Ugly, Disgusting and Foul Smelling!

Hiya, How Do?

I like the Northern approach to life, it so friendly and non-threatening. I think sometimes I would pass right good for a Northernern. Ooooh, Whippets and Pies!

Nevertheless I am here to talk of my week in a less than warm Blighty. I mean whilst I did not appreciate all of the heat and humidity of last weekend I certainly did not ask for overcast skies and rainclouds for the rest of Summer 2016! Please change soon, I want to get my hopefully not so peely legs out. I suppose I experienced some of the heat this weekend since I spent most of late last week in the kitchen attempting to bake a beautiful Pool and Darts cake for an upcoming event. 

Three years ago now, Mr. Warehouse and his family suffered a huge loss to their family - The Matriarch was gone. Mr. Warehouse's Grandfather AKA Momma Warehouse's Dad had passed away and had left the family in a grief I still see in my boyfriends eyes when he talks of his memories with his grandpops. Nevertheless so as to keep the tradition going and in order to help preserve his memory for generations to come, every year in the village he resided in, Marston Mortaine, They hold a special Pool and Darts afternoon followed by drinks at one of Mr. Warehouse's Uncles house across the road from the venue. I had attended last year but not brought anything but myself and after being introduced to everyone it was a bit overwhelming anyway. With a wedding only passing the weekend before we had plenty of cake to go around and as such I thought it would be a wonderful idea to make a cake myself to present to the table of honouring what would have been an amazing man to meet.

Sitting here last week I added myself to a group discussion about the memorial afternoon.evening and asked if anyone was bringing cakes or sweet treats. When no-one replied I thought I had been ignored but the following morning I had a few supporters and even more requests for different flavours. So I set to work, pottering about ideas and spending my morning commutes looking up videos and tutorials to make sure my cake blew the family away. Unfortunately I did leave it slightly late and after researching for more time than I should have been baking I set to work on Thursday night to bake the cakes needed for Saturday to come. Three batter mixes, twenty-four cupcakes cooling and three loaf tins baking I thought I had it all under control. That was until Mr. Warehouse came into the kitchen. 

"Eww, whats that smell?!" he said sniffing the air surrounding the hard-at-work cooker. Joining in with the Smell-a-thon I exclaimed that my boyfriends comments were rude and unappreciated. My baking goods smelt fine and would be ready to come out of the oven soon. However some time later, the other half arrived back in the kitchen and proceeds to tel me that my baked, marble cake-loaves looked ugly and disgusting, going on to say that he, neither the seventy-odd guests would be eating 'that'. Absolutely broken I burst into tears. It was one step too far and the criticism from myself was bad enough without Mr. Warehouse jabbing the knife in and twisting it once more. Crying as I fell asleep that night my dearest Beau had eventually realised what he had said was cruel and unkind, apologising and making it up by saying that we both would have another go tomorrow. But it didn't make me feel any better about myself and with another day lost for preparation I was worried what I wanted would not be what I got. 

The following morning I got up bright and early along with Mr. Warehouse and the dog, opting for making coloured icing as opposed to having a lay-in. Heading out to work I took with me the rejects of the cake party yesterday in the hope that my hungry work colleagues would go to town on them before 11am and everything would be forgotten. When asked why I had brought in such a copious amount of cake I explained to everyone that their ex-colleague and my boyfriends comments the previous evening were a result of them getting the outcasts telling them in detail about how he had called my cakes ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. Fits of laughter erupted as I was told that they smelled fine and tasted even better with one colleague even stating that maybe Mr. Warehouse was upset as it was him that was ugly, disgusting and foul smelling. This cheered me up but I did worry about the non-existent cake I was due to present the following afternoon. I had a list as long as my arm to try and get done as well as pick up a few bits before heading back to our home for the weekend at Momma Warehouse's, also in Marston Mortaine. After some much needed after works drinks and a few cigarettes over some gossip with Mr. Warehouse's Mother I set to work with Mr. Warehouse barely sticking to his promise and instead shouting a mixture of heavy criticism and basic instructions from the living room. I did not take kindly and after four hours it was finally over. I was done and the cake was finished. Not to my liking though. The details were missing such as the change slots on the side, ball viewer not to mention the cue and triangle thingymibob. I felt like a complete failure yet when Momma Warehouse saw it she welled up with tears and told me how wonderful it looked. I didn't want to upset her so became quiet with self-doubt and loathing the fact that I had only done what I had thought was a mediocre job. 

Still as encouraging as ever, I woke on the morning of the memorial and hoped my driving lesson would go well enough I could come back and start on some of the features. I was lucky enough to have a fairly good lesson but with weeks to go before my Driving Exam in September I am more than bricking it, especially when I take more than a few times trying to Bay park before my driving instructor gives up and asks me to drive off somewhere else. Beating myself up about not only my inability to Bay park but also to bake and decorate a cake that doesn't look like Prince George had an input, I was certainly feeling far from great. Battling through though I dressed up and we all headed down to the venue. Presenting the Three-storey Pool Table cake and Cupcakes with mini dart boards adoring them I was pleased it was all over and as I watched people flock around it I knew I must have done something right. Noticing as the afternoon progressed that in fact they had obviously gone down a right treat, cupcakes all gone and so was the cake. Much a success. Although Mary Berry I am not. 

Alls well that ends well, eh?! And I can tell you what else is worth while cracking out some cake for - Mr. Warehouse only went and bagged himself a full time permanent job earning just as much as me! Working where he is now at the Pharmaceutical Distribution place on the outskirts of town I think he is the happiest career wise he has ever been in the time I have known him. I am so pleased. Finally this means that Chrismas wont be as much of a stretch as last year and that we could finally head off to a cosy Christmas Market somewhere in Europe. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Timing Is Everything!

Hello-Hello,

Sitting on my sofa after a hard Monday back at work I listened to where Mr. Warehouse would be placed tomorrow by a new agency he had signed up with. Carefully hearing all the important information I asked what the plan was for dinner as I had a driving lesson and needed to know what time he was due to be back.

"Oh. I didn't ask that one?" My dear boyfriend replied. After explaining why it was important that before any job role he knows the exact details about where he was working, when the shift started and ended as well as what he was doing and how much he was being paid, I jokingly exclaimed that I would see him at 10pm. How very different I would feel in less than twenty-four-hours time.

The following morning our little household was woken up bright and early and as I saw Mr. Warehouse off to work as a warehouse operative at a homeware distribution centre on the outskirts of town, I got myself ready. Checking my phone after taking the dog for her morning walk I was pleased to hear that my other-half had got to work OK and with a few minutes to spare before his shift started at half-seven in the morning, he took the time to speak with some new colleagues. Enquiring about the job itself and how people enjoyed it they exclaimed and laughed at him that he should probably sack it in now as the days are long and hard with no-one leaving until everything is done. One man even described how the evening before was a twelve-hour long shift. I laughed in reply and Mr. Warehouse had stood by his comments the night before stating that he shouldn't be there more than eight-hours and that he would see me at four-thirty when he finished.

As the day went by and my mind was occupied by engineers, new jobs and workloads to manage it soon arrived to lunch-time but as I sat in the canteen, I got a message saying that it might be nearer to six or seven in the evening than four in the afternoon. Not worried I told him that it was his fault and not to complain because he should have asked the agency what the working shift pattern was before taking the job offer in the first place. Either way he would still be home before me for my driving lesson was booked until 7pm.

But as I sat watching the darkness descend slowly outside our patio doors, I wondered about where my other-half was. Mr. Warehouse and I had not spoken since lunchtime and that was well over six-hours ago. Anxious although not panicked yet the phone rang. It was Momma Warehouse and she sounded distraught.

"Is he there with you?" She asked frantic. I replied no.

"When was the last time you heard from him?" came the next question which again I could only answer vaguely. After explaining she had been trying to get hold of him all evening I said that there was probably nothing to worry about and that he would probably be walking through the door any moment. But as I hung up the call I realised it was already coming up to 8pm and I suddenly started to worry. As the next hour ticked by I still had no responses from my calls, texts and messages. I was very concerned now. Thinking the worst I messaged Miss Tweedle-Dumb who called Mr. Warehouse in vain whilst I tried to get in touch with Mr. CWG - Mr. Creepy Warehouse Guy. When I heard that he also had not heard from him since that afternoon I really started to panic. My boyfriend messages Mr. CWG more than me so for him not to have heard anything either was a worry. Thoughts racing through my mind I began to cry. Hot tears rolling down my cheeks I ended my call to Mr. CWG and made my final move before calling the police.

Dialling the Agencies out of hours number I prayed that they picked up and when they did I went on a ramble explaining to the young girl that answered that my partner had not come home from work and that this now was over thirteen-hours since he left the house. Understanding my concerns to some extent she explained rather pathetically how the establishment where he was placed do "occasionally" work overtime, however this was option and every employee had the right to refuse. This was strange and didn't sound right. What was I to do? Was my boyfriend still at work? Did he feel so bad about letting me down last week he has worked these extra hours to make up for lost money? Has he just done this all out of spite because I pushed him so hard to find something rather than nothing? Had he left work and in an attempt to save money walked home and had an asthma attack and was in hospital? Or even worse - A ditch? I needed to know so I asked the young girl on the end of the phone to please check where her employees were and when they would be home for people were worried sick about them.

Aggressively hanging up the phone I called Mr. Warehouse's mobile in the hope he would answer but I knew he would not. It was ringing so I knew it hadn't died or otherwise it would gone straight to voice-mail. Miss Tweedle-Dumb had also tried as had my dad, Momma Warehouse, Mr. CWG and all of Mr. Warehouses cousins and family. We were all very concerned. 10pm came and went and as I started to think what my next move would be and which one of the many pictures I would be releasing to the press and Crimewatch, the phone rang. It was the Agency. She explained to me that my partner had stayed extra to help with the workload and that he was definitely still working in the warehouse. I asked her if she thought it was appropriate that someone was working over fourteen-hours on their first day of work and whether this was common practise. She couldn't answer. I should not have been surprised when she could not even answer me when he would be home, only explaining that it was "extremely rare that the company was working this late and that normally al the guys were at home by now" however this did not provide comfort to my already trembling self.

Another hour passed before I had a phone call explaining that Mr. Warehouse would be home soon. How soon is soon though I asked and before I had a chance for her to answer Miss. Tweedle-Dumb called explaining that she had just spoken with Mr. Warehouse and that he was going to be calling me very, very shortly. After a fifteen-hour shift I finally answered a call from Mr. Warehouse. Grabbing the dog I ran out into the street to meet him. The buses had stopped running hours ago and so a supervisor had given him a lift. 'And I should think so too - It was the absolute very least they could do!' I thought to myself as I held him underneath a lamppost in what seemed like the dead of night.

Stepping into the flat examined my exhausted and broken man. I began to cry and with all the stress and hardship that we had been through reattaching itself to my shoulders I began to wonder what would happen to us next. Shattered I warmed up his evening meal and we began to speak slowly of the evening we had both encountered. Mr. Warehouse explained that after working all day it was outlined by his supervisor that the work needed to be done and that an overtime rate would be paid for any hours done extra. It was made very clear to the workers that these overtime hours were not as extra and optional, but almost as standard and critical if you wanted to keep your job. In the whole fifteen-hour day Mr. Warehouse had done he had only barely had an hour-and-ten-minutes break time. This coupled with the fact that I only sent him to work with a small packed lunch consisting of a roll, packet of crisps and a chocolate biscuit and no breakfast made for some truly appalling bedtime story especially when you hear of there being no on-site facilities to get extra food for the long shifts ahead.

After all that the Agency called the following morning after I had left and spoke asked Mr. Warehouse why he was not at work for he should have been there from 07.30am. Shocked and outraged my beloved boyfriend explained the night he had and after exclaiming the fact that he did not return home until nearly midnight, he was due at least an eleven-hour rest period between shifts as a government standard by law. Saying nothing the Agency said they would speak to him later but with the respect of another never-ending shift ahead of him Mr. Warehouse called them back to explain he would not be returning. The Agency laid him off that assignment and by the end of the day had found him something new to start. A rolling contract day-by-day at a steelworks literally round the corner from his old workplace and my desk was just what he needed. With shifts from 8am until 4.30pm and a super early finish at lunchtime on a Friday it finally seemed as though thing were looking up for us. He went to work on his first day Thursday last week and has been there ever since, even helping out to do some "opted into" overtime on Friday afternoon. I just hope that this becomes a bit more permanent in the future.

This break away to my Auntie and Uncles one-hundred-year-old cottage in southern Ireland couldn't have come at a better time and with all the mounting stress of money, bills and upcoming events to pay out for I am glad for the relaxing atmosphere. Rolling hills, fresh country air and nothing to do but feeding animals is just what the doctor ordered. However in recent conversation, Mr. Warehouse has told me that apparently his supervisor had ridiculed me for calling so many times and had mentioned something that I would be angry when my boyfriend returned home. Well sir, if you are reading of which you probably are not as you are dictating work to already burned out but desperate people, you are whom I am angry with. You are wrong in what you are doing, both by the laws of this land but also morally. I would like to know what drug you are on for I cannot see how you can sleep at night preying on the vulnerable of society in order to gain a wealth of profits and turnover for your fat cats up there in the office. I hope to god that you have to suffer what everyone under your leadership suffers and that one day Karma will come and get you. She has your number sir, she's coming for you!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting On Like A Warehouse On Fire!

Afternoon All, 

So after my tooth being amputated from my moist face cave, otherwise known as my mouth, I have been eating soft foods. Although I must be honest, after last weekends mind-blowing-ly gorgeous tasting Mulled Cider I couldn't resist trying to make some at home on my own! And to much success. Although now all the crappy still Cornwall Cider I had spare is fast running out and so is the jar of spices that go along with it! This week however especially the weekend has been pretty humdrum and with all my friends off playing with their respective partners I decided to spend a relaxing one with Mr. Warehouse and indulge in a little spring clean of my flat. Everything was and has been normal until this afternoon ... 

Sitting at my desk sorting out the holiday boards for the new holiday/tax year that is beginning in March, I was suddenly then interrupted by the warehouse ruffian who then proceeded to tell everyone that there was a fire in the warehouse and we should all get out of the building. Since there was no fire alarm and no office Fire Marshall was coming round I thought that it may have been an over elaborate joke. Ignoring his warning I answered an incoming call and proceeded to chat away to one of my engineers. That was until I was asked to put down the phone and get out of the building by another colleague. Hanging up I knew this was not a drill. Something deadly had happened and we all had to escape the building as quickly as possible. 

Braving the chilly weather and cold winds I turned to look at the back of the warehouse where the fire would have started. Wisps of greying smoke billowed out from the shutters and it didn't take much to see the orange flames licking the machines and the insides of the building like a kid with a melting ice-lolly. Concerned I looked at the time. Three-Forty-Five. I was worried that most of the staff were now congregating in the small car park and yet I could not yet see my Mr. Warehouse. It was his home-time at half-three so he may well have gone home. But then again what happens if he was still in the building?! 'Where was he' I thought, anxiously to myself. As I quickly scrabbled out a text and sent it I waited impatiently for a reply from Mr. Warehouse. 

It was a strange feeling though. Standing there alone in the car park was not an issue. I was surrounded not only by colleagues, but also friends and somewhat family, maybe even future family?! But as I nattered around with the other ladies in the office and lads in the warehouse I soon realised that there was one thing missing. A very important person in my life. As I watched Mr. Warehouse's supervisor walk out of the goods yard with an Italian swag on and the mouth of a sailor I worried even more-so. Just as I was about to go up and ask someone where Mr. Warehouse was, My phone bleeped. 

"Yes, Why? x" it read from the M.I.A Mr. Warehouse. 'Uh, thank goodness' I thought, forcing another reply through my slowly freezing fingers. Explaining that the warehouse was in a blaze and we had all been evacuated I wasn't surprised minutes later to hear my phone ringing. Answering I calmed his little sole by explaining that I was OK and that we were all waiting for the fire department to arrive. 
"Right I will see you in a second then!" Mr. Warehouse said, panicked. He then hung up and as I wondered what he meant, soon enough he was at the end of the road, coming back to check that not only was I OK but also whether he could blag a day off tomorrow. To be fair to him I was going to do the same, maybe throw in a few coughs and splutters to sound convincing but to no avail. I do indeed have work tomorrow as does Mr. Warehouse and co. 

But it made me think about how much I really do care and love him. Maybe not in the same way as Mr. Workaholic, but about as close to that kinda thing as I think I will ever get. I worried about him more in those few moments than I think I have ever done so in a long time, if at all. It made me think again about all the crazy dreams I have had in the past few months - A secret affair in New York with Evan Peters (As depicted in 'Hello New Boobs') or maybe the one where I made out with my new work colleague and then accused Mr. Warehouse of having an affair with a prostitute and a gay man at a beach-hut party or how about even that dream where I am boxing up all my old things in Dadda Workaholic's house and having a good old natter with Mr. Workaholic himself. Very strange dreams. But all pointing to one interesting point of contact for all when investigating further in my dream books and manuals was that they all pointed towards feelings of tackling issues that have been bothering my mind for a while. Even my masseuse added after a session that I was far too tense in my upper body, although not Mr. Masseuse I may add - Oof never again!  

And so it seems that I. No - We, needed to have a conversation. Theoretically it was going to happen sooner or later. In fact I think some of our work colleagues probably knew it before I did. But the thing is that last time it happened I was with Mr. Workaholic. Whilst I may have dreamt of 'boxing things away' and 'moving on' I am certainly terrified of moving on fully, only because I know how it might well end. Quite frankly I think one heart break is enough for an entire generation let alone a lifetime and never want to go through it again but on the flip-side it would make life for Mr. Warehouse and I that much easier. I have to keep reminding myself that whereas last time my entire relationship went up in a fireball to rival the Atom Bomb, I was only 20-years-old and was still a baby in comparison to my life now. I am more grown up than I was and in a way have become stronger and better within myself. I don't rely on anyone and certainly with this situation know that if it did all go tits-up, I would be able to handle going back to a-life-before-Mr.-Warehouse easier than if we moved out somewhere new. So I suppose the only question is ... 

When are you moving in Mr. Warehouse?

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx