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

Evening everyone, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

No Snaccidents Please!

Hiya!

So after the week I was looking forward to the weekend,  but outside the normal confines of an nine-to-five office environment I sudden found myself craving chocolate, sweets, fast food and fizzy drinks. Over the last few months I have tried my hardest to get to the gym at least once a week and ideally twice if possible for either classes or swimming, either / or since the gym bore's my tits off. I can stand nothing worse than running for an hour or cycling ten-miles, only to not get or go anywhere. I think that's why I love classes so much. The variety and fast-paced nature of having to keep up with other fellow fit-bunnies and the fact that you are forced to look into the mirror whilst you attempt your fifteenth squat in a row. 

So far over the last few weeks I have tried several classes including BodyStep and Legs, Bums and Tums. I will be honest and say that the BodyStep was far, far too intense for one of my first classes and as a result I was in a lot of pain for some days after. Almost a week later I tried out the Legs, Bums and Tums class, similar to that one I did all those many moons ago with Miss Hackney back in my old job. It was certainly less intense and much much easier to get to grips with and keep up with the moves and jives. In the next coming weeks I plan to expand into the pool and AquaFit or AquaAerobics, maybe even a more energetic looking BodyPump class.  

The thing is, with weight anyway, is that it is so very, very easy to put on and extremely hard to get off. Fast food, sweets and chocolate in the supermarket are over-priced but with constant deals and offers that make you think that you are getting a good deal you see it as a treat, that is, until you have a Snaccident AKA When food (a snack) is consumed in an accidental, often regrettable way. This can refer to accidentally eating food of questionable quality and/or quantity. Everything has sugar and salt in it in modern days and it seems like its all backwards. Ketchup has high levels of sugar and a Donuts will have high levels of salt. 

I look at my family and I would say that direct blood relations to me would be an average or around 75% overweight or obese and several have even been classified as morbidly obese. It scares me to look at them and wonder about how long they will be around for, least how long I will be about for. I want to be different to my parents, I don't want to be the fat Momma in the playground, sitting on a bench watching from a distance. I want to be able to chase my kids about and run to get them from school and drop them off to their next activity without getting out of breath running up the steps. 

Just a short one this week but I hope that next week I will have more to tell, for the upcoming weekend is a payday and I am well overdue for a night out on the tiles and maybe even a cheeky few treats of the non food variety. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Greek Odyssey Like No Other

Chairete (Greek for Hello),

There is something unnatural about human-beings waking up at 3am whilst it is still dark outside and especially on a Sunday. I mean it just feels so odd. I suppose if you work at night-times you would not see much daylight but for me, the dark times of the day is for doing stuff naughty and very inappropriate for the daylight hours. Oh and sleeping. But yes I was up at this crazed hour. Why you ask? I was going on yet another holiday. Number three to be precise. And so I curled my hair, donned my airport threads and headed out the door of the family home Miss Tweedle-Dumb shares with her parent’s. But not before Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I caught Miss Tweedle-Dumb’s sister and her boyfriend in the kitchen with trousers round their ankles and blushed faces.

Hitching a lift from Miss Tweedle-Dee’s Mom we headed to the airport and after a quick cigarette whizzed through baggage and airport security, much to The Tweedles dismay that they were not frisked. Early mornings such as this, and in fact any occasion whereby an airport is involved should include a trip to Starbs. But on arrival to my fave coffee outlet of all time I was very much angry to find out that there was not a hot bit of food being served. This in turn lead to a rather disappointing and slightly stale Skinny Blueberry Muffin and large Caramel Macchiato. With minutes to spare and being almost the last few to board the plane Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took our seats and awaited the last few moments in Blightly. On take-off though I felt an odd sense of emotion. Mr. Warehouse was working that Sunday so we spoke for a little whilst taxing on the runway but I felt slightly more at a loss than I did when I went to Las Vegas in March. I soon had my mind taken off of the subject as My Tweedles were catching up on some Zzz.

Landing in Corfu we were thrust straight through security whose attitude seemed as though if you had a brown book the same size as that of a passport you were through. Nevertheless I then allocated myself of the baggage collector which sounds much more important than it probably was. Soon enough our luggage was coming round and I was soon carried away with said bag and along the carousel, continuously knocking into people before someone helped me from the moving conveyor belt of death. “One down, four more to go” I thought as I tried in vain not to take out small children close to the moving river of colourful bags and boxes. As we approached the exit of the airport and boarded the transfer bus we soon had a moment to soak in the holiday for what it was. A relaxing holiday on the Greek island of Corfu. But as the bus set off and we looked at one another we soon realised that maybe our 2-star, self-catering holiday in the sunny out-of-season resort of Kavos which was far from any civilisation known to GoogleMaps was far from our normal 3-star budget break.

Trundling across the bumpy roads boarding the Ionian Sea all we witnessed from the windows was dilapidated house after desolated villa with the odd run-down corner shop and B&B. I had known that from watching the news and current affairs that the Greek economy was worse than ours back home in the UK but this was something else. I could have been looking out the window into a third world country somewhere off the coast of India or Africa. But it wasn’t. This was Greece, or an island of at least – Rich with culture, historic value and a food haven. The scenes I was being broadcast from the back of the bus was not what I anticipated even for outside the standard holiday season. Time passed and the more we passed the less optimistic my friends were being coming. I too was becoming worried.

Soon our coach stopped. We were on a dirt track. There was nothing around us but unloved buildings and homes with overgrown gardens. The Greek coach driver that spoke little or no English ushered us off the safety of the bus and instructed us down yet another dusty concrete road.

“Are you sure we are at the right place?” Miss Tweedle-Dee asked, a worried look crossing her face. The man smiled and nodded as he unloaded our bags and hoofed us in the direction he was asking us to go. And like a scene from many a Hollywood flick we stood back from the main road, if you could even call it that, and watched as our only link to life as we knew it disappeared into the distance. Mustering up all the strength we had left, Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I made our way towards what we would now call home for the next seven days.

Stepping into our apartment we were pleasantly surprised. It was tidy and livable. It was not as clean as I would have liked but given the state of my flat when I left, it was probably cleaner. The pool was a very short walk and so was the bar where Jagerbombs and Cocktails were two for a fiver. Sun-loungers were aplenty and not a German in site to nab them in the morning. In fact there was barely anyone there, a handful of elderly Brits looking for a budget break in the sun in a bid to tan their wrinkles. Bathroom was acceptable and kitchen was standard, so after we had unpacked our cases Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I took to the pool for a cocktail and a sun-bathing sesh in the late-afternoon sun.

So far our holiday has been a relaxing medley of food, chilly pool dips and lazy sun snoozes on the loungers, featuring the odd trip to the beach which is far from substandard. It reminds me very much of the odd bit of sand that you find on the edge of a lake or river bank and can hardly be called a beach at all really but still, our hotel backs onto the ‘Beach’ which is more than most of our holidays previously. And so my Greek adventure begins. Tomorrow I shall join my friends whilst we indulge in more top-up-tanning by the pool as we gaze out across the shore at mainland Greece which is closer than I expected. Holiday so far has been better than anticipated and I look forward to seeing more of what the island has to offer. Shopping and exploring as well as a few excursions is on the cards and I am excited for writing to you all next week to tell of all my comings and goings in Corfu.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Nice Day For A White Wedding!

Afternoon All, 

And so as my problematic complaint against my energy company, British Gas (See last weeks post - 'An Electrifying Discovery'), bubbles away in the background I pack my bags and forget all about it as this weekend was time for a wedding! NO! No, not mine! Haha Phew, no! A relative of Mr. Warehouse's was to be married this weekend and as a result I had been invited for a right old family knees up with my other half and his crazy, crazy family. 

So after searching for nearly two months for a dress I had finally found one, just not in my size. I ordered a UK size 16 - Too small. I ordered a UK size 18 in a different colour - Still too small. I order four sizes too big for my just so I can get the right colour and low and behold it fits. Horrified that I could comfortable fit in such a size I have promised myself that I shall start my new diet and routine on the 1st of June, once all the festivities of May are over, wouldn't want to deprive myself now would I?! Besides, despite our differences the girls and I are finally off on holiday - Yes again, but this time I have got my wish. I am off to the party party island of KAVOS!!! Unfortunately though we have booked outside of season but rest assured where I and my Tweedles go there is always a party to be had, even if it does involve playing innuendo bingo on the balcony and having sun-cream squirt fights. Anyway back to the wedding ... 

Friday morning and the post arrives. I am anxious to see my delivery. Two dresses have turned up and as a precaution I take both with me to the hotel, just in case. Leaving work I was ready and excited to go on a mini-break/exciting weekend away with Mr. Warehouse as well as heating up the dance-floor with some good old Macarena and Cha Cha Slide! However I did not take into account the fact that neither of those songs were invented in the days whilst the happy couple were growing up and so there was Jives and Jigs the whole night through. 

On arriving to the hotel and checking in I had the horror of realising I left one of the most important things behind - My straighteners/curlers. Enquiring at reception as to if there were any spare pairs that had been left by another guest or where I would be able to buy myself a second pair seemed futile, until that is he picked up that gorgeous little telephone of his and rang around some old Crimpers! Finding one that was free and not too expensive either he made an appointment for her to come to mine and Mr. Warehouse's suite. Thanking the man profusely we made our way to our junior suite, rushing up the stairs and into our very own apartment for the weekend. Complete with folded toilet paper, biscuits and sparkling water we were in our element exploring the rooms and squealing when we found something new. As things became heated though and passion ripped through the Redlodge Junior Suite of the Oliver Cromwell Hotel in March, Cambridgeshire, we decided to take a dip in the pool. 

Naughtiness did not avoid us there either and as I beckoned Mr. Warehouse to sneak into my changing room he declined, opting for his own instead. A cool swimming pool, sweaty steam room and sweltering sauna awaited us as we entered but there was only one thing I wanted to do and despite numerous attempts in begging, Mr. Warehouse never did allow me to see how long I could hold my breath for in the hot tub. Far too excited to be in public and in need of a banging Chinese take-out we went back to our room, but not before I attempted another changing room kidnapping. Chinese ordered we settled in for a night in front of the TV and finally hit the sheets, only to be woken several time throughout the night by  what looked like a rather rowdy and shoddy attempt and an incognito drugs deal. 

Saturday morning and alarms ringing Mr. Warehouse and I rolled over and both took one look at each other. After a night of not sleeping well, shouting from outside and heat from the rooms thermostat we were lagging already. prising ourselves from the bedsheets we assembled ourselves together. With my make-up done, eyelashes on, hairdresser been and gone and breakfast finished all we had to do was slip on our outfits and head out to the Taxi-Cab waiting in reception. Pulling up to the front of the registry office I questioned my beliefs in having a wedding inside any venue other than a church, despite being sceptical about religion. The house looked beautiful from the outside, Wisteria billowing down the walls of the old Victorian house looking over the River Nene. Pretty indoors as it was outside, we took our seats in the Library clad in sparkly chandeliers and walls decked with old dusty books. We were soon joined by Momma Warehouse and other family that I knew. 

The ceremony was beautiful and the wedding day as blissful and as perfect as anyone could have hoped. Not everything was to my tastes but then again, it was not my wedding. The brides gown was genuinely breathtaking and something I would have been more than happy to wear; Bride or not! But as the band began to play and the dance-floor became busy Mr. Warehouse and I were surrenders to tiredness, eventually collapsing into bed in the early hours of Sunday morning. 

This weekend made me question a few things though, as I suppose it does when anyone, particularly a women goes to a wedding. Commitment is a big thing and although I do not want my home invaded permanently by the stench of man-fart and odd socks, I am slightly more willing to thinking about it. But certainly not for a very long time yet! What isn't long away though is the annual awards ceremony with work where by people get awards, we all eat food, there's an abundance of free booze and everyone dresses in fancy dress. It is literally my dream come true weekend and unlike this time last year, Cinderella will go to the ball ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx