“I’m telling you Aaron, I’m haunted. Cursed, haunted, whatever you want to call it.” Robert said, slamming his mobile down on the kitchen table, an annoyed expression on his face.
“It’s not that big a deal, Robert.” Aaron glanced up from the magazine he was flicking through, half amused at his husband’s annoyance. “We can go away another weekend.”
Robert glared at him. “Aaron! It’s our first wedding anniversary, of course we have to go away this weekend. I’ll honestly divorce you if you suggest staying at home and just going to the Woolpack for some grub,” he threatened, sliding into the chair next to Aaron’s.
“You’d never divorce me.”
“I wouldn’t.” Robert agreed. “Aaron, you’re not listening to me!”
Aaron sighed, closing his magazine. “Yes, Robert?”
“The hotel I booked for us this weekend burnt down. I am definitely cursed when it comes to organising surprises for you,” Robert looked hilariously upset, practically pouting at Aaron. “I try and organise a surprise proposal and we nearly die in a car crash, I organise a trip to Vegas and you end up in prison. Honestly, what’s next?”
“At least we weren’t in the hotel when it went on fire.” Aaron shrugged.
“Alright, chill out Rob. You’re not the only one who can organise surprises, I booked us a weekend in Edinburgh, so it’s all worked out, hasn’t it?” Aaron scraped his chair back.
“We’re leaving in an hour.” Aaron pressed a kiss to the top of Robert’s head. “Let’s hope the train doesn’t crash on the way.”
For my own peace of mind, I would not reblog any post that relates to Cheryl and HER baby. Yep, you read it right HER baby coz I don’t believe Liam is the father. Really don’t care how Cheryl conceived her child (I highly suspect it’s through IVF though) but I believe Liam’s sperm did not fertilize Cheryl’s egg. Sorry for being a bit blunt in there but I just want to make it very clear as to what I believe in.
I have nothing against her baby (and I never had tbqh) so I wish him all the best and I hope he has a fruitful and happy life ahead of him. I’ve always believed that a baby is a blessing to any parent so as much as I’m pissed at Cheryl right now, I congratulate her for having a bundle of joy to cherish and love. But that’s about the positive thoughts I’m willing to extend to her. There’s a saying if you have nothing nice to say at someone then say nothing at all so no comment about her though I’d like to point out she’s a persona non grata in this blog.
I’ve always hope that Cheryl and her baby would not be a talking point in solo Liam’s publicity and will be blacklisted but given that Capitol UK has posted about it (do record labels really post about their artist’s personal life?!) I’m not keeping my hopes up. Which is such a shame coz I feel like they would compete for attention with Liam’s music and Liam himself. I’ve always wished that the publicity surrounding his solo career would center around him and the music he created so I completely resent Cheryl piggybacking on his solo career through her baby in order to gain relevancy.
So that’s about what I have to say on the matter. I’ve really considered to get away from my blog for awhile. I love Liam so much though and I want to be here to support him so I’m staying put but I also have myself to look after too and BG 2.0 stress me out so I’m keeping it off my blog. If the Larries is still persevering with Louis’ version of babygate so can I and I’m going to take this day by day in order to cope with it.
@tessabltheorist posed a very valid question about this: why didn’t Howard find a different safe house to run to the moment that Tom left with the intention to tell Scottie who he is?
I wonder if he was just resigned. His son didn’t believe in him, so he has nowhere else to turn. No one else in his corner. If that’s the case, Howard has officially broken my heart a little. Thanks, Howard.
Every winter, when I was a boy, my mother had the most terrible choice to make. Should she put food on the table or turn on the heat? ‘Cause she couldn’t afford to do both. Well, mostly she fed us, and we would huddle our way through. Until the winter of '93. It was so damn cold. Hand to God, I got frostbite. In my apartment. Lost two toes.
After that, Mother swore she’d never choose between food and heat again. So She took out a loan from the neighborhood loan shark.
Lance Wilbanks. 36% interest. That first month, our bellies were full and our feet were warm. And then the payments came due. A month later, there was no food or heat. And Mama prayed for a miracle. She prayed. And she prayed. But that woman, she could pray. And I’ll be damned if the clouds didn’t part, and the hand of God didn’t reach down and deliver that fine woman from her misery in the form of the oh-so-timely demise of Lance Wilbanks. One bullet to the temple. His bankroll taken. Crime never solved. And my mother never had to make that terrible choice again. I was 13. And Wilbanks was the first man that I ever killed. Point being I hate being cold.