Holding On ...

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

Evening One and All, 

Sat on the hard wooden chair it was crunch time. Purple walls reflected my inner emotions; a mixture of what used to be clear, colourful feelings. Now they were muddled and confused. On the one hand I could sympathise and understand fully what my best friends were doing and why they were doing it. On the other I knew better than anyone how my relationship was, how Mr. Cheese made me feel and ultimately what made it tick. The question was though - Is it still ticking?

So pending the somewhat flop of last weekend away with Mr. Cheese I have been struggling yet again with my emotions surrounding the situation I have now found myself. Sat in Miss Tweedle-Dee's lilac dining room I felt as if I was at an intervention. No, I was addicted to drugs. Neither was I addicted to alcohol. No. It was because of my poor relationship that I was here and that the only thing I was addicted to was love; Or at least the idea of it anyway. With my good-cop/bad-cop roles forming in my head I desperately tried in vain to avoid answering questions from Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. With no success I said I needed time to think about what needed to happen following the weekend that I had with Mr. Cheese and as to how I (or maybe we) were going to make things better and get them back on track. I have indeed tried not to dwell too much on the mini-break away to Bristol with my boyfriend however it is hard to see what good moments we shared when one night had ended in tears for at least one of us. I wont wholly bash the holiday entirely as that obviously wouldn't be fair, but I think what is correct to say is that for one reason or another, things are no where near as rosey as they once were only a fortnight ago. And as a result of last weeks post and a few brief chat's with both of my Tweedles I have come to the conclusion that maybe this is the 'compter de la fin'. 

The thing is that even from the very beginning I knew this was going to be hard work. The fact that Mr. Cheese and I are both damaged good from previous relationships-gone-wrong, coupled with the normal everyday strains of a long distance relationship doesn't help. It is a tough one as there is so much that is good and righteous with our relationship. For starters his family are just blindingly brilliant in every way. Momma Cheese is what I one day hope to aspire too. She is kind and caring, completely ditzy and reminds me totally of myself at times. Pappa Cheese is much the same, the head of the family and always one to compliment me on how funny I always find him, despite the rest of the clan wanting to die with embarrassment. The two younger brothers are hilarious and are always on hand with some lively banter and a good story or two. The oldest brother I have not yet spent enough time with him to comment entirely on although I hoped that it would have been more. Mr. Cheese's grandparents are again funny in their own little ways and are just wonderful old people through and through. I wouldn't have a bad word to say about any of them at all, even if I tried. It is just utterly heartbreaking to know that they might not be playing centre stage in my life for much longer. 

My heart is pounding as I write just thinking about the demise of The Cheese. A saga lost to what? Not enough affection? Lack of attention? Loss of passion? A deficiency in lustful convictions? But even as I sit here as I have done for the past week and wonder how or when I shall end it I know I don't want it too. I care for my boyfriend very much. I even have gone as far as to say that I love him which is a monumental thing to say to someone when you have loved and lost to the highest degree before. We have a laugh, albeit a grown-up one the majority of the time. We bounce off each other and enjoy the companionship and friendship more than anything. However, maybe that is the issue. Maybe I am only but a friend to my dear Mr. Cheese. I hope I'm not but I am clinging onto straws in order to differentiate between me and some of his other female friends. The majority of people would say sex, and yes, in all essence of the phrasing it is but love-making is never as high on Mr. Cheese's agenda as it is on mine, that is clear from the weekend recently experienced. After such a long time of wondering if it is me or not I am starting to think that it is far from my fault things are failing in the bedroom department. I have tried everything from suspenders to football shirts, corsets to flavoured condoms and even switching up the moves and gears but nothing seems to make the difference. Now I know I'm not a Victoria Secrets model but I used to feel confident within myself and my body. Somewhere along this journey I have lost that. 

I love Mr. Cheese to pieces but I know that from a relationship I need it to forthcoming and fun and energetic and lively and exciting. Right now I feel unattractive, under-valued, unloved and unwanted. As soon as my boyfriend of nearly a year are alone together, he fails to respond to my gestures of love-making. He doesn't want to rip off my clothes or touch me up in all the wrong places. As a girlfriend it is my duty equal to that of my partner to initiate sex, but I constantly find myself on top and asking the question ''Do you want to have sex with me?''. Sometimes I just want to scream with frustration at the lack of sex drive he has. I don't want to ask the question but I am increasingly fighting the urge to get him to see someone specialist to see if there is anything wrong biologically that makes his sex drive so low or as a reverse why mine is so high? It is not that when Mr. Cheese and I have sex that it is bad sex. Far from it. When we do finally get to that moment in time where my boyfriend (in my head at least) finds me even mildly attractive that he wants to engage in the ultimate submission of love, it is fantastic. Fireworks, breathy sweet nothings and squeals of pleasure are all exerted with passion and heat and intimacy. Its just that for me it is not enough and when you only see each other on the weekends in between juggling friends, family, career and home-life it's hard but I still can't fathom why, even after ten-months, we are still not at it like rabbits on heat. 

Maybe it's the distance? I have always said to myself I would never purposefully engage in a relationship that took me further than the neighbouring counties boarders, but falling for Mr. Cheese was not something I planned and nor did I initially want. I don't want to break it off with Mr. Cheese. I feel like we have both made such an effort to try and make it work, myself mainly. I just don't know how much longer I can keep my head above water. It's almost as if I have developed a catch-phrase for every time something goes wrong simply concluding every issue with 'it'll get better'. I'm just not sure that better is coming. Maybe I am right. Maybe when football season is over things will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese moves back to the 'Shire in a few weeks time it will improve? Maybe when Mr. Cheese returned from Ghana in the winter things will improve? Question is will we even last as a two-some until Mr. Cheese's African adventure in September and if we do will I exists after? 

Meeting outside Farringdon Station in London on Saturday night I was dressed to the nines and ready to cheer on the England boys playing against Italy in Brazil for the World Cup 2014. Freezing I waited for Mr. Cheese to arrive so we could meet some of his friends in a local bar. Arriving I saw that look again where he almost looked proud to have me on his arm. With my legs and breast meat on show that night I thought I would pull out all the stops in the attempt of fixing the problems of the Saturday beforehand. Trying to talk to him honestly about my feelings whilst pacing round the cobbles of The Big Smoke nearly getting lost and running out of time before kick-off was not how I pictured this to be. It seemed though that Mr. Cheese is reluctant to discuss any of this with me at all. Finally we arrived outside the pub. Stopping in the street I asked him simply not to make me cry again and to only love me and keep me happy. A simple request that by the end of the weekend would yet again be left in tatters. After having his best friend stay at the flat after the game had ended we didn't have any time alone to talk in depth about the problems that were constantly present. The following morning en route to breakfast with the Cheese Family just off of London's Oxford Street I attempted again to bring it up. Failing to see the importance of such a discussion and the perils that lye with not attending to such issues I was shrugged off and only to be told that "this was not the weekend to discuss it". Feeling hurt, deflated and utterly devastated I did what I always do best and put on a brave face and smiled for the camera's as we entered the restaurant for Eggs Royale and Americano's with the family. As I sat round the table it was as if I was hiding a hideously deplorable secret. I thought to myself sharing bread with one of his brothers and laughing with his Mom that this may well be the last time I see them again. I never thought it would but I felt a physical twist in my heart and I had to take another sip of my coffee to steady myself. It hurt. It really hurt. 

All these things I have to take into consideration. The family. The separation from one another. The distance. The hope that it may get better. Yet again everything is swirling round in my head like a heavy night out and trip to the local kebab shop. I hate feeling like this. I shouldn't feel like this. But I do. It seems that this has been said so many times that I'm not sure if it matters anymore? There just is no fight there from him - To fight for us, for our relationship. I hesitate to think about how any relationship involving two 22-year-old's should be like this, especially in the short time we have been dating. Its stale. Not out of date yet but definitely stale. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Minibreak Mayhem And An Australian Invasion

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

Afternoon everyone,

As I sit on this train, hurtling through the West Country as a Bristolian driver whines instructions about train etiquette I realise that this weekend whilst far from over has been a whirlwind of emotions. With my Boyfriend sat beside me I think about what the future holds for us given the weekend we have had. Its a complicated one you see as whilst our mini break away to Bristol has been a mostly pleasurable experience I know that there are not many moments like this until Mr. Cheese's departure to Ghana in a matter of weeks. And this thought seems to make everything inside my head all the more difficult.

This weekend never started out as that though. In fact very far from my thoughts and worries of Africa entirely. After meeting The Cheese and his fit flatmate in a their local for a few drinks, we headed back to the flat and proceeded with how the last few weeks have been; Blissfully in love and impassioned with one another. Barely being able to contain both our excitement or lust for each other I helped the boyfriend pack his bag ready for the morning. Hopping into bed I knew I couldn't sleep without some bedtime antics and for once Mr. Cheese was unable to sleep either. And so the commencement of duvet delights coupled with a gloriously long make out session was mine, ending with the softness of the chest wig against my cheeks as I slowly drifted off to Dreamland. Friday morning was an early start for Mr. Cheese and so I thought I would be kind and get up with him to help motivation kick start. As it turns out he was in a rush so I opted to stay back at the flat a bit before I had to leave for the hairdresser's in Kensington, London. I enjoyed my morning with Cheese's flatmate as we get along well and have alot in common with film and music tastes.  Although after hastily getting the snip in the salon I whizzed over to Paddington to meet Mr. Cheese from work and board our train. Grabbing some lunch on the way we greeted one another with a cheeky smile and headed for the platform, eventually finding our seats and settling down for the journey.

Bristol soon arrived and stepping onto the hot concrete of Temple Meads station we both mentioned the summer holiday feeling our bones had craved for. Despite me not having a summer holiday this year I was treating my mini break with the Boyfriend as such. I had been plotting away for some weeks with Momma Cheese to join their family holiday and surprise Mr. Cheese on his birthday whilst out in Greece,  however that all fell through last Tuesday when I found out it would cost me well over a grand just for one week. Unfortunately I just don't have the money and so my Greek Island fantasies shall stay as such. Nevertheless it didn't completely stop me revelling in the lush fluffy bedsheets of the deluxe room we were staying in.  As soon as we clicked open our room door all I saw was opportunity after opportunity for sexual frolicking. From the desk to the chair to the bath then the shower and the wardrobe (yes the wardrobe) and even the luggage holder complete with leather straps. However I feel that maybe my agenda was slightly squeued to that of my other half's as we swiftly dropped our luggage and headed out to explore the city.

After trawling many a great mountain around the city sights we ended up at a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Now those that know me will know that I have never been one for foreign food from far off lands such as Asia, however I felt that maybe I should experiment and not wanting to disappoint Lover Boy I agreed to the Chinese cuisine.  Looking at the menu, stunned at the prices I could feel that duck was tickling my taste buds. Crispy duck I thought. And so when the native waitress came to take our orders she was befuzzled by our choice to two portions of the half-crispy-duck. Feeling the pressure to choose something else as she looked at me with a judging gaze I reluctantly changed my mind to a spicy slow cooked variety of the same bird. Not feeling wholly comfortable with my choice of dinner we conversed until its arrival. Disappointment spread across my face like wildfire although I tried to hide this from my Dinner Date. Whilst I watched with envy at his crispy fried duck I chomped slowly on the fatty cuts of meat that accompanied my noodles and veg. Not wanting to seem ungrateful I nodded and agreed with both our waitress and Mr. Cheese on how wonderful it all was as I gnawed at the hunks of fatty meat. I knew then that my once adventurous nature of this evening had been too adventurous. Trotting back to the hotel room I anticipated something lustful before painting the town red in Bristol's lively student district. Again  disappointment followed as Mr. Cheese was too tired to venture past the sheets and thus we fell asleep quickly after, blessed only with the promise that Saturday night we would be hitting both the bottle and the dance floor.

Fourteen hours later after a mammoth sleeping sesh, we woke at midday and despite my advances to lure the beast from the cage as it were they were yet again dismissed. I was starting to feel more like a friend than a girlfriend but put on a smile and donned a summery outfit, my thoughts turning to the evening and how stunning I would look after getting ready that I would be begging Mr. Cheese to put me down. Smiling to myself we excited the hotel and walked into the thick heavy heat of Saturday afternoon, plodding round the markets and shops, listening in to other people's conversations and generally being caught up with each other in a romantically heady mix of summeriness. Gorgeous as the day was we returned to the hotel before heading to the spa and then changing for dinner. Yet again my attempts at seduction were shunned after getting out of the pool and as a result provoked questions as to why this was so. I don't know, maybe its more of a man thing but I was under the impression that with a big expensive hotel, endless options of lovemaking surfaces and a hot and horny girlfriend that venturing outside room 237 wouldn't have been first on the to do list. And so with the same old reasons as before we headed to dinner at a posh eatery on the other side of the city, with the promise of a drunken night out ahead I was sure that the somewhat dry spell would be over this evening. And it was. I just didn't realise that the dry spell would be broken from my face not my pants.

Once we paid for dinner in which even splitting the bill hurts my purse now three days on, we went back to the room to change and get ready for the bright lights of student digs and cheap drinks. Thus was not to be the case yet again. As I sashayed out of the bathroom into the coolness of the room, face beautified and hair perfectly placed I slipped on my killer dress and presented myself to my boyfriend. For one of the first times during this trip I saw his face light up. Instantly reaching out for me I steadied myself,  begging him to chase me for once and not lazily wait for me to get on top. Standing at the edge of the bed I could see that whilst my ensemble was only half finished, I was still not alluring to my boyfriend. Feeling absolutely deflated I had enough. That was the last straw. Checking the time, it was gone eleven and with Mr. Cheese not even remotely ready yet I knew we wouldn't be going out - Again! His promise had been broken. Angry at being let down and feeling both unloved, unappreciated and totally unsexy I furiously ripped off my dress, wiped off my make up and climbed into the soft recluse of the quilt all with little or no reaction from Cheese.

Slowly sinking into the sheets my thoughts turned dark and dangerous. What was wrong with me? What did I do wrong? Am I really that fat and unattractive that he doesn't even find me mildly sexually stimulating? Was there something I said or did that was out of place? Why doesn't he want to have sex with me? All the questions I thought I had banished weeks ago suddenly flooded me once more, but this time with a vicious fury of emotions. As I lay there, Mr. Cheese clearly preparing himself for bed, I could feel myself fizzing with anger. How dare he plan me a night out on the town and then fail to deliver, only to then make a promise to the break, along with a little piece of my heart. Raging tears pricked my eyes and I struggled to fight them off. He knew how much I loved a good night out and with the lack sexual desire for me I felt like shit.

Then just as I thought things couldn't get worse, from the corner of my eye I saw the flicker of the TV. Green filled the screen as I adjusted my position only to realise that it was football. The tears I was holding back could wait no more and proceeded to stream down my nose and soak my pillow. Trying to stifle the sobs as the game continued I thought about how I would end it. How can things have been so perfect and then end like this. Bristol was meant to be a fun weekend away with my wonderful boyfriend and now I am crying into my pillow as he enthusiastically watches the world cup friendly against Honduras. 'This is the end' I thought to myself. 'Yes, my boyfriend who I openly love would rather watch football than keep his promises to spend time with his girlfriend'. Thinking of the end only made things worse and I tried in vain to stop the floods as I thought of his family that I cared for so much. The surprise I was planning with Momma Cheese. Mr. Cheese's and their banter. Pappa Cheese and his unfunny jokes. Granny, Grandpa and Grandma Cheese whom all were elated that we were back together after our break. All would be lost. I couldn't bear that heartache a second time around, not after Mr. Workaholic. I felt like just packing my bags and heading home. I wanted home. I didn't want to be here any more. As the whistle blew I mustered the courage to turn and face the man who had ruined everything.

'So at which point during this evening did you plan to break your promise? Was it before or after you made the decision that a bunch of men running round after a sodding football was more important than me, your girlfriend?!' I started, angrily biting back at his complacent baby face. I was tamping. Nothing was holding me back. I told him everything - Well most things. All of it out. I felt asking if there was anything wrong with him as I knew in my heart it wasn't me to really blame. Mr. Cheese tried to scapegoat the situation but I nipped that straight in the bud and told him where to get off. After what seemed like an age going round in the same pond I always found myself in with him I grew tired of arguing and simply ended it by stating that all I want is to be loved and wanted. I just want him to feel attracted to me, stimulated by me, enthralled and enraptured by me. Is that too much to ask for from someone who claims to love me?! The rest of the weekend continued as it should without any mention of it again. It had crossed my mind several times of finding a solution to the areas of my relationship that needed improving but alas that is not an option I feel is viable.

On the plus side however we did have makeup sex after our row and although mind blowing as it normally is, the aftermath was not as such. Exhausted from crying, arguing and sex I resumed my position with my head rested on the tipee moobs, cushioned by chest wig and with one leg out of the covers laying over The Boyfriends lower half. Just as small talk subsides I hear an almighty crash down the hall from our room. Thinking nothing more of it other than probably one of the stags back from what should be our heavy night of drinking I dismissed it. That was until the swift click of the cardkey in the hotel room door and being thrust open. Startled and not expecting any visitor's boyfriend and I looked up to be greeted by a tall, well built stranger in our room. Standing in the doorway, bemused as we were, only lit by the corridor he looked like a god. Adjusting my eyes I soon realised that not only was this man very drunk and very attractive but I was also very naked. After a few good minutes of intrigue and puzzled faces the opening line came from the owner of chest wig himself.

'Can I help you?' Mr. Cheese asked, typically British and politely as if he had just asked for directions. The illuminated man answered back with our room number. An Australian accent filled the room and I could feel myself dampening again. With both men seemingly unable to help the situation further I waded in abruptly, firing my previous anger at the hot Aussie rather than at the man I was hugging the chest of. 'Wrong room!' I barked. After the few seconds it took him to acknowledge my notion, and clearly swaying in a drunken haze the butch Australian left shutting the door on his way out saying no more. In hindsight I suppose I should have jumped at the opportunity of a random drunk man with a Australian accent tumbling into my hotel room at 2am. When looking back on the situation I am as equally disappointed that he didn't introduce himself with a friendly Australian 'Gooday'. When answering the question of 'How can we help' with the correct room number I should have asked him to join us in bed, there was plenty of room and I definitely wouldn't have complained about being piggy in the middle. But alas he left and the boyfriend and I giggled at the stranger the entered our room that evening and how different the situation could have been only a matter of minutes earlier. Maybe then he would have joined in.

The rest of the weekend continued nicely with sunshine most days and lazy mornings in bed. Despite the lack of sex I'm still happy although I would be lying if I said that my thoughts were not still marred over the remainder of the mini break. I will however attempt to not think too much but as ever my thoughts are beginning to plague my mind but I now know that the only person that can cure them is the one person that breeds them...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Silly Head and A Silly Phone Call ...

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 :) xx

Evening Everybody, 

So after last week was spent indulging in a wonderfully prepared duck dinner from Mr. Cheese, a spot of golf and the seaside I was glad to only have a few days left of being officially unemployed before starting my new job. However relaxing was to be brought to a crash landing when on Wednesday last week I had my morning interrupted by a phone call quite literally out of the blue. Answering the withheld number, anticipating it being something to do with work or maybe a call centre about blasted PPI again I listened for an answer to my 'Hello'. Nothing came. I gestured again. Still nothing. Just as I went to hang up I heard muffling and thinking it was just a soggy line form an Indian call centre I reattached my phone to my ear and listened. What crept into my ear was the sound of my mother's voice. 

"I know you can hear me" she said in a slow and deep tone. I loathed it already. Completely shocked and stunned like a rabbit in the headlights of an on coming car I froze, taken aback to darker times as a young teenager. After introducing herself once more she proceeded to make pointless small talk. When I came to ask the question as to why I was encountering with such a phone call I was met by a surprising tale. Apparently someone had told my mother through the grape vine that things were not great for me, that I had been through a trauma and wasn't doing too well. Ha! The thought that something such as being unemployed or possibly being struck down with Influenza was of concern to my mother was somewhat odd, especially given the circumstances that many a time before I had been in a far worse place, often at her own doing and she did not seem to take an interest in my well-being then. So why now? I don't know and to be honest I don't really care. I made polite conversation although I was unable to hide in my voice that I was sceptical and suspicious of such a communication. At least with an email or letter I could bin it. 'How do I get out of this?' I thought to myself as I struggled to deal with the situation. Luckily I didn't have to think for long as after again more irrelevant and trivial chit-chat the conversation was terminated by myself making excuses that I had stuff to do and ending it there. 

One comment did stick out to me though and that was more-so the reaction I felt rather than the comment itself. I suppose in an attempt to show feelings other than hate and poison she exclaimed how the previous evening she had dreamt about me as a small girl in denim dungaree's with buttons. I could hear her smiles through the phone but I did not feel anything for her other than sympathy; The sort of sympathy you would feel for a homeless man or a lonely old lady. I felt sorry for this being on the end of the line but I did not feel empathy and to be honest, neither did I care, feelings of which were lost long ago. I know that after that six-minute conversation I will have to face something similar to that in the future. I am not looking forward to it although until the time comes when she can no longer contact me I will just have to deal with her intruding in on my life again and again. 

Whilst it was a bummer having to deal with something that knocked me for six mid-week it was also nice having the time off and sorting out some little odd's and sod's, but I really do love working and spending my days shuffling paper and tapping away on the keyboard whilst nattering to colleagues about the current affairs and daily TV dribble. Oh how I have missed it. Whilst today was my first day in my new role I feel that whilst at the moment it is a bit of a mess and the systems need a tidy-up, the role itself is not all that complex and neither are the systems in which hopefully won't take too long to master. As for the eye-candy; Well unfortunately the men are all over thirty and aren't much to look at, but I suppose that is why I have that dashing Mr. Cheese! 

Speaking of which I had a lovely weekend spent eating out (not in that way although I wish to god it was!), socialising over wine with friends and watching wildlife programmes before falling asleep in each others arms. It is a far cry from some of the feelings I had been brewing the last few weeks. Just before Christmas Mr. Cheese had decided that later on in 2014 he would like to travel the world, following in his friends footsteps by going out to Ghana in Africa to teach English to children and coach a football team out there too. And whilst it sounds like the perfect route into a teaching career back home in Blighty I can't help but feel a little left out. A few weeks ago I had mentioned how wonderful my Boyfriend's plans sound and he had responded by mentioning lightly about me coming along too. Knowing it was one of his throw-away comments I shrugged it off not really thinking about it very much until I was alone and bored with the Internet. Tapping into Google I found more information that made me want to join in Mr. Cheese's adventure. After a wonderful Saturday lounging and socialising with friends and during some idle pillow talk in bed on Sunday morning, I approaching the subject cautiously as I always do I mentioned to him that I had thought about coming along on his three-month-trip. Sadly the feelings were not mutual and I was somewhat deflated to learn that the throw-away comment made days earlier was now null and void. Whilst I tried to hide my discontent and slight sadness I thought of the other big issue that would surround us come Autumn. Our Relationship! 

By the way Mr. Cheese was talking of marriage proposals and being hit on by locals, not to mention 'meeting' new people along his travels I felt as though the decision to separate was already made before it had even really been discussed properly. This only added to how upset I already felt and I tried to talk about it with Mr. Cheese but unfortunately other things, like football, seemed to take over in importance. Over the passed few days after speaking to Miss Tweedle-Dumb about the whole thing and realising that I too will be single as the leaves begin to fall I have tried to keep my chin up; Especially not wanting to cause a distraction from me concentrating on my new job, but it is hard when I know the end is somewhat nigh. You see, I know I think into things far too much, and not just with Mr. Cheese. With everything from the wink the bin man gave me to why that women in Starbucks gave me extra cream? I can't help it. The worst thing is I know I do it and the majority of the time I get so worked up that I simply cannot talk about it. Whenever I try and bring anything up that troubles me with Mr. Cheese I always clam up. Looking into his eyes of cool, crystal blue I end up stuttering and stammering the words refusing to come out into the open for fear that I will be judged and shrugged off with simple sweet nothings. Last week it came to a head when I confronted my beloved boyfriend about all my worldly issues surrounding 'us'! 

Ever since we decided to give it a go properly, I have been feeling as though the excitement has gone, disappeared into thin air along with our frivolous frolics and flirtations prior to our break at the beginning of the year. I know its really silly and that I shouldn't let it bother me but the sheer fact that I know my man has been with someone else; Doing the things we do, doing the things we don't do, having fun and building on initial first impressions with another women makes me ill. In the time that we were apart we both saw different people. Obviously you know that all my dates (if you can even call some of them that) were a complete shambles and to be brutally honest I was only really doing it for attention. As for Mr. Cheese it was like he was living the high life, going on successful dates and getting to know other girls that were much prettier, slimmer, more intelligent, more ambitious, more flirty (as if that's possible!) and generally more better than me. A girl Mr. Cheese was seeing in the beginning (AKA Miss South-Africa) fizzled out by the end of January but after our encounter the day I moved into my new home Mr. Cheese saw new opportunities. He met a girl whom shall only remain as Miss Roast but 

Miss Roast was far closer to his 'type' than I would ever be. Long brown wavy hair, a fair complexion, dark eyes and a large chest were all things I failed to possess and as a result after looking at photo's of her in all her humble prettiness I felt very low. When I found out on the morning of my first football match a few weeks after getting back together with Mr. Cheese, that they had slept together it literally ripped me apart. Crying the entire of the way home from London after spending the weekend with my new boyfriend, I felt ridiculous knowing that I was the worst one out of both of us for sleeping with two different people in the space of a fortnight both of which were ONS's. I kept saying to myself I cant be hypocritical for his rendezvous with Miss Roast when 'exploring' was exactly what we had agreed to do and even more so with the fact that I crossed that line first in sleeping with Mr. DJ and Mr. Rockclimber. Although I still try to hide it, It still makes me a little sick to the stomach to think that he has even kissed someone else let alone having full-blown sexual intercourse whilst there I was alone in my flat crying over Rom-Com's, eating melted chocolate and feeling sorry for myself. Maybe that is one of the reasons I deleted all traces of Miss Roast and Miss South-Africa off my boyfriend's phone. Maybe it was jealousy? Maybe it was low self-esteem? Maybe it was the paranoia that I knew I'm not that great compared to them and that he could easily go back to them, especially since we live in different cities at the moment. 

I suppose in a way I will just have to learn to live with it and accept that it was me he chose; Maybe not to spend the rest of his life with or to bear children with, but for the short-term to make each other happy. I know I won't we handed to him by my father in a white gown and I know he wont be words of encouragement whilst I birth our first child but what I do know is that for the time being he makes me happy and I would like to think that the feelings are reciprocated. Obviously in years to come I may well be eating my words as I know all too well how things can change in an instant. I really do like Mr. Cheese and I worry most days that I like him alot more than he likes me, but I suppose only time will tell and maybe Ghana will be a good thing for us as a couple. Absence makes the heart grow fonder they say and our love-story is only proof of that. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Mothers Love: Part I

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Evening everyone, 

Parents. You can't choose them can you. Once young people themselves they become known to you only as Mom or Dad. And every year we take forty-eight hours out of the year to celebrate and appreciate them as the people who taught us everything we know now. As some of you may know I love my father till the ends of the earth, but what many of you probably don't know and have maybe wondered why my mother is hardly mentioned. Well now I feel is the right time to tell you why; And just in time for Mothers Day!

The year was 1991. The first Starbucks opened in LA, the World Wide Web is announced to the world and Ötzi the Iceman is found in the Alps. But over eight-hundred miles away from the mountain region that would soon bear my initials a little miracle was happening and at just gone lunch time at a busy maternity ward in Bedfordshire a baby girl arrived. I was born to a soldier and his wife, and as I was handed to my first-time parents I opened my tiny eyes to the world making my father cry with joy. And to think that he nearly missed my late arrival for a bacon sandwich! Growing up was as to be expected in a military family and I always knew from a young age that things weren't like other families. My father would be away for long periods of time often missing important events like Birthdays and Christmas'. But I knew that he was needed elsewhere, helping out in war zones like Northern Ireland and the first Gulf war of the early 1990's and then again in later years when dictatorship in the Middle East ruled again. This left me alone with my mother alot of the time to which the majority of the time was pleasant but certainly not a time where I would look forward to being in her constant company as I always felt inside that there wasn't anything special shared between us. 

The arrival of my brother in early summer of 1994 was a welcomed edition to our little family and as a result we moved to a larger family home in the quiet suburbs, close to family and soon to be life-long friends. With my fair hair and porcelain skin I was the apple of my fathers eye and a cutie no grandma could refuse, but with a new baby boy in the family I felt a little cast out and with this the feelings of discontent my mother emulated started to breed. Even as we got older, I knew that something wasn't right, the way she bonded with my baby brother was different to my experiences. As my Dad was away alot on weekends with the Army, he was always under the impression that the wife had something wonderful planned for the children whilst Daddy was away. On numerous Friday evenings my Dad was fed plans of girlie shopping trips and mother-daughter craft days before he went away and on numerous Sunday afternoon's he would be served up lies of what never happened. Instead, Mother would always take my brother shopping or on a trip out somewhere to visit friends for coffee whilst I was left at home alone, watching TV or browsing that new thing called The Internet! 

Approaching adult-hood hormones ravaged my pre-teenage body and I became more aware of myself and my personality. I started listening to rock music, experimenting with fashion, make-up and hair-styles and generally rebelling against my Christian upbringing. At times I found myself completely intolerable to my mothers attitude, her mood swings and her manipulative games. As a teenager I found solace in music and socialising with friends but even that she tried to snuff out always cementing unreasonable curfews for no reason and finding constant chores to do around the house. Looking back I can see no reason for her acting in this way but what I do recall is the readiness for an confrontation and the argumentative streak. So many times my mom would promise me a weekend of fun and activities to bond over and so many times there would be a reason not to follow through. One day I think I just gave up hope and as a result stopped believing what I was told. Starting secondary school a hatred began a slow simmer. 

I came home from one of my first weeks of middle school to find my mother home from work, crying and screaming at me to watch the TV. In a panic and not wanting to upset her further I sat on the floor of my childhood living room. It was the first moment I think we had spent together in a while and we watched silently, both captivated by what we were witnessing unfolding. The horror that we saw, the devastation that it caused and the inevitable consequences it would have on our family. The date was September eleventh 2001. I was less than a fortnight away from my eleventh birthday. 

A year or so later, a crisp, brown envelope landed on our door mat that was to alter life as I knew it forever. The second Gulf war had been in progress for a few years but now with Saddam Hussain's power growing by the minute, Great Britain stepped in and after nearly all his working life in training for this moment my Dad left for war. People ask me all the time what it was like. Truth is I was accustom to it already. He had never been there on my birthday as long as I can remember apart from maybe one or two and had always been away for military exercises and camps so for me as a girl with a father in the Army I knew that someday the time would come that all the practise he had done in preparing for war would finally happen. Standing there at the huge green gates of my school with my beloved old man crouched in front of me in his combats a crowd of excited school children gathered a few yards behind me desperate to get a glimpse of my hero's attire. Without saying anything of importance I was told that he loved me and then left. Back to my classmates, I sobbed silent tears knowing that I might not ever see my father alive again and that all to easily he could come home dressed in nothing more than a white bag and dog-tags.

With my strong maternal instinct and a personality I hoped would brighten the darkness we were all in as a family but to no avail as my mother sunk into a fast and heavy depression leaving her completely incapable of caring for her young children and leaving me to step into the shoes. I cooked and cleaned, sorted out the washing and made sure that my brother was always dressed ready for school with a full packed-lunch for the day ahead. I ironed the clothes and sorted the bills into piles of ones that could wait and ones that could not. Looking back I feel that this is where I taught myself to create a facade of perfection, despite the distance from truth it was. After dealing with depression at the time and also later on in my life, those memories are one of the fewer things I don't begrudge my mother for. I can't imagine how hard it must have been however I feel that despite all of that the role of a parent should always take centre-stage and for motherhood never to be put on a back burner. It wasn't until a few years later after speaking to friends and family that not only was my mother in a dark place but I too was in the grips of my first ever experience with depression without even realising it. Shut off from family and friends I think it was during that time I left my childhood behind and became who I am today. 

After nearly a years tour a man returned home to his family, a mere shell of what he once was. After a few hours with him snuggled on his lap as I always had, I knew he would never be the same man who left me at the school gates. Post-Traumatic-Stress-Disorder had stolen life from him as he knew it constantly keeping him on edge. I remember once being in the car driving with him when a swift crack of a passing branch caught one of the window's. Without thinking my Dad frantically started searching for something, patting down the doors and the area around the drivers seat. He was looking for something. He was looking for his gun. War had turned my beloved Papa into a nervous wreck jumping at any crack, pop or bang. They talk of the hundred-mile stare and even to this day I can catch my Dad doing it. Just thinking, remembering, haunting himself with images of war and conflict. He has never spoken about what he saw or experienced but I cannot imagine that there would be much good to tell. 

Life deteriorated after that and as a family we separated, going off to do our own thing and only meeting around a dinner table at night for dinner whereby nothing of much importance would be said. Laughter rarely happened during those years and as the frequency of arguments between my parents escalated I was aware that their marriage would never last. At twelve I started to notice a huge distance between my mother and father. My mother had a new lease of life and a bounce in her step. I started to notice that mother would spend longer looking in the mirror; Prettying herself, doing her make-up, sorting her hair and generally making more of an effort. But this was not for my Dad's pleasure. No. She would venture out of an evening starting off once a week, only to be increased as the years passed by, to go for coffee or drinks with friends, to go to meetings that never existed and see friends she hardly ever saw. Watching helplessly as my Dad slipped deeper into PTSD but desperately clinging onto the marriage by bring gifts of chocolate, flowers and other romantic gestures to the table that was otherwise empty apart from himself. It was clear how much my father loved his wife of over a decade but it seemed she had other things in her sights, including men. 

For a few years whilst I was at high school my parents tried to put a brave face on and pretend but the cracks were still there and the gaps were getting bigger. By the time I had finished my exams and graduated from compulsory education it was plain to see that it was the beginning of the end. The torture of watching my dad struggle with the uncertain faithfulness of his wife was sometimes unbearable for me also and being old enough to understand and listen and watch the story unfold was all the more eye-opening for me as a teenager. Although life and boys had somewhat passed me by it wouldn't be long before I was attracting the affections of a Rugby playing High school student now know as Mr. Ginge, my first ever proper boyfriend! But less than a week into what would be a year long relationship with Mr. Ginge I was told the news no child wants to hear. 

In true Mother style I found out about my parents divorce in the car during a blazing argument with her. Turned out my father had an affair when I was nine and the marriage had never recovered although I have always said that the affair was not the only thing that contributed to the marriage's demise but also the fact that we were a military family whereby my father was away alot and also went to war, coupled with my mother's fleeting mid-week escapades all contributed towards the broken home statistic I found myself in. I still remember her screaming to me in her shrill tones and then quietening her voice just enough to make the impact of her words all the more earth-shattering. "Well your father and I are getting a divorce!" She said matter-of-factly in a abnormally calm voice. It was then that my world crumbled. Without my father there I knew life would not be worth living. What was I going to do without him to take the edge of her cruel demeanour? Who was going to save me from her wrath? But they were the least of my worries as the divorce lawyers and solicitors were rallied up the evil was only getting started.

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     To Be Continued ...

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'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

How It Can All Change

Morning All, 

What a difference a week can make and how things can change in a matter of moments. I have realised this many times within the last week and more specifically within the past seventy-two hours! And whilst fresh in my mind I shall divulge my week. So Wednesday I finished work only to be greeted with an email when I got home from the agency. Panicking I thought that the last thing I needed was a P45. Cautiously I opened the email to my surprise and great relief it was something of an opposite nature! My place of work had renewed my contract until spring and as a result I could rest a little easier with knowing I had my job until the end of March, assuming I don't fuck it all up. And the celebrations weren't to stop there as Friday approached and the weekend was on the horizon I planned for a weekend of socialising, mingling and meeting new faces. 

Friday night my father, his girlfriend and I attended the surprise 21st birthday party of an old family friend who is due to be married in the summer (I am the photographer and am extremely excited). Upon arrival we didn't know very many people but I mingled with the faces I knew better than others and made small talk with guests. As the birthday girl herself arrived, shocked and surprised as anticipated I gave her a big hug and wished her a happy birthday. After talking to the future bride and groom I was introduced to a strapping young chap whom looked familiar. The face I knew as an old school friend of the Tweedles, but I was playing coy to the party guests as to how I knew him. That is until the groom introduced us to one another across the bar but before the introductions were even started the good-looking male stated that he already knew me. We were given space and started making conversation about Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and the few memoirs we had of each other from days gone by. As I was sucked in by the Casanova's boyish charm he told me of his hobby as a radio presenter on a local station. And so Mr. DJ was born. Paha. Turns out he will also be disc-jockeying at the wedding of our introducers in a few months time!

We talked for ages about our jobs; himself being a pre-school teacher and myself in the wonderful world of finance. Conversation was fun and flirty but I made sure to keep it as light as possible trying hard not to engage in the classic game of cat and mouse. Oh how I do enjoy a good chase! As the evening continued I socialised more, meeting more people I knew from my educational years in school and college. Soon I had a whisper in my ear that my Dad and his girlfriend were leaving and so I made the decision to stay and pursue more conversation with Mr. DJ. Dancing away the night and enjoying the company I was in myself and Mr. DJ spent more time together, tackling the likes of the Macarena and even the unfortunate event of accidentally kicking a small child in the face whilst pretending to be Wigfield! As the night drew to a close we decided to get in a few drinks and help wind down the party. Staying behind once the lights came on we helped pack away tables, food and lights. As I helped Mr. DJ cornered me and asked how I was getting home. I said that I would probably get a cab to the station and then the train to Flitwick where I was staying the night at my Dad's. It was then that he suggested quiet out of the blue that he didn't mind taking me back to Flitwick since he only lived in the next town along. Flattered at the offer I took it, wondering where my mind had gone as I anticipated a flirty drive home with a hot stranger. 

As I said my goodbyes Mr. DJ and I made our exit and headed out to his car. He mentioned something about it being parked a few roads back from the venue and to apologise in advance for making me wet. I took the comment at face value as I knew full well what he meant by it. Jumping into the modern, little car and in typical DJ fashion he instantly asked what music I liked. I told him I didn't mind and was easy with whatever, apologising again for not having a filter on my runaway mouth. Giggling like a school girl we set off into the darkness, only the street lamps to guide us. I as we approached the outskirts of town I was informed that Mr. DJ was single and I admitted for the first time this year that I was too. And so the seduction commenced and in between embarrassed but flattered giggles I flirted back heavily making sure he knew where I was. As if that wasn't enough, the bluntest and crudest questions came out from our filthy minds polluting the car with a thick aroma of lust and greed. 

Pulling into the driveway of the house my Dad shares with his girlfriend the car ground to a steady halt. As the lights dimmed in the desolate, midnight streets I wondered what I would do now. I didn't have to worry for long! "So am I allowed in for a coffee? Even though I don't drink coffee?" Mr. DJ said. And with that I knew exactly where it was going. Could I get away with this? Surely not! After a brief moment I invited Mr. DJ in and made our way to the kitchen thinking that maybe we could just whisper, naively thinking that we could have a cheeky snog and a fumble in the kitchen and still leave the evening nicely rounded off. Although as time passed I knew that it was a death wish to even bring a boy into the house let alone anything else. I suggested heading back out to the car for a chat and as the glass was left on the side and my hand firmly taken I was lead back to the still warm car. As we drove round the corner so as not to be spotted I jumped in the back seats so as to get comfier whilst getting to know Mr. DJ a bit better now the thumping music and dazzling lights had gone. 

Sobering up in the backseats of the little sports car we instantly hit it off. As our need for something more than subtle flirts increased so did the tension. I tried hard to keep control but the fact that I had been waiting months for someone to take the lead made me succumb to Mr. DJ's domineering ways. Frantic and impatient we tugged at each others clothes as I silently begged him to take me hard like I have craved for so long. I couldn't hold back any longer and before I knew it I was screaming his name as he made my hard, erotic, controlling fantasies come true. As the car stilled we held one another as Mr. DJ climaxed hard. Panting we stayed like that for a while, in an unplanned embrace that neither of us expected a few hours ago. Smiling as Mr. DJ drove me a few meters up the road we made already broken promises to stay in touch. We both knew it was just a fling but the naughty liaison left me quivering all the way to my bed that night. Lord only knows I can't wait for the wedding. Who knows what will happen?!

The following evening was much the same as how Friday had started as it was my Grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary. Sadly the only attractive and available men were behind the bar, the rest of the party consisted of people practically awaiting the Grim Reaper. Nevertheless a good evening and no body argued so all was well. Old family and friends gathered round to make the evening a special one and something that hopefully I shall encounter with someone special too. But all this goodness couldn't last for long and as morning broke on Sunday I was awakened with a banging head ache and a somewhat delayed half-hangover. Two nights of drinking and running around like a headless chicken had taken its toll and I was fragile to say the least. Although as my eyes opened for the first time I heard the ping of a text message. Reading I saw it was from Mr. Cheese whom I hadn't heard form in a few days. Conversation flowed into the state I was in and our plans for the day. I explained that I had a date as did Mr. Cheese. Coincidence?

As we messaged each other about our weekend and the anticipated date's I learnt that Mr. Cheese had secured an all important second date with a blonde from South Africa now living in London somewhere. As Mr. Cheese continued I slowly felt the same sickening feeling as I had before when I was with Mr. Workaholic. Imagining a tall, slim city-blonde with a alluring foreign accent and the sex appeal to match I struggled to see why my beloved Mr. Cheese would ever come back to me after something as I was creating in my head. As hard as I tried I knew that a second date would mean there was obviously a spark. Trying not to be a hypocrite, especially after Friday nights antics I kept an open mind, thinking that this may just be a make-or-break date. Keeping an upbeat mindset I made my way to Milton Keynes to embark on my own date. 

Within minutes after locking eyes with my already nerve-shredded date I knew this would not be the man I had hoped for. As we wandered around the city centre hopping from one coffee shop to another I realised that the needy, clingy and awkwardness of this young man was something I was not used to. And so after enduring some mild rudeness, unapologetic bluntness and incapacity to people watch quietly I ended the date. Safe to say that I don't think I will be seeing him again. Although as I settled down in my seat my phone pinged again. This time it was someone I wanted to speak to. So whilst I was sat in excruciatingly awful awkward silences and constantly trying to keep the conversation from drying up; Mr. Cheese was struggling to keep his hands off his date.

Yep that's right everyone. As I had kept my Friday night frolics to a bare minimum in detail to Mr. Cheese he had no such boundaries as he carried on into deep conversation about "how incredibly hard it was not to be that couple over in the corner of the pub". Jealousy erupted and I messaged him angrily back saying that he should just fuck the Zebra-headed bimbo. Mr. Cheese's reply about things going so well with the South African blonde made me realise that it was just too late and that instead of making his feelings stronger for me that they had simply vanished. All in the space of twelve, short days. Truth be told I'm devastated. Knowing that this is what I wanted him to go and do only makes things worse. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about it. I have lost my appetite and still have not had a proper nights sleep since the ultimatum at New Year. On the one hand I want(ed) him to get out there, explore the world  and what it had to offer before jumping into another relationship that two years down the line could end up in tears again. But then on the other hand I enjoy being single myself; partying and not worrying about who I share the back of a car with. I cant be too hard on him as it is me whom is wearing the same shoes. Difference is that whilst I have tried to hide and tone down my male encounters, Mr. Cheese seems to be rubbing my nose it it only making the feeling that he is slipping through my fingers ever faster. It seems that the rule of 'what they don't know wont hurt them' has been thrown well and truly out the window.

I am trying hard not to let it get to me and think positive thoughts about finally securing the flat of my dreams and moving in within the next few weeks. Mr. Cheese and I haven't spoken since his comments about the blossoming relationship not going sour as I quite simply don't know what to say. I suppose I will just have to get used to the fact that maybe Mr. Cheese just doesn't want me any more.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx