Dropping before your Shopping

Afternoon everyone, 

13th week of this madness we all call lockdown in the UK. At this moment in time I write to you as being only a few hours left being on furlough (or signed off sick - whichever it may be). Whilst I spoke last week and in previous weeks that the time off has been helping with my mental well-being and stress levels, although I must say I am looking back to getting back to a "New Normal" as this last week has been difficult to occupy my time since all my projects and errands had been completed, mostly anyway. 

And so things do seem to be looking up. Figures from the BBC have confirmed that just 38 people have died today from COVID-19 (Monday 15 June 2020). With the "R" rate and new cases falling in recent weeks I am pleased and hoping for this to come to a steady end very soon. I spoke last week on the comparison to other countries such as New Zealand where they had fully opened up the country due to no new cases, something which I can only hope for soon and not yet experienced an unsettlingly high spike in deaths or new cases. 

In a report from Sky News, today, Monday 15 June 2020 saw demand across England's High Streets surge as some non-essential shops reopened for the first time after a three-month lockdown. The well-known news outlet confirmed that high streets, retail parks and Malls were bustling with shoppers again as the shutters are lifted after months of uncertainty and inactivity. Gone are the posters about Easter and Mothering Sunday and with no use for the spring posters and advertisements with pictures of lambs and chicks. Oh no, we were in Summer now baby! 

Whilst the rules of shopping and etiquette have changed it apparently hadn't put off swarms of shoppers lining the streets and as shops welcomed back customers for the first time in 12 weeks I did have to consider how I would spend my last day in furlough with little responsibilities of the normal 9-5. Sky News confirmed that the footfall on high streets, retail parks and shopping centres in England was up over 40% in comparison with last week, according to a survey by retail experts Springboard this morning. I had considered popping out to the shops today, although I use that term in the loosest of ways as you can never just "pop" somewhere now, its more of a "pooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooop" - and yes with the poop emoji in there for good measure because let's be honest this is all shit. 

Despite all this, however, one customer spoke to outside (oh what a surprise a queue) the Apple Store in London had said that whilst she was happy and pleased about shops reopening, she was not so keen on all the queuing and that it made her think twice about whether she needs something from that shop - something which I think many, many people can relate to. I certainly know I can. 

I think as time goes on, however, I am still irritated with all of this Corona-queueing. I hate queuing at the best of times. I can be (only sometimes) a grumpy and impatient old lady and standing there wasting my precious time and life by queueing. There are plenty of things I want to occupy my last few months of being in my twenties doing such as travelling and enjoying life before kids and bigger mortgages. Queuing outside IKEA for a fucking lampshade in the pissing rain is not one of them and neither is any other queue I might add. Queuing for this and queueing for that. I am done with it all. I am bored with it all. Gone. Gone are the days when you could just walk into a shop and buy your crap and get out. No. Now I have to stand in the rain for 40-minutes just to try and take back some T-shirt's which didn't fit my fat-ass because of COVID eating, a trip in-store which took all of about 5-minutes, if that. So yeah, I suppose you could say I am at the end of my tether with it. It is all just so pointless. 

Regardless of this and my ranting, one of the places I considered and was at the top of my shopping hit list was my local shopping-retail-centre-park-thing in Bletchley near Milton Keynes. But on reading online from the MKCitizen I was dissuaded as it seemed the town (and the rest of the bloody county) had gone crazy as shoppers wait for up to two hours just to get into Primark with a staggering 200 people at least in the queues that stretched the length of the car-park. And Bedford wasn't any better being a smaller town centre the wait there was over the 120-minute mark.

Scrolling through my news feed, I was shocked that people were tweeting and looking down their noses at people queuing for non-essential clothing stores. With meme's popping up all over Insta and Facebook, I thought about how privileged these people must be, the keyboard warriors shaming people of where they shop, or more importantly, where they can maybe only afford to shop. The MKCitizen reported one cynic as saying that Lockdown has been going on for 84-days, which, in the grand scheme of things isn't a long time and in his words "you really have to wonder what people need so desperately that they're willing to queue for hours and hours for." 

A fair and valid comment, this got me thinking to myself and about me and my life during lockdown, but also about others I knew - People with children or who are pregnant and with a growing family. Maybe standing in those queues, should I have found myself in one of those situations, I would have thought it would be worth it. In the space of three-months children have grown out of everything and why spend a fortune in other shops on clothes they will barely get a few wears out of before having to size-up again. I myself have put on the pounds, pretty much returning to the weight I was before doing Slimming World at the back end of last year and earlier this year. For me, some new clothes would be nice. I suppose like most people I am looking for a boost of confidence, especially so and very much needed when there isn't much to be confident about in the media at the moment ...  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Surprise, Surprise!

Hello again,

I knew it would be too good to be true; I just knew it! So after months of dealing with a new issue every week with my landlord/estate agency I have discovered that I am being asked to leave. Suck I know! After complaining pretty much since I arrived at my new abode there has been a frenzy of issues some of which are still ongoing even as they issue me a notice to vacate.On viewing the property I was told that there was CCTV throughout communal areas so that health and safety is monitored as well as outside the property. This has never been installed inside the premises and does not record outside, only projects the video inside. Once I finally moved in I discovered a dirty bathroom and a window that did not open properly as well as just generally being unclean, all of which were due to be sorted out before I arrived. In the coming weeks and months I have had to deal with noisy and disrespectful neighbours who would regularly end up in a brawl, lack of equipment and appliances that were safe to use and fit for purpose, heating and hot water not working at all, my window being nailed shut during the heat of the summer and items of mine being pinched or stolen. It all came to a head a few weeks ago though when I went to use the hob and severely burnt myself resulting in me needing medical attention. I told my landlord and agency about this several times and yet it has taken them more than a month to apologise. But with that also came an email asking me to leave by the start of 2014. This is impossible and right before Christmas is unfair. Despite numerous emails I have had no luck so am preparing myself all I can so I stay on the right side of the law, although due to circumstances they may allow me to stay until the end of January. I'm sure Ill figure it out, I always do. Now enough about my rant and on with the show!

So after a rubbish Friday morning and realising I possibly have less than a fortnight to move out things weren't looking up for me. Despite this though I decided to stick it to the man and just go with the flow. My mentality as I placed my bum in my office chair that afternoon following lunch was fuck it. Fuck everyone and everything. Just fuck it all! And after a couple of tablets to clear a headache I was right as rain, firing through my work so I could see my Mr. Cheese and spend a glorious winter weekend being taken on a surprise weekends adventures! I had been told by the Cheese to meet me at his flat in West London before half-seven that evening and to be ready to leave soon after. So grabbing my case at home-time and hitching a ride with a colleague to the station I was excited and has out my morning behind me, promising to review it all on Monday.

After a swift and stress-free journey to London I arrived at the flat in good time. Early in fact. I'm never early. But I was. And nearly as soon as we got in we had to whizz back out again grabbing a healthy wrap from the local restaurant on the way. Briefly I had been given the evenings plans and before we knew it I was walking down a traditional avenue in an expensive borough of London towards glowing lights and faint music, slowly getting brighter and louder. As we crossed the road I saw that it was the infamous Kew Gardens. Tonight Mr. Cheese, that lovely man, had planned for us to go on a Christmasy woodland walk around the Royal park at her majesty's pleasure. As we began to wander round, cupping our steamy, mulled cider I watched as children played innocently amongst the trees. Now granted I'm not the most broody of ladies, but something that night made me more fertile to the idea - 'cuse the pun! Finally ending back up at the little wooden stalls and log cabins of the Yule-tide market we caroused the boutiques to see what gifts they may bear, although I got the impression I was being watched by someone that hadn't quiet bought any presents yet. I didn't mind though, and we had a wonderful evening pottering about and being together.

As the cold, December sun rose over the city I was still unaware of the plans Mr. Cheese had for us both for the rest of the day. As he plated up some crunchy, healthy, slightly cremated toast layered with Lemon Curd (I mean seriously, what else?) and a nice big mug of posh coffee, Mr. Cheese explained away his plan for the next few hours. We were to journey into the Capital and trawl around Borough Market, a place we had both been wanting to go to for a while. I was happy with this plan. Any man is brave when they are offering to take a girl out shopping, even if it is to a festive food market! Slightly saddened by the fact that we couldn't just slob it for the weekend, watch football (which is stupidly uncommon for me to do since I have had no interest in it ever!) and fuck, in between gorging ourselves in goodies. I pushed my thoughts to the back of my head thinking that I would be able to do plenty of that next weekend when I would be joining Mr. Cheese and his family for a Pre/Post-Christmas getaway to the countryside. And so slipping on my coat we left, venturing out into a crisp, sunny morning.

The market however was chocca-block with everyone in a manic rush to get cheese, wine, bread, cakes and more for the dinner table next week. I'm not going to lie I did feel a little suffocated at times but it was lovely waling around and seeing all the sights and smells of a good old fashioned market. Mr. Cheese and I even got to indulge in some cheese of our own, immediately catapulting us back to our first date; sat in the beer garden munching on cheese and cider. After finishing a in-depth discussion for our joint love of all things smelly in the fromage world I went to find some more free samples, but a hand grabbed me and pulled me back. "So where do you think you're going?" my dairy-fiend asked me. I replied simply and honestly I was going in search of more yummy nibbles to which his reply was simple, "I suppose you can but the table is booked for six". Gaze now averted to the bright blue eyes that stare back at me I ask him to carry on his explanation. And then Mr. Cheese kills me with the answer. "For dinner," he starts. "We shall be dining at the Michelin-star restaurant owned by a little chef called Raymond Blanc. But first I will be taking you on a the London Eye in a premier pod with Champagne!"

For a second I didn't know what to say. I just smiled inanely like a Cheshire cat on crystal-meth. The first words that fell out my mouth were exactly what I was thinking and that was how spoilt I was being treated. How I could have never worked out his plans. Everything suddenly felt like a dream and it felt like I had finally found someone that treated me like a princess. After some cuddles squashed up against a door from the market crowds we continued in hunt of free nibblets, after a while in which we headed back to the tube and to the landmark that is, The London Eye.

Arriving at the helm of such a large, white iron structure, Mr. Cheese wheedled his way through the hordes of tourists I stood by to take it all in. After joining the queue of other couples and sight-seer's we hopped (quiet literally) on board our pod and started our journey to the heights above London. Timed perfectly, it was sunset although due to the clouds in the sky there wasn't the best view but was still breathtaking. As I was handed a glass of Champagne, Mr. Cheese and myself clinked our flutes in a silent toast and as we turned to look at the illuminated skyline I couldn't help but think of more occasions where we could be drinking Champagne after a toast. I must note at this point that I'm not a weirdo and that all women have these thoughts at some point in life, just so happens mine are more frequent, but I don't hang onto the ideas and pragmatics of such like I had done with Mr. Workaholic. I have learnt well that those wedding bells may just be the chimes of the death cart! Back on solid ground we wandered off down the embankment lit up for a twilight walk and after popping into a nearby cafe to buy a homeless man a hot cup of tea, we ending up outside the front of an impressive red restaurant in which I felt very under-dressed for the establishment. Nevertheless we sat and ate at a small table near a Christmas tree, although being in an indecisive mood I decided to just copy whatever my date for the evening had.

That evening Mr. Cheese and I sagged into bed, our eyes heavy from the exhausting day. But whether Mr. Cheese had planned this or not is something I shall never know but after some pillow talk we finally got on with the main event. stripping each other naked and lying snuggled under the sheets I was taken higher than I ever could have gone on the London Eye, and more than once that evening too. Again and again and again I felt the build up of pure excitement, fizzing throughout my entire body. Making me shake with anticipation as Mr. Cheese held me there in a suspension of pleasure before letting me explode around him, crashing me into reality, but not for long before he made me soar once more. Oh, his hands. His wonderful, wonderful hands.

Sunday morning was somewhat uneventful, just a good old fashioned lye-in and some home-cooked food; i.e healthy, nutty toast again. Still reeling from the night before I was carrying on the orgasm for most of the day, complementing and praising his skills. I do hope Mr. Cheese doesn't get a too fat head for all of this publicity, haha! Despite having a pre-planned date with Mr. Rockclimber on Sunday afternoon I thought it best to head home and work out what I planned to do about the house situation and so after we had finished our teary cuddles we headed to a cafe for a sweet bite to eat before I reluctantly had to leave to get my train home, but not before the most intimate moment of my life so far this year, and I didn't even get my kit off...

As we lay there on Mr. Cheese's double-bed Sunday afternoon, we talked of how Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb worry me beyond belief about there own life stuff and the things that had troubled us both throughout the years. We discussed in great depth our battles with Depression and how we overcame the terrible grip it had on us. I thought to myself how indifferent we are and how normal such a disease really is. Opening up he told me how after his grandad died at the beginning of the year everything seemed to come all at once and the feeling of not being in control was one that I knew well enough to sympathise with. Lifting our spirits higher I mentioned how much of a better place we were both in now, and as Christmas ballads played softly in the background, my dear Cheese whispered his words of happiness at finding me and as he did so a small, wet tear fell. Sniffling, as tears rolled down his face I pulled him close into my chest and cuddled him tightly as he sobbed. I didn't know why or how this had even happened, all I knew is that it had maybe all boiled over and at that point he just needed to let go. I knew exactly what he was having to deal with and knowing that afterwards he would be happier for having a little weep. But as he pulled away from my warm embrace and as I wiped away his tears he explained that they were not tears of sadness but tears of joy and happiness that he had found someone like me. As my heart started to break and melt at the same time I pulled him in again to my bosom and for a second I thought even I might cry. Singularly the most touched I have ever been.

And so that concludes my week, or more so weekend. The house situation still has not been resolved yet but hopefully but this time next week I wont be homeless. Not that it would matter anyway. Its Christmas and I will be writing to you from a cosy cottage in the Winterylandscape of middle England, with Mr. Cheese and his family! Eeek! Don't worry, I am sure I shall have some tales to tell...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx