Hallo Everyone,
Lazing away my morning in bed I was glad of a Friday off work. Thrilling though it is, sometimes it can be nice just to have a break from it. But I couldn't lounge around all day, I had a train to catch!
Off to London I went, mini case and signature Eggnog Latte from Starbucks in toe as I boarded my train to The Big Smoke for the weekend with Mr. Warehouse whom was still hard at work and would be joining me later for dinner. I was looking forward to my weekend away with the boyfriend and even more-so to be spending Saturday evening eating German Sausages, Candy Floss and Fudge all whilst in the company of Mr. Warehouse, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Tweedle-Dee. And as if the couldn't be more exciting we were all going to be in the company of Miss Tweedle-Dee's most recent Beau. I was more than made up that my little Tweedle-Dee had found someone and was excited to meet her and experience Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland 2015 all together. I had also planned something for Mr. Warehouse that he was not expecting on Saturday which was going to also add to the magic of a relatively romantic weekend away before Christmas. Although in hindsight maybe everything from Six O'Clock on Saturday evening onwards should probably be swept under the Klusterfuck carpet and never spoken of again?!
Being pampered and getting my hair done was, as it always is (isn't it gals), a pleasurable experience and even more so when it only costs you fifteen-quid at a top London salon in the heart of Hatton Gardens - Jewellery quarter of the city. Strutting my stuff I barely had enough time to head to the hotel which was nearly an hour outside the city (hastily bought due to a discount and very heavy eyes on a Sunday evening a few weeks ago) and back into the city again before Mr. Warehouse arrived.
Trotting down to the platform at Baker Street, transferring from one tube to the next I stood on the platform awaiting the 1704 to Farringdon on the Circle Line (Yellow), due in just under two-minutes. I couldn't wait to see my baby and have a lovely meal and maybe some cheeky cocktails before bedtime! But as I approached the platform I noticed from the corner of my eye something strange. There was a man. Standing there just behind the yellow safety line. He was white, dressed in muted tones, a Khaki coloured, large, bulky coat covered him. His eyes were wide, like a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming car down a country lane. He looked worried. Scared even. I looked away but something pulled my gaze back towards him. Then I noticed it. He had a rucksack on.
I turned away not wanting to believe that I could have such horrible dark thoughts about someone. I was kind and loving and enjoyed making people laugh and smile. How could I think that of someone, especially someone I never even knew? 'He didn't look like a terrorist? Did he? But then again - What do they look like?' I thought silently to myself. Trying my hardest not to be judgemental I thought that maybe if I spoke to him he would give something away that would enable me to realise I was just being silly and that he was just a normal bugged-eyed human being like me?!
"Excuse me, Sorry but do you have the time please? My phones just died" I asked the stranger, lying through my teeth as I hide my luminous, 78% battery life-d phone in my coat pocket.
"Yes, its coming up to Five O' clock" he replied, gentlemanly with a normal, English accented voice.
It didn't work. I still felt uneasy in his company on the platform. Swamped with thoughts the announcement for the tube blasted out over a tannoy and I was face with what was now seeming to me to be a very real life or death situation. I had built it up so much by this point I was expecting it to happen. Watching him shuffle from foot to foot as I recalled the rest of the passengers seemingly unaware of the turmoil I faced as the tube roared onto the platform - 'If I get on this tube, I may die!'
It was something I had never considered ever in all the times of coming to London, even when visiting Mr. Cheese every other weekend. I had never felt so vulnerable and unsafe. If I missed this tube and waited for the next one I would almost certainly be late, ensuring and argument with Mr. Warehouse after leaving him to wait in the cold darkness of Farringdon Station awaiting my arrival which he did not know well. Alternatively I could board the tube and everything would be fine, I would alight a few stops down and I would arrive on time if not early, therefore impressing Mr. Warehouse and getting the evening off to a good start. with seconds to spare and the door alarms screaming in my ears I ran to get into the carriage.
As the doors closed I looked across to my fellow passenger. It was the same man I saw on the platform, only now under the lights of the carriage I could see clearly that there was a small, perfectly square box in his jacket pocket. I caught his gaze. A cold steely stare from those bulging eyes. Even before the tube had set off I noticed beads of sweat forming on his brow. He had not ran anywhere. And it certainly did not feel so warm that you would break out into a sweat. He took his hand from his pocket and wiped his brow. But as he placed it back in his squared pocket I noticed that he was tapping his fingers, drumming them rhythmically along the yellowed bar of the carriage. He looked nervous. Again looking around everyone was oblivious to the fixation I had with this man. Looking back towards the doors I could see they were open. I tried moving closer to them but it was no use. I was stuck. Jammed in with commuters, tourists and the like of rush hour people traffic in London on a Friday evening.
As the doors closed I turned back around and caught my own reflection in the glass. There I was. Twenty-Four. A little on the podgey side, but better than being stuck on a constant diet of gluten-free this that and going to the gym. I had people who loved me. My father. My grandparents and family. My Mr. Warehouse. My friends; Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee. My work colleagues. I never had children, or the chance to be a mother. I never got married and felt what it was like to have someone call you their wife. I would never get my white picket fence and lovely four-bed fully detached family home. I had got my hair done real nice, dark chocolate in colour and with a slight curl for my date night with Mr. Warehouse. It cost me fifteen-pounds. What a waste that would be if the only place anyone ever saw it was in a body bag, pieces of me all contained after the explosion. It may seem silly and over-reacting now, but right there in that moment it seemed so damn real I was shaking where I stood. I was scared. Scared of dying and living with regrets of never being able to get to that point in my life where happiness was every day.
After what seemed like minutes I was jogged forward as the tube started moving and with that I instantly looked at the man in the Khaki Jacket and Backpack. What I saw next terrified me more than anything I had seen so far. The man that I barely knew, that I had lied to just so I could gauge his person, began to cry. Silent, wet tears spilled over from his bulging eyes as he looked back at me in utter despair. That was it I knew that I had to get off this tube and as the next station approached I poised myself for a click. But it never came. Instead the platform arrived and I flung myself through the crowds to the doors and to what I presumed was safety.
As I walked down the platform and away from the tube I waited in anticipation that it might happen now. It didn't. As the tube rolled off in the direction I needed to go I waited for the next one, keeping an ear out for any loud or suspicious noises. Nothing.
As I sat on the next tube that came along I was overtaken by a feeling of guilt and disgust with myself. I had judged someone on what they were wearing and what they had in their pockets. I had persecuted someone (albeit in my head) based on their body language and the fact they were carrying a rucksack on their back. 'He may have just had a bad day? His dog might have died? He might have had some bad news?' I tried to reason with myself and could come up with nothing more than the question that if anyone else was faced with that situation; Eyes wide, pupils dilated, sweaty palms and forehead, huge coat and a rucksack coupled with a nervous disposition and deathly silent tears rolling down his face - Would you have stayed on board to await your fate?
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Tube. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tube. Show all posts
Monday, 7 December 2015
Monday, 2 June 2014
Flirting With Feminism ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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