish thing that sucks up egg yolks, Lily O'Brien's chocolates and even a Rape Alarm?! I mean thanks and all, I don't want to seem un-courteous or anything or rude, but really - a Rape Alarm?!?! I suppose in a way all of them helpful, handy and practical, which I suppose in a way is good, but after on learning that more had been spent on other people in the extended family than me, his own Daughter I wont lie, I did second guess some of the things I was bought. Not selfish or ungrateful, just confused slightly. 

As I watched everyone else unwrap their gifts I watched as the excitement in the room evolved. Daddy had bought my Mr. Warehouse a bar of Guinness flavoured chocolate which matched with the bottle of Guinness flavoured ale I had bought him also. But Mr. Warehouse doesn't like Guinness. On closer inspection of his presents my darling boyfriend started to clock something wasn't right. A shamrock keyring?! A feather boa coloured green, white and orange - Supposedly "the colours of Arsenal's away kit yeah" I blagged hoping he wouldn't cotton on?! Then came the final present. As Mr. Warehouse opened the package he turned to me and said it was a letter for me. I took it, looked at it and returned it to him asking him to look inside. But as Mr. Warehouse went through the six return train tickets to Birmingham International he still looked confused. 

"Bless him" I thought "Time to put him out his misery!"

And so, handing him his a red envelope he opened it cautiously. Inside he slid out two A4 pieces of paper and turned them round. Face cracking into a shocked but confused smile I explained that for the past three-months I had been keeping a secret that I had not only bought Mr. Warehouse tickets from Bedford to Birmingham International Airport, Flights to Dublin and a £200.00 hotel for four-nights over Valentines day 2016. He was overwhelmed I could tell. Speechless he sat there as he looked at everyone. 

"And Yes, they all knew dear. Everyone from your mom to the guys at work - We had all kept it a big secret!" I explained, getting up to give him a big hug. For the rest of the day he was silent, or at least slightly subdued with the thought that what our initial £125.00 budget was and he had for the most part stuck to, I was smashing with just one present. But it wasn't about the money. It was about the life experiences and cramming in another holiday to the already packed year ahead of us both. 

What did I get in return from my adorable Mr. Warehouse? Well I was bought some things that whilst were not on my list I doubt I could have bought them better myself. Several books on modern day serial killers and psychotic criminals, a DVD on John Wayne Gacy (Only because the John Wayne Gacy artwork I had asked for was slightly out of price range and wouldn't have arrived from America in time), some Tassimo Coffee and Hot Chocolate pods for my Tassimo Coffee Machine (Bought for me a few evenings before by Miss Tweedle-Dee as my Secret Santa gift - FYI: Haven't even had a chance to switch it on yet but love it already! Thank you Miss Tweedle-Dee). Along with a beautiful shabby chic jewellery box, Diamond Heart earrings, Pandora Safety Catch and some gorgeous home-ware pieces I think the boy did good! 

But it didn't stop as when we arrived back at Mr. Warehouse's mother's house that evening after a rather monotonous yet hectic Christmas dinner with my Dad and his girlfriend's family. A bright blue-stoned silver necklace, vouchers, perfume, chocolates, a Hedgehog Pandora Charms and even more smelly candles and home-ware, all gifts that made me realise I was a very luck little madam, not to include the range of alcoholic gifts I got from work and money I had received from other Aunts and Uncles I have seen over the Christmas/New Year Break. 

And by being so absolutely spoilt this year has made me realise just how lucky I am. Some people are not half or even an eighth luck to have what I have. Even now as we speak there are people on the streets, hungry, cold and lonely. Whilst it may not be Christmas for another year, please, I ask for you, as I did, to think of those that aren't as fortunate to have friends, family, gifts, food or something simple like a roof over their head and a warm bed for the night to sleep in. Because in reality its the little things that matter and we are all only a few pay-cheques away from being on the streets. 

Merry Christmas and A Happy and Safe New Year 2016! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Number Nine!

Well Hello Everybody, 

I hope you have all been well. I have not unfortunately and as explained last week I have been struck down by what seemed to be a bit of a cold. Nevertheless on with the show ... 

Slipping on my heeled boots and cramming my daisy print jumper for later into my Ted Baker handbag I hurriedly whizzed our the door. Eight or nine? I couldn't remember but either was I was buzzing, if slightly tired from the night before and my now subsiding cold. Fearing being late for my date I wondered how long it had actually been since our first date. Waiting in the designated spot I had done more than two-months prior I awaited my Date's arrival, soon enough though he was there. As Mr. ToyBoy and I embraced conversation immediately turned to his hangover and the fact that the night began as an 'only one drink' affair. I struggled to sympathise but found myself being cast back to a last weekend in all its messiness. 

Walking along the packed out, cobbled streets of Bedford Town centre on what was a very busy Saturday afternoon I felt as if I was waiting desperately for something good to come up in conversation. "I don't remember it being this dry the first time round?" I thought to myself for the second time so far that day. However entering the West London inspired Coffee House I revelled in the fact that we would now have each others sole attention. Seating at the same table we had first encountered each other at nearly nine weeks ago I looked at an attractive face I knew would just be another one to add to the hall of infamy. Tall, dark and handsome Mr. ToyBoy encompassed all the things I looked for in a potential boyfriend - Nice set of teeth. Good shoes. Hair I can run my fingers through and maybe grab a little tuft once in a while and a beautiful set of deep brown eyes that I just want to fall into. Unfortunately conversation ebbed to a point in which he ended up checking the football scores and I wondered as to when I can let this one go. I had already been with someone that was obsessed with sports, I didn't need another. 

Staring out at Mr. ToyBoy over my iced Vanilla Chai milkshake (It was sooo good) I wondered how big his dick was. I know alright, I'm a shallow, terrible person but once you have encountered something as unreliable as public transport then you will know where I am coming from. I understand that size doesn't matter and that sex is only a small part of a relationship but to me it is more than that. It has to be fun and whimsical and entertaining. For too long I have had to suffer and it's about time I got what I wanted! Needless to say as I smiled cheekily at the bubbles in my milkshake as my date twittered on about Game of Thrones my mind wandered to fantasies including classical music blaring from speakers as I reached my first orgasm. Images of him throwing me over coffee tables, my bare arse being splintered as he held me in place, taking me whilst I screamed out in a pleasure infused scream. After controlling myself and bringing my smirk back around to a more serious, grown up conversation about the Illuminati of which I still don't fully follow, understand or even to be quite frank care about, I realised that this was not going to be something I could fully invest in any way. Mr. ToyBoy, whilst older in appearance and as adorably fucking hot as he is, unfortunately won't be the one to take off my garter! At least I doubt it anyway - I mean lets not rule it out! 

A combination of being too young, still in college with prospects of university as well as completely unable to be financially savvy brought me to the conclusion that this would probably never work out how I would like it. Yes he probably had a big willy and yes he was probably (And even if he wasn't I would make him) good in bed, but I need more than that? Don't I? Ascetically I could not fault the lad, I had palpation's just looking at him, but would he make me feel like a Queen, I doubted it. Uhh! But he was such a good kisser as well! As I asked the Barista for a duplicate order I cast my mind back to long, soft make-out sessions, gently nibbling each others lips with our tongues exploring the unknown under a stormy August afternoon sun. I was getting moist at the thought of it. But alas, it was never meant to be. As we parted and went our separate ways I knew we would still keep in contact. Friends maybe. Just missing the benefits part! Maybe we will pick it up sometime, but then again maybe not. But rest assured I wont be lonely for long. Somehow, leaving dearest Mr. ToyBoy at the bus stop to be a bus-wanker home, I knew that I wouldn't be too saddened for long. Hey, there is plenty more fish in the sea right? But maybe I need to stop looking in the sea and start looking a little closer to home ... 

You see, as I am sure you are well aware there has been an increasing romance and somewhat tension struggle that is between myself and a fellow work colleague, Mr. Warehouse but I have started to allow history repeat itself and at present I am now in the elastic band state of mind - Constantly being stretched mentally between wanting to be in Mr. Warehouse's company all the time and also wanting to be single and having the freedom to do as I please when I please it and with who I please (Or more-so how they please me but that is by the by). Pinging between the two has been somewhat exhausting not to mention being ill also. Its complicated I know, but I almost feel as if I haven't moved very far from this time last year when I was constantly battling my head and my heart around the whole Mr. Cheese saga. And I haven't exactly made things easy for myself this week either. 

These feelings however and in particular the bond I have with Mr. Warehouse is very, very different indeed to what I had and probably still have with Mr. Cheese. Up on my pedestal I sit, looking down I realise that over the past few weekends I have spent with Mr. Warehouse, I have had more laughs and giggles and simply childish fun with him than I have ever had with anyone since Mr. Workaholic. Playful tickles, cuddles and stolen moments all add up and are slowly contributing to the way I feel overall about him. I never saw his flaws and I am slowly getting my head around the things that I originally could not deal with. The fact I didn't and still to a certain extent at times don't find him attractive in the conventional sense is starting to become less of an issue. He likes me for me. Not who I want to be nor who I will become but everything I am right here and now. He doesn't like some of the things I do and say sometimes but that the same with everyone. 

The thing is that Mr. Warehouse is very much like my father and as a result, in fact as far as scientific and psychological research goes (That is my Psychology and Science A-Levels speaking!), women find men resembling and embodying qualities and aesthetics of their fathers, attractive and appealing. But its more that all those things. He is the one person I can just be ridiculous with, the one person I can laugh and joke about with and the one person that will still find me attractive despite my messy morning hair, panda eyes and pale-sickly-flu-face. Scary thing is though is that there are two words that are coming up more and more often. The. One. 

Could it be? Maybe? I don't know? It scares the fuck out of me to think that it might be and that this might be it, my husband for ever and ever 'until death do us part' and all that malarkey but I know deep down that I am not completely intolerant to the idea. Mr. Warehouse has the most wonderfully loud, colourful and extravagant family I can ever think I have met and one that I wouldn't wholly disapprove of entering but those two little words are a big deal, especially at just twenty-three. But after a discussion with my Father yesterday over what was an orgasmic Sunday Roast Dinner I discovered that he was only a year older than I am now when he married my mother. And it got me really thinking. What would happen if I just let go of being cautious and scared of loosing everything. What happens if I just forget all the hurt and those stupid guys in the past that quite frankly will never in the rest of this earth's life cycle meet someone as amazing, funny, brilliant, witty and spectacularly incredible as me. What happens if maybe I gave it a chance to grow? 

Spookier things have happened. And with Halloween almost upon us I can only dream of what hellish and gorey scenes will poison my memory next week as I take to my fancy dress box and don a cute yet slutty outfit in preparation for the best time of year - Halloween!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Head to Head!

Evening All, 

As the sun slipped away into the shadows it began to pour with rain on a dreary Wednesday night. Pacing the canteen, I didn't need to be told twice. I already knew my plans were a bad idea but still I grappled with the thoughts and wonders of 'What If'? I knew he was right, I just didn't want to admit it. I was meant to be awaiting a connection in Bedford for a bus to a little village I knew well. I was meant to be on my way to an audition. I was meant to keep my foot in the door. Tonight was the night I was going to start my Quest in attempting to win back my Ex - Mr. Cheese. And whilst The Cheese may be over four-thousand miles away in Ghana on a *insert posh voice* "Gaaap Yaar" I still thought that auditioning for the part of Dorothy in his eldest brother's rewritten adaptation of The Wizard of Oz would maybe somehow make him realise just how fricken' amazing I am. But as I began talking to Mr. Warehouse on what seemed to be a now regular occurrence of us meeting as I finished work and he started a night shift, he silenced himself as I rambled on about the Pro's and Con's of attending tonight's social activities. It was as he gazed into my eyes with his goofy hippo-grin that I realised it was time to let go. And as simple as that, it was gone. Deleted. Erased. Forgotten. If he hasn't realised I am mind-blowingly incredible by now then he never will. Why would I ever want to go back to someone who didn't please me in the way I needed? Why an earth would I want to endure any more torment or hell that is Mr. Cheese and I. Yes he was lovely and romantic and wonderful at times but at twenty-three I have needs and have to have them attended to as regularly as possible. He was never 'The One' so I should take myself off the hook and move the fuck on! I know right - Hallelujah!

Changing the tune from Cheese (finally) and after last weeks post I gathered that maybe I needed to distance myself from Mr. Warehouse. Although this proved harder than expected and before I knew it I was finding excuses to see him; making everyone in the office tea at precisely ten-to-three in the afternoon and staying later in the canteen after work just to steal some moments alone in his company without the beady eyes of gossip-queen's about. Even not texting back was a struggle. But I needn't be so cautious as Mr. Warehouse and I were just reaching the peak of the roller-coaster. So after having no entertainment for Friday night and feeling reluctant to work it at my second job in the call-centre, I messaged Mr. Warehouse to enquire of his plans for the hours that followed home-time on a Friday. Other than looking after a Nephew there was no other plans but to hit the pub with Mr. CWG and within a split second I knew that some dodgy village pub would be better than my plans of a my sofa and surfing YouTube for Pugs making noises. Hitching a ride into the small village just outside of where we all work I knocked on his door with anticipation and a slightly nervous stomach. '"Mr. Warehouse is in there alone" I thought to myself as I waited patiently for the door to open. "What happens if he tries to kiss me? What happens if something happens? We have a work's night out tomorrow! They will ask lots of questions!" My head began to lose sight of what this was. Just two friends from the opposite sex hanging out on a Friday night. 

Snapped back into reality the door clunked open. Standing before me was the giant that was Mr. Warehouse. Towering over me he welcomed me in and ushered me through the small porch to the cosy sitting room. Commencing a tour I was showed every nook, cranny, cupboard and crevice. Once that was done Mr. Warehouse and I slumped into the soft sofa, Relaxing after what had been a long week at work I let the sofa swallow me in its plumpness as I rested my head on Mr. Warehouse's shoulder. And so commenced the flirty games once more. In a mixture of flirting, play fighting and serious talk about academics and how he failed most things at school there was a heady tension that was nearing breaking point. Just as we encountered one of these moments the baby Nephew arrived and so the roles changed. Whilst my body went ridged with tension and anxiety at the presence of the child that may at any moment start crying and howling, Mr. Warehouse became a completely different person, playing the doting Uncle, making giggles and soothing screams even feeding. As surreal as it all was I took a look at the situation from my minds-eye. There I was looking as uncomfortable as hell for the fear that 'Baby' would cry and I would not know what to do with him! I was a female. I am meant to be maternal and child-friendly. It was as if our roles had been switched and as I watched Mr. Warehouse play with the most recent edition to the family unit, my thoughts turned to the inevitable when in that situation. Shaking them off and telling myself not to go there I tried desperately to think of something else to distract my mind from blissful fantasies I hoped one day would be reality. 

Soon enough though it was time to head to the pub and with the baby gone my body was relaxed once more into the plush settee. Heavily flirting again this time there was no getting away from the fact that every time Mr. Warehouse brushed my face with his palms I felt my heart melt a little more. Was I slowly falling? But my mind had no time for questions as the tension reached a new height. Stubbornly arguing over something petty we reached a nose-touching, head-turning, mouth opening conclusion and after donning our coats and jackets we headed out to Mr. Warehouse's local to meet Mr. CWG and company. After a leisurely twilight walk we arrived at a small quaint pub that was about the same size as a family home. Cosy and busy with regulars including an old blind man and his dog that looked very similar, we joined in with the rest of them and before we knew what had happened we were all celebrating pay-day with Jagerbombs. Several hours later and with the alcohol flowing, Mr. Warehouse and I began to loosen-up even more and with a cheeky spank here and a naughty look there we were glad to share at least one secret between us. At least for now anyway!

As the hours flew by in a slur of posh accents and bad jokes about a poorly phrased raffle, I decided it was time for the last cigarette of the night before I called a cab home. Whilst perched on a bench I revelled in the attention as a couple of old men complimented on my drunkenly posh accent telling me that I "obviously went to private school somewhere in Berkshire" and that I probably worked in finance somewhere in London. Taking humour in this I then attended to a conversation with Mr. CWG but from the corner of my eye I watched the night unravel quickly. As I noted the dry heaving I could tell that any moment now Mr. Warehouse was going to chunk-up. Thinking fast and being an expert when it comes to a tactical chunder I moved an empty pint glass towards him. My fast-thinking went unnoticed and within minutes of us sitting down I had sick on both my shoes and my handbag. Without a care in the world Mr. Warehouse continued his decent into the sweetcorn-pit-of-doom, proceeding to barf everywhere. As the bell was rung for last orders and the Landlady arrived it was apparent she was not happy and asked us to leave. 

Staggering outside I took ahold of Mr. Warehouse; With his arm slung around my shoulder and struggling to keep him up we stumbled to the front of the public house. Making it only just to the drainpipe I began my mother-hen duties and started to rub Mr. Warehouse's back and help him to be sick. As gross as this all sounds I am well equipped to deal with pukey pals. Many a night out has ended and indeed some cases began with a little vomit between friends. This was no different, except its alot easier as Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hair always had some renascence of spew tangled in it the next morning from me not being able to hold it all back. Sobering up quickly, we stumbled along the path where I was joined by Mr. CWG and the others, although unsympathetic to Mr. Warehouse's self-made situation I was worried. Struggling to walk I turned round to find my date for the evening was passed out cold on the grass verge by the road. Someone called an ambulance stupidly and I concluded that we just simply needed to get Mr. Warehouse back home to bed. After much heaving and attempting to lift his heavy and by this point limp body off the pavement I made Mr. CWG call a friend to help ferry the Drunken Mess back to his Mom's house. 

I couldn't just ship him off without a word and so as we watched the black estate speed off into the night Mr. CWG and I made our way too. Arriving at Mr. Warehouse's door for the second time that evening I suddenly became very aware of myself once more. "Inside these brick walls is Mr. Warehouse and his life with his mom! Oh dear lord his mom! I will have to meet her! She will want to know all about me and Mr. Warehouse. I will be asked questions about whether we are an item or not! She may fall in love with me and think I am the next bearer of grandchildren!" I panicked. But before I even had a chance to think about anything the door was opened and we were ushered in. Without thinking about anything else I quickly attached myself to Mr. Warehouse's sickly side, positioned on the arm of the couch and stroking his head as he continued to throw-up I laughed along with his mother about the predicament he was in. Sympathy lacking Mr. CWG, Momma Warehouse and I listened to the wonderful words of a more than tipsy gent. I think the penny finally dropped. 

"I'm sorry you had to meet my mommy under these circumstances!" A weary Mr. Warehouse slurred in between burps and dry retching. Glancing shyly over to Momma Warehouse I smiled as she said "So you must be Abbey?" Agreeing and introducing myself we resumed listening in to the ramblings. I was asked yet again for my hand in marriage and, after declining the woozy proposal with an awkward look shared at Momma Warehouse I continued to care for him, making sure his airways were clear enough to be sick so he could heave into my towel covered hands. 

After hours of apologies, drunken rants and targeted abuse at Mr. CWG, I mentioned about getting Mr. Warehouse into bed. This kindly gesture was only to be followed by a sweet but slightly embarrassing request for me to join him. Looking at his Mother in shock she made me feel at ease with her sniggers. However I would have to endure many a more moment before we eventually called it a night. As I stroked his head and patted his back down I felt a familiar hand on my thigh but before I even had a chance to swat it away a bark from Mommy Warehouse made his hand retract quicker than a turtle on a BBQ. After saying goodnight to Mr. CWG I asked for a cab number. Being told that I was not getting into a cab this late at night (but by this point it was morning, 4:34am to be precise) I was offered Mr. Warehouse's bed since he was not moving from the lounge. Graciously accepting I ascended the stairs in consideration for the day that would follow. So many questions will be asked and to think that we both will have to do another night out all over again. Only this time I don't think Mr. Warehouse will be drinking anything but Coke. Waking in the morning and with traces of Mr. Warehouse's sick on me, I reluctantly left and went to work but not before I said good morning to a rather sore-headed bear still lying where I left him. Telling him the tales of the night before I bid farewell and thanked Momma Warehouse for what was a really, really comfy bed for the night. Just a shame I suppose that the only spooning happening was between me and the wall. 

Nevertheless the weekend as a whole was more dabaucherous and messy than expected. And as Mr. Warehouse and I joined the rest of our work colleagues at a local Tavern we could help but smile in the knowledge that still our little secret was safe. As we partied the night away in a cycle of betting, winning and losing I soon made the grave discovery that I had lost my mobile phone. Mourning its loss and with the lads from work checking all the bars, toilets and ballot booths I concluded I had left it somewhere. Saddened and upset at the fact I had lost my life (pretty much) I headed to the dance-floor and in turn ended up having a cracking time with the lads, dancing and flirting outrageously with them all in the knowledge that even though we were playing it made Mr. Warehouse squirm with jealousy. Feeling sorry for myself at loosing my phone I decided to head back with Mr. Warehouse so I could use his phone in the morning to call my network and cancel my contract. That was until we arrived back to the car and realised that the flashing object on the back seat was just my mobile, complete with forty-two missed calls from an gentlemanly Mr. Warehouse who had been constantly calling it all night from the moment the news broke. 

And so with that I declare this weekend as over. Tired and developing somewhat of a flu I am really feeling the effects of two-nights out in a row. How do students do this I have no idea but all I do know is that I need my bed. But I am sure as I lay my head on my silken pillows tonight I shall cast my mind back to the little moments stolen when no-one was looking!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Flood

Afternoon Chaps,

As the taxi pulled up to whisk me away and the Cab driver asked of my destination I smiled to myself as we pulled out of my road. Stomach acid crashing around in my stomach I tried desperately to hold it together as I made small talk with my driver. Nerves were mounting as we approached the turning down the long bumpy road. Taking a deep breath I paid the Cabbie and prayed that I wouldn't be calling him any time soon. As I was wished good luck I closed the car door and headed to the familiar looking cottage in the country - Somewhere I once felt was like home. Taking a deep breath I stepped  inside. After being welcomed in with hugs and taken-aback smiles I was ushered into a room filled with faces of familiar origin, but many blank expression I had never seen before and in all honesty would probably never see again. Standing there like a Lemon holding a bottle of something I had discovered unopened and of alcohol content under my sink I felt very out of place. Although warmly welcomed, there was one person whom had not greeted me yet. That somebody was Mr. Cheese.

We had not spoken in several months but now I thought, for some strange and unbeknown reason, that now would be the best time to start building on a friendship that was never there. You see as many of you know, myself and Mr. Cheese had been seeing each other for nearly a year before we the curtains were closed for the last time back in June. I knew that as soon as we broke it off that I couldn't just be friends with Mr. Cheese straight away and that it would take me time to adjust to the dynamics of a friendship rather than a full blown relationship. Since we separated, there has been little to no contact between the two of us and whilst Mr. Cheese has had a busy time finishing work in London, moving back to the family home in the Shire, going on holiday and preparing for his trip to Ghana I have been dealing with death, jobs and hideous dates. Both of us have been busy but after scrolling through social media one morning on my commute to work I noticed that there was an invitation to a certain someones birthday party. And that is where I was. In the middle of a crowded kitchen watching his Grandma drink Whiskey from a pint glass and awkwardly talking to a Tom Cruise lookalike.

I knew that it probably was not the best idea I had ever had coming here but equally there was no one that could stop me, mainly because I didn't tell anyone. No one knew I was there. I had not consulted the Tweedles as I knew that their reaction would be somewhat fiery. I dare not ask them their opinion on going to the party for I knew exactly what they would say. I spoke to no one else about it and kept it a secret. Not even the birthday boy himself as nobody could find him. Momma Cheese had gone off to find him but to no avail. Awkward as that was I was then approached by the youngest of Mr. Cheese's brothers and was told promptly that I was more than welcome and that everyone was happy to see me. 'All bar one person though whom has yet to be found' I thought to myself. Having no choice in the matter I was then escorted by Momma Cheese, Auntie Cheese and the youngest brother through the now hushed and on-looking party guests. Out onto the patio I stepped, in bright pink shoes that had seen me through many an occasion. raising my head as I slid down the steps and onto the soft grass the mood shifted and the crowd that once surrounded the recent twenty-three-year-old dissipated onto the rest of the lawn. Like magic, Pappa Cheese had switched on the fairy lights in the trees surrounding the garden giving the atmosphere an almost storybook feel.

As we stared at each other I wondered if I should be here at all and although I had been thinking about this moment since we broke-up, I struggled for words. Usually I had a soliloquy rehearsed ready to say, repeatedly drummed into my head as the last thoughts of mine before drifting off to sleep but nothing. Diddley-Squat. I felt ridiculous. And whilst conversations began to start up again around us I could still feel eyes burning into my skin, waiting to see what happened next. I'm not going to lie, of course I wanted this meeting to be as romantic and rekindling as the twinkling lights above us but I knew that would never happen. Mr. Cheese did not want me as his and that was that. Not knowing what to say I thrust the now clammy bottle of Apple Schnapps his way, exclaiming that if I was not wanted then I would leave for fear of making it awkward for everyone. 'Ha, as if that hadn't already happened' I thought. Taking the bottle off my graciously he smiled his typically crooked British grin and ushered to a garden chair away from the family paparazzi.

Although perplexed and caught completely off guard, Mr. Cheese warmed to me fast and said that whilst he didn't expect my arrival he had hoped I would come. Somewhat at ease after that we chatted about how things had ended. I knew I would have some questions I would have to answer honestly but I was more prepared for those than about the meeting itself. I explained that now was a gooder time than any to try and build a bridge, at least if it went horrible wrong I would be safe in the knowledge that I would be on a plane to Southern Ireland in less than twelve hours and that after the last time we spoke (whereby it ended with me hanging up the phone in tears) that I simply needed time to adjust and work out in my head what we were now. The dynamics of our relationship had changed drastically and while Mr. Cheese was able to accept that and move on immediately I could not. I think we both needed space to breathe but between that, the death of my Great Aunt and working my ass off I hadn't really thought about it as much as I probably should have. In all honesty I think going on other dates, although they were awful and fruitless, helped in coming to terms with the realisation that Mr. Cheese and I were friends now and that maybe in the future there could be more but right now was just not the right time, for either of us.

After the questions and explanations came the small talk. Part of me wanted to tell him of all the hilarious dates I had been on but then the thought crossed my mind of my Cheese with someone else and that was something I knew I was not ready for. Will I ever be ready to hear he has someone knew, I don't know but all I know is that right now it makes me nauseous just thinking about it. I fought the urge for the first time that evening to tell him I loved him. I knew that this would be hard because I had been here before whereas Mr. Cheese was in virgin territory. I knew what was to come; The flirtatious banter, needless touches and worst of all resisting the urge to just jump on each other. Yes, all of which were to come.

As the evening continued I felt oddly out of place. In the kitchen trying to explain to Auntie in a polite way why I was there and why myself and her nephew were now no longer an item was difficult to say the least. When asked by another member of his family the same question I shuffled around it only to be given the reply that "you too were so good together." It seemed that whilst there was a gap of nearly eight weeks since I had last seen his family the reasoning and explanation as to our relationship demise was still amiss. At every turn I was being hugged by all manner of relatives and told that I was a pleasant appearance all of which should have made me feel better but actually just made me question how I would have felt if I was still 'The Girlfriend'. I know it would have been a hell of a lot easier but that is a choice that is not mine to make.

Juke box going and drinks flowing I huddled round the Champagne fountain to fill up my glass. I steadied myself not wanting to embarrass myself in front of family and friends alike. Noticing some old university and school friends of Mr. Cheese's I headed for their alfresco conversation and tried not to be awkward. On approach I was complimented on my 'sexy' outfit by both Mr. Cheese's brother and ex-flatmate. A cheeky smile did cross my face when I heard that. Perching myself on a chair I struck up conversation and as the party goers left in due course to find a slice of birthday cake I remained with the ex-flatmate to talk of work, business, travel and dating.

Enjoying the company of someone more like-minded than anyone else at the party I was saddened by his departure early on in the evening. Work commitments called early on Sunday morning and so a cab was called to take him back to the station. A part of me did wonder why I did not just leave with him, would have been easier and cheaper to split the price of a taxi between two. But alas I stayed to endure more of Mr. Cheese's friends and families upper class waffle. I suppose given the fact that I am not Mr. Cheese's girlfriend anymore I can say that his friends are quiet literally insufferable. Non-stop talk of shopping at Waitrose, supporting conservatives and being just a general toffee-nosed arsehole leads me to believe that whilst I can fit in with classes above mine I struggle to keep tolerant or even quiet about some of their drivvle.

Snuggling into the brown leather sofa I pulled down on my rising hem-line. As I turned my head to the side, Mr. Cheese matched so that now, centimetres apart, we were gazing into each others eyes. Maybe now would come the fairy-tale moment. No. We both knew what the other one was thinking.
"Told you it would be hard, didn't I?" I coyly said in a voice deeper than my own. I was rewarded with a subtle nod and a glance at my chest. Catching his eyes I saw the twinkle that was previously missing in our relationship. That twinkle that would lead us to bed and a night to remember. Turning my head and giggling like a petulant teenager I began to flirt with my Ex. We both knew I think where it would end. Of course we did. That is the worst thing with being friends with ex-partners; You know what they look like under all them clothes and you know what your getting when you lay down beside them.

After discreetly poking and prodding each other I joined Mr. Cheese innocently to collect some duvets and cushions for those staying over and sleeping downstairs. On meeting in the long corridor of the first floor family home I was pulled in for a hug. Holding on tightly I whispered how I had missed this, just being held. I noticed then that I was equally being held just as close. Snuggling my head into his neck and chest I felt like I was safe and at home with him. Feet aching from the shoes I was wearing I shuffled from foot to foot worried that someone would intrude and think that there was something happening when there wasn't. As the bathroom door opened down the hall and someone left I was pulled in tighter, as if Mr. Cheese knew I would instantly try to pull away. He wanted me, even if only for a little while. In fact I could feel exactly how much he wanted me. Reluctantly pulling away from the cuddle I  went to move and put away a blanket. As I moved slowly round him our noses brushed and the Eskimo kisses began. Before I knew what was happening we were kissing more passionately than we had ever done before. Holding me close and pressing his palms against my hips I let out a soft moan. I couldn't help myself. Pushing me against the wall holding my face in his hands it was as if he was doing everything I had always loved about us. Ticking all the right boxes we continued our passionate embrace. held stiffly against the cool wall we were completely taken with one another, spurred on and goaded by frustration, lust and a need for each other. Lifting me up against the wall I knew he wanted more and as we kissed our way into his room we both knew what would come next.

The next morning as we woke I opened my eyes to see lying there asleep, half-spooning me, something he never done and to which I resented him for his lack of intimate sleeping arrangements. But that night Mr. Cheese could not be faulted for we both were entwined in one anothers limbs wishing it was as simple as this. Some of Mr. Cheese's first words yesterday morning were of an apology for the previous evenings lustful convictions. I too apologised but explained that this kinda thing happens from time to time with ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends so just don't think too much into it. 'Haha, says me!' I thought to myself. Trying to give and reasoning as to the events that unfolded last night I put my foot down and halted his conversation in its tracks explaining that it was simply sex, nothing more. Yes it was good but we were not getting back together and whilst it was nice it was not to be a regular occurrence. Getting dressed and doing that god awful walk of shame I passed Mr. Cheese's youngest brothers room. He called me in unexpectedly. I obliged and perched on the end of the bed as he sat up bleary eyed and tired from the night before.

"Can I ask you something Abbey?" he croaked in his just-broken teenage voice.
"Yes of course, go on" I beckoned.
"What is it between you too?" Baby-brother Cheese asked. Taken aback I was stunned by what was such a simple, almost childlike question. Desperately I clambered in my head for an answer but nothing came to me. Noticing I was struggling with a reply Baby-brother Cheese finished our brief conversation by saying that the family and him in particular missed not having me around. Blushing he went on to say that whatever had happened between me and the birthday boy, it had left his big brother not quite himself. Silence fell on the messy box room after that comment as we both reflected on what had been shared. As I got up and went to leave Baby-brother Cheese finished with a poignant message saying that "It just confuses me." It was almost like conversing with a child rather than a sixteen-year-old lad but agreed with him and left to call a cab home.

Saying goodbye, Mr. Cheese and I promised to try and stay friends, after all that why I came. Whilst he didn't want to make a relationship work we both argued that a friendship would be better than not having each other in our lives at all. And so I left; relaxed, at ease and much, much less frustrated. For the first time in weeks I felt happy about the situation. And whilst there will always be people waiting in the wings for lactose-fuelled reincarnation, right now is not the time. It seems ironic doesn't it that it was exactly a year ago today that we met on the wrong bridge on a sweltering sunny day. Life moves on, and suffice to say that a part of us will always belong to the other one ...

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx