Everybody needs good neighbours!

Hello Hello Lovelies, 

Following our arrival, Mr Warehouse and I had been in the country for less than 24-hours before the UK government had listed Turkey as a no-go-zone and from that Saturday morning at 4am (Saturday 3rd October 2020) would impose a fourteen-day quarantine rule on anyone returning. Safe to say I was annoyed and frustrated but it did make me think though - Why? 

As the new broke on the BBC website, Mr Warehouse and I read on as the article stated that holiday-makers arriving from Turkey and several other places will have to self-isolate for 14-days. This is because it can take up to 14 days for coronavirus symptoms to appear.  The UK government said it removed Turkey "over concerns about the way the country reports its data" something which I feel ever so strongly about considering the UK government haven't exactly been shit hot on reporting figures anyway. Meanwhile, the Scottish Government weren't exactly blameless in the scrutiny as announced in a statement that it was "clear that case numbers in Turkey have been under-reported" and that whilst Turkey's reported infection rate has dropped to 12.9 cases per 100,000, down from 14.2 in the week prior. 

Frustratingly the BBC report goes on to explain that if you look at the official data coming out of Turkey then it sits comfortably well below the UK's benchmark for applying the quarantine of 20 cases for every 100,000 people, but revelations that the number of cases in Turkey has been under-reported has put the country onto the "red" list, despite the UK, or any other country for that matter, being no better. Whilst Mr Warehouse and I are just on the cusp of our "release date" as family and friends are now calling it, The Department for Transport is still no closer at looking to whether testing can be used at airports to reduce the quarantine period from 14 to seven days. 

This being said, however, the self-isolation and quarantining on return from holiday doesn't sit well with every traveller. It is almost impossible for the police to enforce quarantine rules so it is hoped heavier fines for repeat offenders will mean fewer people will break the rules. But with the increase in tougher fines for those who fail to self-isolate, it could be a costly mistake to break the rules. Fines for the first offence of failing to self-isolate when required will start at £1,000, before increasing to £2,000, then £4,000 up to a maximum of £10,000. The upper limit for repeat offences was previously £3,200. This was something Mr Warehouse and I nearly found out the hard way!

Three-days into our fourteen-day personal lockdown we had little left in the cupboards. Momma Warehouse had been living in our humble abode for the week we were away, looking after the puppies and enjoying some time with family and friends whilst down hear from her home in Cambridgeshire that she shares with her Boyfriend. This coupled with the fact Mr Warehouse and I never expected to have to self isolate, food supplies were running low. So waking on Saturday morning we took the decision to break the rules and step outside. 

Now I know what you are thinking - You could have got a delivery and yes we could have, had it not been for the fact all the slots were taken until the following weekend thus leaving ourselves in an even worst situation that eating natty Special K for six days in a row, breakfast lunch and dinner. Yes, I suppose we could have gotten someone to go and collect some things for us and helped out, however, when you were expecting to do a full month's worth of shopping on your return totalling over £100, it's a bit of a big ask and would have either meant me giving out my bank card and pin (not safe if you had to wonder why) or transferring money over to someone's account and asking them to go out for several hours in order to purchase everything, and that's all in the hope that they would get all the correct items within budget. 

And so with that option being too much of a burden on the very little friends and family we both have locally, considering my family is mainly back home in Luton, Momma Warehouse being the other side of Huntingdon over an hour away and both of us being estranged from the other parent, we decided to look up our options. 

The GOV.uk website states that it is very important that travellers stay in the declared accommodation as self-isolating will reduce the chance of a second wave (which is and was basically already upon us and fucking inevitable). Mr Warehouse and I must self-isolate at the address we had provided on the public health passenger locator form, despite no one at the airport actually asking for it. GOV.uk continues; "You cannot go out to work or visit public areas and should not go shopping. If you require help buying groceries, other shopping or picking up medication, you should ask friends or relatives or order a delivery." Although note please the above comments as to why these options were not possible for us and as the absolute key point here - In England, you can only leave your accommodation in limited circumstances including but not limited to accessing basic necessities like food and medicines where you cannot arrange for these to be delivered. 

And so Saturday afternoon Mr Warehouse and I hopped in the car and made our one journey outside our accommodation, all the while staying alert and staying safe as per the government's website advice in order to do enough food shopping so we can survive our self-isolation period. We were gone just over an hour, good innings considering the amount we had to buy and money spent. We wore our masks constantly and kept to more than the two-metre social distancing rules where possible. Nevertheless, within two hours of arriving back home, there was a rather ominous knock on the door. Confused at who might be calling at such a late hour I got up to answer. 

There standing at the door was a female police officer. I was shocked, to say the least, but now she and her male counterpart were there in front of me I knew I had some explaining to do. I answered her questions honestly and explained the situation in hand, that we had tried in vain to get a delivery and we did not have many friends or family local to help us. I was informed that Amazon delivers to my address (which on later inspection I found out was a crock of bullshit as they don't due to us living in a newly built housing estate) and that I really should not be venturing outside of my home address. I apologized and promised that since we had now got the provisions we needed we would not be going out again. Seemingly pleased with my responses they left, but not after answering my question about who the fuck on the street ratted me out. 

The answer - Two! Two separate complaints and calls had come into the desk about mine and my fiance's escapades and as such, they had to investigate them thoroughly, which is fair enough. I knew that we had done everything by the book and made allowances where we could have but a trip was necessary and needed. And we are not alone. As reported by the BBC, since the introduction of the travel quarantine regime in the summer, police officers have investigated more than 4,000 alleged breaches of the rules with more than 200 people were found to be ignoring the quarantine requirement, but escaping a fine because they listened to the officer on their doorstep first time around. 

Closing the door my blood boiled. Explaining what had happened to Mr Warehouse, tucked away in the living room, I fumed about the fact that someone snitched. You see I wouldn't have minded so much if it was that kind of neighbourhood, but I figured, since every fucker n this street had broken all manner of lockdown rules from the maximum 6-person rule to having people actually in your home to whether that trip to the shops was truly "essential" for paint and decorating materials?! Every. Single. One. And not even just a little bit either, most of the time rules were not adhered to, however, I saw it as it was not my business and to keep my nose out. They weren't harming me or interfering in what I was doing so why should I care. But apparently, someone else does! 

I think the worst thing is that despite that, Mr Warehouse could have been leaving the house on Saturday afternoon for anything. Our neighbours didn't know where we were going or what we were doing. For all they knew we could have been bombing it over to the vet's with one of the dogs, going to visit someone that was dying or even rushing to the accident and emergency after injuring ourselves - All reasonable excuses, by law I might add, as explained on the GOV.uk website. But no, rather than having some balls and rapping our door to ask if everything was OK or if we needed everything or even just how our holiday was they decided to waste police time and resources. I suppose I can't judge everyone else's behaviour on mine or what I would do in that same situation - Because had the shoe been on the other foot and I had seen someone go out when they were meant to be self-isolating I would have made an effort to go over and talk to them, rather than being sneaky and sly.

So far I have had several messages from neighbours on our street checking in and making sure everything was OK, although probably moreso to see why the effing cops were at my door more than everything, of which I am more than welcome to share my story. As one neighbour put, it is just a shame that whoever it was didn't have the guts (we still don't know for certain, even though I think I have a damned good idea who) and instead hid behind their anonymous phone calls and twitching curtains. 

I get it I broke the rules, but I also look out for people and mind my own business when needed to, not stabbing people in the back without knowing the facts first. It is a crying shame that whoever reported me and my future Hubby felt they couldn't come and talk to my face about it because after all is said and done, and COVID-19 has gone away, we will still be living next door to one another. I will still watch out for your kids when they're playing out front. I will still lend you jump leads when your car battery is dead in the middle of winter. I will still watch your house when your away on holiday. I will still take in that parcel you needed delivering today. I will still keep an eye out if I see someone dodgy skulking around. Why? Because I am not a slimy snake. But don't worry friends, I got the best revenge party lined up for when this is all over including base so loud you can hear it from the other end of the cunting village ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

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

A Good Way To Waste Time

Afternoon All, 

I know a day early but the Arsenal game is on and better to do it now than try to find good WiFi tomorrow. 

Boarding the plane on a grey and drizzly Wednesday afternoon I was excited to be soon at our 4-star adults-only spa hotel, the most stars I think I have ever stayed in, considering normal holidays are a little more conservative and less flamboyant. Less than ninety-minutes into take-off there was trouble afoot as a girl in her early twenties (the kind that at school would bully you and make you cry for the way your face looked, only to message you a few years later after seeing you grow into an acclaimed MUA and asked for a freebie because "we were friends at school") refused to wear a face covering and started spouting off to customers. Then a Stormzy-esk Black man, built like a brick shit house stood up and proclaimed something I wish I had heard if it wasn't for my ears not popping. Things seemed to quieten down, but not for long as there was another flare-up, again between Regina George and another flyer, an older woman who seemed to disagree with Regina about the fact that her sleeping eye mask was hardly a good face covering. In her defence, however, I must admit that the thick fluff and layers of material would in actual fact be probably a darn sight better than those some others were wearing on board. 

Nevertheless, agreeing to disagree on the scientific evidence behind facemasks and the prevention of spreading Coronavirus was not on Regina's radar and instead, she proceeded to launch herself over the back of her seat and touch the disagreeing women. This was all too much for everyone and instantly there were lots of people who had needed to "use the bathroom" in order to get a better view or had put down their books or paused the movie in order to tune into what was evidently a much better episode of drama than anything by Jilly Cooper. Airhostess' calming things down it put a patch over the gaping wound until another passenger made a complaint about another for not wearing her face covering whilst drinking. This, in turn, turned into a heated debate with the airline staff about what is an acceptable amount of time to not wear a face mask if you are sipping a gin and tonic. The airline did all they can but soon the slanging match started and I really thought that at this rate the plane will be diverted and I will be called tomorrow by The Sun to see if I have any video evidence of "Karens" in action. 

On landing, it didn't get much better as waiting for mine and Mr Warehouse's luggage a fight broke out between brick-shit-house-Stormzy, someone impersonating Post Malone and another would-be rapper and a white portly gentleman resembling something from the Human-Centipede-2. And all because someone pushed in front of someone else to collect their bags. A few words were said (I think one of them had called him a paedo) and before I knew it brick-shit-house-Stormzy had Human-Centipede-2 almost flat out on the floor. I expected something racist to come out, however, Mr Warehouse, who was in the thick of it on the front line assures me nothing of the kind was uttered. Threats to "meet me outside and we will see" were shot, however, Mr Warehouse were tired and despite the extended episode of Easyjet-Oaks, we had a transfer to get to, all in the hope that neither of that episodes characters would be present on our bus. 

Arriving at our hotel it was late, past midnight and we were shattered from the nigh-on four-hour flight, Airport dramas and two-hour transfer. Our hotel was everything we expected and more. The Poseidon Hotel had even switched out our rooms for an upgraded front aspect room with a view of the sea and a balcony to enjoy the view on, albeit when it wasn't pitch black. The air conditioning was much appreciated and the complimentary fruit bowl and bottle of red wine was a sweet touch, even though we were a little confused at first if it was a gimmick in order to get us to spend more money and charge us. 

Waking in the morning, sunlight streaming in through the window I rose and looked out at probably one of the most incredible views I have had from any hotel window since Vegas back in 2015. It was just beautiful with the pointed mountains surrounding the Mediterranean resort town of Marmaris. I could certainly understand why this was labelled as the Turkish Riviera, squinting as the Turquoise Coastline glittered in the morning sunshine. Looking down from our third floor I could see the palm tree-lined sea promenade and pebbly sand beach, perfect for just getting away from it all. Heading out after breakfast Mr Warehouse went to explore, although not before the hotel had a chance to have a "meeting" with us. Basically, it was a tour operator who obviously got some sort of commission from upselling over-priced excursions and day trips to holiday-makers who are still weary from their travels and have not had a chance to explore the local area for other prices yet, ultimately taking advantage and exploiting the unaware traveller(s). 

We booked some excursions and haggled down the price, scouted out the shops and dabbled in the bargains to be had and how much you could haggle a man down by for a pair of sunglasses. Mr Warehouse had made me so proud. After all the years of knowing him and his constant shame in me asking for a discount or using money off codes and vouchers, the many Youtube videos of Asian fake markets and vlog-hagglers had paid off. Walking into the shop and watching from afar it was clear to see he was a man about to do business on his terms. Selecting a pair of sunglasses and eyeing up (pun intended) a second pair the shop keeper unveiled the price; four-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £40.00. Fake Oakley red and black wrap-around sunglasses and some classic RayBan wayfarers. Not worth it. 

Mr Warehouse laughed nervously as he said it was too much and offered half. A bold move I thought to go in at half the cost. The shop keeper seemed to think so and offered a slightly lesser amount, hoping my fiance would crumble. Nope. Sticking to his guns Mr Warehouse proceeded to tell the man what he wanted to pay and not a penny more. Walking out proved a successful ploy as immediately, almost too easy the shop keeper folded and accepted the half-price offer of two-hundred Turkish Lira, roughly equivalent to £20.00. I was like a mum on school photo day, so proud and urging him to do more so I can see the pro at work. 

That afternoon we went back to the hotel and after awaking from our afternoon nap Mr Warehouse had some bad news. The UK government had listed Turkey as a no-go-zone and from Saturday morning at 4am would impose a fourteen-day quarantine rule on anyone returning from the country. Annoyed and frustrated, we had a couple of options, either pack up where we were right now and try to phone the airline and travel company in order to see if we can get an alternative flight back before the cut-off time, or stick it out and suffer the cost implications. We chose the latter, although when faced with flights of £900+ each for a rescheduled flight home less than 24-hours after arriving, there wasn't much of an option. We knew that this may have been a risk when departing however with my work being possible to do from home, it wouldn't be a huge dip in income, and we could always make ends meet with savings if we really needed to. 

And so we stayed. The last few days have been wonderful; A traditional Turkish bath is otherwise known as a Hammam (although anyone who follows me on social media will know the hilarity of the tale behind this experience as we were ambushed by the spa photographer as if that is even a thing for an impromptu photoshoot; noting in the photos posted the absolute terror in my eyes as he poked his head around the corner just as mere bubbles hide our modesty). Yesterday on our would-be wedding day (the whole reason we took this damned holiday) we also sampled some of the best Turkey has to offer with an excursion we just couldn't miss out on all aboard a boat. 

I awoke that morning and for a short while forgot what the date was and what the day should have meant. I should have been donning a white dress and marrying the man of my life but instead it was going to be very different for all sorts of reasons, but now the date had arrived there was a mixture of emotions bubbling away. I was sad for our day not being when it was meant to and upset I did not wake up with my girls and get ready together, friends and family dropping by to wish me well and tell me to "hurry the fuck up". I was disappointed I couldn't have danced the night away with loved ones and frustrated I still have yet to start the rest of my life as Mrs Barlow. But the day was not all lost as we boarded our vessel for a beautiful island tour boat trip. 

Setting sail from Marmaris harbour, we stopped for a swim break off the coast of the rocky mountain islands Mr Warehouse and I had seen from our hotel balcony. I was brave enough to take a dip, but not as brave as some people, diving in from the side of our ship. A while later we arrived just off Dalyan where lunch was served as a fish or chicken dinner and once finished we were transferred to small wooden boats to cruise on the seas surrounding the infamous Turtle Beach where three different types of turtle come to lay their eggs and where the salty seas meet the fresh waters of the African Queen, a reed-filled riverbank giving the feels of Floridian swaps and marshlands similar to that of the Everglades, I imagine. 

Continuing our journey we sailed past the Temple Tombs carved into the mountainside and said to house the dead of rich and famous of centuries gone by and their Egyptian slaves and into Dalyan, a town on the Dalyan River, just inland from Turkey's southwest coast. Sailing further on to the northwest on the Dalyan shore of Lake Köyceğiz is the village of Sultaniye, known for its thermal mud baths. There Mr Warehouse threw caution (and some mud) into the wind and immersed ourselves in the therapeutic natural clay masks and thermal springs before heading back to the ship for home and a night out on the tiles. 

So far our holiday has been everything we wanted and more. Granted I will need to work from home once back and I might regret coming in a few months time if bills are tight because of our frivolous trip but sitting here having my fourth Orgasm (not actual, obviously I'm in public) in a row doesn't feel like a bad way to spend some time with my future husband. Now where's that cocktail menu again ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Hand(luggage), Face(mask), Space(-d out sun loungers)

Heyy Heyy, 

Following on from last weeks McDonalds brekkies, Bottomless brunches and heavenly crepes, I have not exactly been going in the right direction when it comes to my newly started Slimming World Journey. I get that everyone has put on a pound (or twelve) during the whole Lockdown thing, however I think if anything, and maybe it is the age thing talking now - I just dont give a fuck. I enjoyed last weekend so much so I think I have realised that yes, whilst I, like most people, need to eat more fruit and veggies and maybe move a bit more, I enjoy food and I dont want to be sat in a room of people every Tuesday evening clapping for Brenda or someone else who lost half a pound. I wanna be boosting Brenda up and telling her I fricken love those sweatpants she is rocking or how she has her hair today. I want to be around empowering women and not making them feel bad that they fell off the wagon a few days in a week and had a damned KitKat. And so I think when I return from my holiday (less than 48-hours to go and counting) I will rennounce all Slimming World visits only goign in for the bare minimum whilst I see out my remaining week's I have pre-paid for, checking in on my ever fluctuating weightloss. 

And sowith less than eight hours of work to go, the countdown is well and truely on. As I had explained last week, my finaly year of my twenties I want to do stuff, see stuff, visit places and just tell Corona to do one. COVID-19 really has fucked everything - Weddings, Work/Life balance, Halloween, Career, Parties and social activities, even holidays - Or so I thought before I got the most incredble present I think anyone could get on their birthday - A FUCKING HOLIDAY! This time next week ladies and gentlemen get ready to be green with envy as I will be 2,393 miles away from here in Marmaris, Turkey. 

Flying out Wednesday, Mr Warehouse and I will be leaving our pups behind to play with their sister (Frankenstien's Pup-Sister) and Momma Warehouse AKA 'Grandma' for a whole week with friends and family dropping by throughout the time I am sure. Jetting off to the Mediterranean resort town along the Turkish Riviera, also known as the Turquoise Coast, Marmaris is a dreamy location with pebbly beaches and long seafront promenades, perfect for just getting away from it all. The seaside, tourist hotspot is known for its lively nightlife on Bar Street which is home to open-air clubs and music venues, however from some of the YouTube videos and vlogs we have watched over the last fortnight or so, most of them seem closed. Marmaris sits in a valley between pine-forested mountains and clear waters, which are popular sailing and diving destinations, something Mr Warehouse and I are hopihn we might be able to find an excursion or two.

Our hotel is to die for as well. Situated right on the beachfront sea lapping up against your toes, The Poseidon Hotel offers a private beach area with a jetty and free sun loungers, parasols and cabanas beds. The hotel has both an indoor and outdoor pool as well as a Turkish bath, sauna and a fitness centre. All room are beautifully carpeted throughout and what looks like marbled stone private bathrooms with a hairdryers, free toiletries and everything else you could possibly need for your stay. Air conditioning as an absoloute must for Mr Warehouse after several dodgey budget hotels with little or none and I am sure that the TV and minibar will be put to good use also. 

With the All Inclusive menu there will be plenty to pick from I am sure, or maybe something à la carte where Mr Warehouse and I can enjoy selected dishes from Turkish and international cuisines. If we fancy it Marmaris city centre is less than a two-mile walk from the hotel with plenty more options for food and nightlife. According to Booking.com, "according to independent reviews, this is guests' favourite part of Marmaris and Couples particularly like the location rating it 8.9 for a two-person trip." so I am positive we will have a good time and with Free WiFi available throughout the hotel I am sure you will all be getting sick and tired of my constant 'Gramming by Thursday Morning. 

Oh and did I mention - Its adults only! No screaming Wayne's around poolside wanting their fifth ice-cream in a row. No crying Abigail because she cant use the Hammam mud chambers. No silly slides or water fountains (although not going to lie, probs gonna miss that myself). So grab your overpried straw sun hat from Accessorize and the Haviana's you bagged from your bestie when she was having a clear out and let get our holiday on!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx