Delusions of Gender

Shoes ...

2011-12-03T06:37:00.001Z

Apparently, I am the proud owner of forty-two and a half Pairs of shoes. (I know this because I counted 'em ... Yes I am a little bored, why do you ask ?)

/sniff/

No, I have no idea what's going on with the half either ...

But my 'Good Angel' was asking me W.T.F. do I need with 42 pairs of shoes (and a half), whilst my 'Bad Angel' pointed out to me that I should probably get a new pair for work ... oh and winters here so maybe some (more) cute boots ...

Welcome to 'Shoe Shopping Saturday'

Hi !

2011-11-05T18:50:00.003Z

Hi you !
Yes you .. uh huh ... I'm talking to you

How are you ?

My blog stats say that you visited ... um ... loads of times recently.

Which is nice.

But they also say that you come from Hitchin in Hertfordshire. Or is it Letchworth in Bedfordshire ? And that you spend a while looking at/reading my blog posts on Epping House. Again and again ...

Were you at Epping House ?

Do I know you? do we have mutual friends?

Even if I dont, why not get in touch?

If you are too shy to post something in reply to this you could always message me on facebook (see badge above)

Whatever, be nice and say hi!

please

Picture of the Week ? Year ? Decade ?… Whatever

2011-06-25T18:50:00.001+01:00

I’ve never been there but today …

I ♥ New York

Picture of the Week

2011-04-30T14:59:00.001+01:00

Quote of the Week

2011-04-03T06:28:00.000+01:00

I'm still trying to track down who/where this comes from

but ... I like it ... alot

‎"Homosexuality is found in over 450 species. Homophobia is found in only one. Which one seems unnatural now ?"

Home Thoughts From Abroad ...

2011-03-20T10:33:00.007Z

A quiet Sunday morning listening to a compilation CD whilst wrestling with learning the intricacies of MYSQL.

Clifford T Ward sings 'Home thoughts from Abroad' and for perhaps the thousandth time I hear the line ...

'Home Thoughts From Abroad is such a beautiful Poem'

And ... He was right ... it really is

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England - now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops - at the bent spray's edge -
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
- Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning

(And the song was damn neat too)

Have a nice Sunday ... whoever ... wherever ...

Picture of the Week

2011-03-19T18:54:00.001Z

Picture (Video) of the Week ...

2011-02-06T18:37:00.002Z

A little bit offensive ... and also (to my mind) very funny ...

:-)

Picture (video) of the Week

2010-09-28T15:19:00.003+01:00

So there I was, minding my own business when …

2010-08-29T19:28:00.001+01:00

Norman said ‘can I ask you a question?’

See, I have this policy in the workplace of ‘Never’ initiating any form of discussion about my gender/private life. But, if someone asks a (respectful) question … I wont duck it …

‘Yeah, course you can Norman.’

Here it comes …

‘Have you always known … that you … were … trapped in the wrong … body ?

/sniff/ Well this conversation went shit-shaped quick …

And then I heard this voice … saying …

‘That's not a claim that I make Norman. Some people say the “trapped in the wrong body thing” but I think that really its become a kind of shorthand … something we say that most people can understand … but its not a claim that I make for myself’…

‘Ohhhh’ said Norman … who then went back to looking at that days Page-3 Girl.

All of which got me to thinking … ‘I really need a better answer to what was a very simple question.

Indeed, why do I find it difficult to make the ‘Trapped in the wrong body ‘ claim at all ?

Well …

Problem I have is not that I don't believe in the ‘Trapped in the wrong body’ thing. Nor that it isn’t true in my case.

Rather, I struggle with it because I cant answer the next question.

You know, that logical follow-up which is just a landmine waiting to destroy the unwary. the question that goes …

‘Ok, so what's it like to be a woman then?’

Ye gods …

See, the answer is actually ‘ I have no idea’. I could take a guess. have a stab at it. But, an answer based on certainty … I have none.

How could I?

Any answer I might give would (by definition) have to apply to all women. And any (natural born) woman who didn't fit my answer, would be excluded from my vision/version of what maketh a ‘woman’

And just how f’kin arrogant would that be of me … ?

/Sharp intake of breath/ Best not to go there.

But … all is not lost, help is at hand …since if we flip the question and ask ‘so what's it like to be a man then?’

The answer comes … (once again) ‘I have no idea’

I would contend that the only question in this vein that I could make a reasonable attempt at is ‘So, what's it like to be me’

That one I could (and would) have a go at.

But if I don't know (with certainty) ‘what's it like to be a woman’, how can I know that I am one who is trapped in the wrong body… Indeed, if I don't know ‘what's it like to be a man’, how can I know that my body contains someone who isn't (a man that is).

Tricky …

And now the absurd.

Surely, it is absurd to believe that we can take more than six thousand million individual living people and divide them up into two distinct groups.

Man and Woman.

That's it. Those are the only choices. A box marked ‘Man’ and a box marked ‘Woman’. No other boxes permitted.

No box for the unsure. No box for the bloody mindedly different.

Just Man and Woman.

Which, admittedly, makes life easier when applying for ‘Life Insurance’ but frequently makes things so much more difficult in just about every other sphere of life.

But Wait! The Absurdity continues.

How is membership of one group or the other earned/conferred?

By how one identifies ? by how one feels? as a conscious choice ? …

Or by a (for most of us anonymous) Midwife based on the highly scientific method of checking for the presence/absence of a penis, or if you prefer … (and on balance I think I do …) the presence or absence of a vagina.

Which, if we were just making an application for Life Insurance is probably as good a test as any.

And the Absurdity reaches new heights …

Because we’re not applying for Insurance, but based on the pronouncements of the Midwife the future pattern of our lives are laid down.

How we present ourselves in the world, how we interact with others, the sorts of job that may be available to us (and by extension, the jobs that … wont), the place we are expected to occupy in our society, the place and responsibilities we must assume within the family…

All are decided, and set in quick drying cement within 30 seconds of our birth … before we’ve even managed to work out which way is up, our future has been set.

Absurd?

‘Bonkers’ if you ask me.

* * * * * * * *

Why can it not be that if a room contains six people there might be six different interpretations of gender based on how six different individuals might see their own place in the world?

If there are six people in a room, why can there not be six different boxes for those people.

If there are 6,000,000,000 people in the world, why can there not be 6,000,000,000 different interpretations of individual gender ?

And wouldn’t that obviate the whole idea of anyone being ‘Trapped in the wrong body’ ? And permit people to be themselves.

/sniff/

Some days even I think I’m nuts …

Oh Hi!

2010-08-25T19:07:00.000+01:00

Nice of you to drop by ...

Now, I know that you came here looking for information on the new book called 'Delusions of Gender' by Cordelia Fine.

Nothing wrong with that ... just a simple mistake. But hey, whilst your here...

Take a look round ... make a comment ... what ever ...

Well I'll Be Damned ...

2010-07-19T00:47:00.001+01:00

see ... I was done ... deleted this blog ... zapped the content on my facebook page ... done

Finished ... Fin ... Fini ... no more

Really ... Done

And then ... I looked up the name of someone I used to know on Facebook ... and they had a link to their blog ... and when I clicked my account came up ... with a button marked

Undelete this Blog

/sniff/

so now I need to figure out what to write ... (and how not to be quite so anally self-obsessed ... which is gonna be ... uh ... difficult)

An Undelete button ... I'll be damned

(I could use one of those in my life ... )

Picture (Video) of the Week

2010-04-24T14:55:00.001+01:00

Damn … That's neat

When did you decide ?

2010-04-05T22:56:00.002+01:00

A deeply shameful episode

But Ni … uh … I mean Julie, you got to be 52 years old, without going down this path. So why ? why now ? I mean, if you could make it this far, why not stay as Nick forever ? WHAT made the difference ? Why ? Why now ?

I’m a coward. I know this as a fact. I know this because at various points in life I have walked up to the edge of the abyss, looked over, and then scuttled back to the (relative) safety of an unhappy life. Unable, or perhaps, unwilling to jump.

The very first occasion on which I (seriously) resolved to suicide, I was just 13 years of age.

I remember that morning like it was yesterday. Standing in the bathroom with a bottle that was labelled ‘Poison’. I’d found it a few days before. It was the active ingredient for a ‘Coal Tar Burner’. The sort of thing that you used when suffering from Bronchitis. A teaspoonful of the bottles (magic ingredient) contents into the top of the burner, A nightlight burning gently underneath and quickly the air would smell (beautifully) of Coal Tar.

Thing was, the ‘Magic Ingredient’ was in a corrugated bottle and the label said the contents were poisonous.

Which, to my teenage self appeared to offer relief.

So I stood, holding the taps, one in each hand and stared at this bottle.

But even then it was hard. So I resolved to do things in stages. First I would remove the top. which I did … and then stood looking some more.

Then, held the bottle in one hand.

Then took some of the contents in my mouth.

And then …

And, I couldn't swallow.

I tried, but couldn't do it. I wanted to. Gosh I so wanted to. But couldn't.

After maybe 30 seconds I spat it out. And only then realised that my mouth was burning. The stuff wasn’t just poisonous but also corrosive.

One good swallow and I probably would have died. We lived miles away from the nearest town and hospital would have just been too far away.

But it wouldn’t have been a quiet death or merciful release.

It would have been agonising.

As it was, my mouth was badly burned, lips were huge, tongue was unbelievably swollen and sore.

A lucky escape or a cowardly let-off ?

Either way, it was merely the overture to a lifetime of ‘Suicide Ideation’

For years i wanted to and wished for it. I researched different methods (and this was before the advent of the Internet).

Long after my escape from a less than ideal childhood, I pursued the idea of suicide.

Many (trans) people will tell stories in later life about how as a child they had prayed every night to God that ‘When I wake up I am a girl’ (or boy). I never did this, whether as a child or adult. But I did, for many years pray each night (to a god in whom I yada yada yada) that ‘this should be the last night, cos you’ve had yer fun you cruel bastard, now enough, enough of the gender shit, enough of feeling this way, so how about I just don't wake up tomorrow ?’.

Maybe if I had said please you think ?

When the internet came along I discovered an easy and foolproof method of ‘Checking Out’. (which I am not gonna post here cos it really is simple and I don't wanna be the one to give anyone the means … ok? ) so I gathered the required materials and they sat in my kitchen cupboard for years, to be taken out and stared at (usually after a drink or two) then put away in the certain knowledge that I really am a coward.

I cant swallow the poison, or the pills, nor kick the stool away. and nor can I take a simple easy step that is guaranteed to bring a quick and painless end.

I’m just too much of a coward.

And then …

And then I found it.

The means. The method. The perfect way.

Simple. Easy. Obvious. And it wouldn’t require a moment of pure self-hatred or disgust to be successful. (which most other methods do in some way or another.)

Oh it required self-loathing and disgust all right. But not that moment of complete desire for destruction.

Nope, this method simply required a (lower?) level of determination and patience.

And with a synchronicity which I found to be almost beautiful I would be able to use my own (unhappily masculine) body to bring about the end.

Like many (most) women I know, I have spent years being unhappy about my weight. (yeah yeah, I know, shallow … but there it is). And in a moment of madness (brilliance ?) I resolved to lose weight. not the required 10-15 pounds. How about losing 6 - 7 stone ? Push my weight down to a point where eventually my body would just give up and I’d have a heart attack … and die.

Brilliant eh? or not …

So, I drove my daily calorie intake down to around 400 kcal per day.

And the weight started to go … 2 sometimes 3 pounds a week and on occasion 4 pounds in a single week. and that felt good.

And yes, there was the thing about being in absolute control. Though in my case that was heightened when I realised that I could use the absolute focus on my (rapidly diminishing) weight to distract from the pain of my gender problems.

RESULT !

Yeah, I know, round about now dear reader you are beginning (or perhaps you’ve gotten past that stage and moved onto absolute certainty) to doubt my sanity.

And then a chain of events occurred which resulted in my feeling unimaginable shame.

My weight had gone from perhaps 11st 10lbs (164lbs) down to around 7st 2lbs ( 100lbs).

But I was still doing a relatively hard –physically- job in a factory. And by now I figured it really wouldn't take long. Maybe if I got to 6st ( 84lbs) that would maybe be enough … and it would only take me what … 5 or 6 weeks to do that.

Nearly there.

At the time, I spent most shifts (I worked nights) making Toffee. And without launching into a long explanation of that process lets say that if the job runs perfectly then its simple. But if you make a mistake (like cooling the toffee too much before moving it from the cooling to holding tables) then the job becomes extremely hard and very physical.

And that's what happened. Someone (Rob !) left the water flow running on a fresh batch and then disappeared for his tea break. So now I have a choice. Ignore it – and end up scrapping 150kgs of fresh toffee- or work like crazy for 5 minutes to cut and move the product before it was too late.

I chose the latter option.

And some 4 or 5 minutes later I’ve succeeded in moving the product … but I found myself standing at one end of the cooling tables literally hanging on to the steel legs that supported a gantry above my head. Hanging on because I hadn't the strength to stand up unaided.

Curiously, I couldn’t hear anything. I say curiously, because this was a factory. Normal practice here demanded that everyone wear Ear Protection. The usual level of background noise was so great that conversations were conducted by shouting directly into someone’s ear…

But all I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat.

And Jeeze, it was LOUD … Bang, Bang, Bang …

And I couldn't see too well either… Everything looked darker than usual… It wasn't like I had gone totally blind, but rather like wearing very strong sunglasses…

And I couldn't catch my breath … I kept trying to take a full breath … but I couldn't.

And I felt good …

Even as (and it was probably only 30 seconds or so, though it seemed longer) my hearing gradually returned, my sight improved and I was able to breath semi-normally …

I felt real good

Because, it wouldn't be long. OK, it maybe wasn't going to happen today … but now I knew for certain … this was going to work …

* * * * * * *

At this time both my children lived with their mother in Leeds (about 25 miles). Since I worked nights our time together was limited and we hadn't seen each other for about 3 months …

But they wanted to visit … so i arranged for their mum to bring them to York. Because I wouldn't let them eat junk very often a trip to McDonalds was a treat. So I arranged that we would meet at Mickie-deeze and then spend the afternoon together in York.

Now, I knew that I looked thin … emaciated even … but, I just never joined the dots. This was probably the last time I would see them …

So, I met them outside the restaurant and we did the Hi! Hello thing then went in to buy a meal. I offered them pretty much whatever they wanted but they seemed strangely uninterested.

Having twisted their arms a little (metaphorically) into choosing something we all went upstairs to find a table.

As I sat cuddling my cup of coffee … (by this time I was ‘Constantly’ cold) I made nice small talk with Kris (their Mum).

And for some reason, dunno why, I looked up. To see two very very frightened children looking at me.

We are sat in their favourite Burger place … they both have their favourite Burgers and drinks in front of them… and they are not interested. Both are looking at me with real fear on their faces.

God … I felt like shit.

I scared my children …

I was intent upon leaving them.

Because I was too much of a coward to face up to, and deal with my own shit … I was prepared to abandon my own children.

Oh sure, I justified it… they were happy with their mum. They were better off without me around. It was the best thing to do.

Yada Yada Yada … bullshit.

I felt so ashamed.

And still do.

* * * * * * *

And so began a period of some 10 months when I coldly and deliberately asked myself some difficult questions.

Some were easy to ask and easy to answer

How did I want to live ? …

As a woman

Some were extremely hard

What Exactly does that mean ? …

Some were a matter of logistics

Is there any way I can do this on a private / part time basis ?

What is the least I think I can do which might offer some relief from my dysphoria ?

Is there any other way ?

* * * * * * *

That was 5 years ago. In the summer of 2005 my children came to live with me on a full time basis.

In Feb 2006 I took my first Testosterone Blocker. Followed shortly after by my first Oestrogen pill.

In the 4 years since I have not once had a suicidal thought.

and whilst life is not perfect (whose is?) – Post Transition I can honestly say …

‘My life has both meaning and purpose … and … I’m Happy’

Waiting for …

2010-02-20T20:22:00.001Z

… The Other Shoe to Drop

Well … I’m out

Publicly, unambiguously and happily ‘OUT’

The last place (work) where I was known as [boy name] now knows that my name is actually Julie.

Not just the HR Dept, but everyone that I work with [and more that I don't].

Ye Gods … I was so scared.

I’ve known that this day (Friday 19th Feb) was coming in general terms for most of my life, and in specific terms since Aug of last year when I had my initial … um … chat with the HR Dept.

And for about 6 months I’ve gotten more and more uptight. So much so that for the last 2 weeks I’ve been unable to sleep properly. Too busy running (horrendous) scenarios through my brain.

What happened?

/sniff/ … Nothing, nada, zilch, zero

Word got out on Thursday, (I was happy about that), and on Friday I went to work.

And nothing happened.

What the hell was I scared of ?

(Not hiding anything anymore feels good … real good)

But (and there has to be a but because I’m just that kind of person… Yes my glass is half empty) I am waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’ll see how that goes over the next few days.

There's a lot to be said for not carrying big secrets around everyday …

I recommend it.

Random thoughts …

2010-02-07T18:33:00.001Z

So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself—nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance

Franklin D Roosevelt – inaugural address 1933

Franklin maybe knew a thing or two

Picture of the Week

2010-01-16T19:32:00.001Z

That feels rather good …

Picture of the Week

2009-12-29T17:46:00.001Z

Do you think I pass ?

Picture & punch line shamelessly stolen from Susan via MHB

Picture of the Week

2009-12-13T02:15:00.001Z

I love the G’n’R Original

But this is (in its own way) its equal (IMHO of course)

Enjoy (I do … again and again and again)

Pity Party Avoided … Phew!

2009-12-13T01:06:00.001Z

I’d been waiting for the appointment since early May. Well,actually, I’d asked for the referral in February, I got a letter in May saying ‘we’ll send you an appointment soon’. The ‘Actual Appointment Letter’ arrived in November. And the appointment was in December.

No wonder people with money go Private…

Anywhooo

I presented myself at the appointed time in the appointed place, with crossed fingers and toes, and hoped for the best.

Whilst uttering the silent but sincere mantra/prayer

‘Please don't make me go to Psychotherapy … anything but that …Please don't make me go to Psychotherapy … anything but that …Please don't make me go to Psychotherapy … anything but that …’

etc

See, Psychotherapy and me are old acquaintances, I first tried it in Aug – Dec 2001 (I can be that precise about the date cos of 9/11 ) and then again (because I ‘Crashed and Burned’ the first time) in 2003. (And surprise surprise … I ‘Crashed and Burned’ again …)

/sniff/

So, lemme get this straight … I come here for a 50 minute hour once a week and talk about me ? … Tell you my innermost thoughts, wants, needs and desires ? The history of my life ? … My Childhood ?… All of it ? … Social … Sexual … Psychological … the whole nine yards ? … just lay it all out there for you to pick over ? …

O.M.F.G. (in whom I do not yada yada)

Taint happenin …

What ? … I should find this experience painful ? … make me cry ? … I’m sorry but are you taking the piss ?

And the tragedy of this is … 'That I know people who would LOVE to do this

A Pity –Party ? … for me ? … How fabulous … Can I bring a friend or two to listen in and offer me their lifelong sympathy ? Oh what Fun …

S’cuse me whilst I vomit.

So, you may well ask yourself, ‘What on earth was I doing making appointments to involve myself in the ‘Mental Health Services Wing’ (sounds vaguely like a terrorist group when I describe it like that …) of the ‘Good Old NHS™’ ?

Weeeellllll …

I really want to go to a ‘Gender Clinic’. The first step in normalizing my relationship with the NHS since popping my first Hormone Pill some 4 years ago. Needless to say, said Hormone Pill(s) were (and are) acquired … ahem …privately (/sniff/ Thank-You Tim Berners-Lee, I am forever in your debt).

Time to, as they say, ‘Come in out of the Rain’.

And do stuff properly … and safely … with monitoring … and shit like that.

So … to the GIC (GENDER IDENTITY CLINIC) I must go …

But first, I have to see the psychotherapist … who might /shudder/ insist that I must undertake a course/lifetime of psychotherapy …

Or she could just say ‘Yeah, a GIC is a good idea for you … I’ll recommend it’.

Guess which course she took?

CLUE : I’m in a fabulous mood and have been for a week

Yeah … No Psycho for me and to the GIC I shall go

‘ ♪ Heigh Ho … Heigh Ho … To the GIC I Go … ♪ ‘

I’m sorry, but I really am in a disgustingly good mood …

Just two little clouds peeking over the horizon

1. I might still have to see a Psychiatrist (Depends if (s)he accepts the therapists judgement or not.

2. (And this is a doozie … this will make you laugh till you cry)

The waiting list for the GIC is 2-3 Y … E … A … R … S …

Ho Hum.

Still … Patience is a virtue …

I’m told …

The Postman didn’t even ring once …

2009-12-06T21:09:00.001Z

Wednesday – 2 pm (I work night shift and get up at 2)

I knew it would be there … waiting for me.

And it was. A big white envelope with the proud legend … ‘DO NOT BEND’ clearly visible, laying on the mat.

Quite why the postman felt it necessary (Bold legend notwithstanding) to fold the envelope neatly in two before posting it through a letterbox that was quite clearly large enough, is a mystery I fear I may never solve.

In fairness, in a past life I was a post~~man~~ …uh … post person myself. And I frequently engaged in the game of ‘How many times can I fold this envelope in two before it gets too small’. Indeed, inflicting such treatment on any envelope bearing the legend ‘DO NOT BEND’ attracted double points and the envious stares of ones peers, a little like using the letters Z and K in a 7 letter word during a scrabble game. [ MUZJIKS if you ever need it – score79 … no I have no idea what it means either ]. But my postal career was remarkably short … for some reason …

Having retrieved the envelope from the doormat and tried – and failed - to remove the heavy folded crease that ran from top to bottom I resolved (with somewhat amazing self control, I thought) to leave opening it until after I had made , and eaten breakfast

After despatching my usual two slices of toast ( liberally spread with a concoction that the Advertising Industry assures me ‘I cant believe it’s not butter’ , but between you and me, well, I for one can quite easily believe it isn't, since it tastes rather as I would expect recycled tractor gear box oil to taste.

I digress …

Having washed every last trace of ~~Tractor Oil~~ … uh … ‘I can’t believe’ etc from my hands I set about opening the days post.

And there it was …

My Deed of Change of Name.

The piece of paper covered in legalese which never failed to use 3 obscure words where one common word would have done.

But no matter, since the meaning of those words was clear…

The gist …

I hereby renounce my usage of [BoyFirstName] , [BoySecondName] Curtis and require all and sundry to instead use JULIE [GirlSecondName**] Curtis in its place.

** No I am not telling you that

All I need to do is sign it, have it witnessed and we’re done.

Well maybe not done, since I will then have to start sending letters to various official bodies [Inland Revenue, Social Security, Local Authority etc etc] and almost certainly indulging in a long drawn out Knock-Down-Drag-Out fight with my bank.

Bastards®

See, I already have a ‘Deed of Change of Name’.

I bought it about 7 years ago. Over the Internet (Actually, that's perfectly legal see UKDPS ) for less than £40 quid all in.

But my Bank -Bastards®- said ‘Oh No! that just will not do’

‘We need you to get another –almost identical – document drawn up by a local Solicitor at more that twice the cost (£86) before we can help you’.

Bastards®

And what's the betting they will find fault with the new one ?

What a set of ‘Bankers’

/sniff/

On the upside … ~~last week in January~~ (EDIT : on the 16th January – Cos dammit, I just cant think of a good reason to wait any longer) – scribble scribble – and the name change thing at least will be in progress [at last …]

I’m counting the days …

Didn't wanna go there anyway … so there… nyah

2009-12-06T14:16:00.003Z

Do these people have any idea how idiotic they sound ?

Gays 'will never go to heaven': Cardinal

(AFP) – 3 days ago

VATICAN CITY — Homosexuals and transsexuals "will never enter the kingdom of heaven", a leading Roman Catholic cardinal said on Wednesday.

/more at link/

As dumb as a bag of spanners …

Picture of the Week

2009-12-05T22:29:00.001Z

Every now and then a YouTube video pops up everywhere in the manner of an MS Windows Virus …

This one deserves to be next

Enjoy…

Pass it on …

(Thanx to HB & Sandy)

1964

2009-11-28T23:16:00.008Z

It was gonna be a gorgeous day.

I could tell even at 10am. It was already starting to feel warm, the morning dew had gone and the sky was a beautiful shade of blue. It was gonna be a gorgeous day …

Except today was Saturday
and we don't like Saturdays.

The wicked witch had a new system. Whenever any of us did something wrong, said something out of turn, forgot a chore or didn't do a particular chore to the required standard we got a ‘Black Mark’™.

And Black Marks were entered onto a chart and totalled up on Saturday mornings.

The ‘we’ in this story is/were myself, my elder sister Bernadette, and elder brother Peter.

Peter was my hero. Ok, I was only 6 in 1964 but he must have been almost 12. Which seemed almost grown up to me. But it wasn't just the age difference that made him special.

From sometime in 1958 (I’m not sure when since I was less than a year old at the time) until sometime in 1962 we, all three of us, lived in a children's home. For myself the experience was, if not easy, then at least less (emotionally) painful than it proved to be for both my elder siblings.

Having your mother abandon you is pretty hard to take. having her do that when you are 6 and have two younger siblings to care for and protect must have been almost unbearably difficult for Peter.

But bear it he did, and care for, and when necessary protect, both myself and my sister, he did. In the children's home Peter became my hero.

(I haven't seen or spoken to Peter – his choice – since 1972. I regret that a lot)

… Back to a sunny Saturday morning in 1964 …

The Black Marks had been counted.
And Peter had won the ‘Prize’.
It was his ‘turn’.

[thru that Summer of 64 we had all – at one time or another – won the ‘Prize’, we all had our turn … but I vividly remember this particular occasion]

We played in the garden on a beautiful summers day with not a cloud in the bluest of blue skies. But a mental black cloud hung low over all three of us. If past occasions were any judge, the call would come at 10.30 am.

And so it did.

Peter looked scared … which was not something I ever imagined he could be. But, he was … scared. I remember he gave me a ‘It’ll be OK’ wink as he passed. But he was scared …

So was I …

It always happened in the kitchen. No idea why, it just always did.
As he went through the back door – which led directly into the kitchen – I turned away. I turned away and walked further up the garden. I probably wouldn't have been able to see into the house since I was out in the sunshine and looking through the kitchen windows it was too dark to see anything with clarity.

But I wanted to be certain that I wouldn't see anything … so I turned away.

And I walked away.

The wicked witch had a stick. A special cane. She kept it in the Kitchen, by the back door. It was the perfect length, she could give it a good swing without it hitting the ceiling. She liked to use it.

She’d forgotten to close one of the windows …

My Brother screamed. He didn’t cry out in pain, nor did he whimper … he actually screamed.

and again

I started to run to the end of the garden. I could turn away so as not to see, but I could still hear ...

he screamed again

I had put my hands over my ears. I knelt at the end of the garden and just tried to push myself into the ground.

and he screamed again.

and again.

And I could still hear it.

So I cried … and asked God to make her stop.

and he screamed again …

And then she did stop (whether because God intervened or her arm got tired I leave to others to judge)

And Peter was despatched (as was usual for the ‘winner’ every week) to bed for the rest of the day. Where he would receive no food that day, and all were obliged – under fear of punishment – not to speak to him.

The Black Mark Chart was replaced and we began again.

Such were Saturdays in 1964 …

It is unlikely that Peter would ever chance upon and read this blog but if ever he did I would say …

I’m sorry

I am sorry that I didn't have the courage to try and protect you when you needed it …

I’m sorry that I never tried to take that stick from her …

I’m sorry for all the occasions when I let you take the blame for my misdemeanours because you didn't want me to be that weeks winner … even if that meant that you would be …

And 45 years later Peter, I want you to know that you are still and always will be …

My Hero

Picture of the Week (Not…)

2009-11-28T20:24:00.004Z

I love a wedding

Don’t they make a Lovely Pair

/sniff/

ok. I’m sorry … no really I’m sorry … bad bad julie ...

chrissakes woman … put something on before you catch pneumonia …

(thats just fcukin ridiculous ...)

Picture of the Week

2009-11-23T01:01:00.001Z

Mr Chaz Bono

I luv it when a plan comes together …

‘Nuff said

Yippee ! – OR – Picture of the Week

2009-11-16T01:47:00.003Z

Fabulous News ...

Scientists (honest to god 'real' scientists with white coats and horn-rimmed spectacles and shit like that) have said that the current 'Recommended' guidelines for daily calorie intake (2000 for women, 2500 for men) are too low

Apparently (and I ain't making this up) they could be 16% higher (say 2350 for women)

well gosh an all that equates to about 3/4 of a cheeseburger

/sniff/

that would be a MacDonald's Cheeseburger ... wouldn’t it ? … please

mmmmmmm

Closing my eyes and thinking of England

2009-10-12T18:42:00.001+01:00

OR … Its a rip-off guv …

So, first a confession, ‘I’m a wimp’ … there I said it.
I am a wimp when it comes to pain. I’ll do whatever I can to avoid it.

Which makes a slavish devotion to ‘Beard Removal’ via electrolysis over the past 20 months seem like the act of a (wimpish) Masochist.

However, Masochist I ain’t … (‘Onest injun), desperate to be rid of facial hair I am.

[Having just read that bit back I am wondering how many hits this blog is gonna get in the next 6 months from fans and followers of the Marquis … I dread to think … hope they aren’t gonna be too disappointed]

Anyways, Beard Removal, damn painful thing to do. But, I can just about bear it on approx 95% of my face. Tis the other 5% that's giving me a problem, or to be more specific, My Upper Lip…

Jesus H Christ

That ‘urts … lots

So, got out the Yellow pages and looked for a Dentist who might be persuaded to give me a ‘Jab’ and numb my upper lip.

Good News

Found one!

Bad News

49 quid a go… £49 … just for the jab …

add in the cost of an hours electro and I’m in for approx £85 for the hour (90 Euro or 135USD)

/Sniff/

So, eyes closed and thinking of England …

Picture of the Week

2009-10-03T23:59:00.003+01:00

A map showing every McDonalds Restaurant in the US …. MMMmmmmmmmm

Somewhat scarily, it seems that the longest distance between 2 Mickey-Dee’s is just 145 miles

So the furthest you would ever drive for a Big Mac is just over 72 miles – and in the big cities its likely to be not much more than 72 yards…

Please insert your own jokes about Americans, burgers and driving below …

‘What do you think I voted for on Omaha Beach?’

2009-10-03T23:41:00.001+01:00

Says it all really …

(shamelessly lifted from en|gender)

A Tip for Life … (no 71 of an endless series…)

2009-10-03T18:22:00.002+01:00

When you oversleep by nearly 3 hours and you have an appointment in town in less than 2 hours time …

Don't, Just don't think you can save time by eating your ‘Breakfast Toast’ in the shower

You wont save any time, the plughole gets bunged up and you will be hungry for the rest of the day

Picture of the Week

2009-09-28T16:44:00.001+01:00

Ouchh … Dat urrrt my fugging doze

Awwwwww … nice puppy….

On being a manipulative cow …

2009-09-20T15:18:00.001+01:00

I hadn’t seen Charley-Bee (my daughter) for about 5 weeks …

Text From Me to Charley

HELP … I’ve forgotten what my daughter looks like

Can you help me out please ?

Text from daughter to me

/Sigh/ I’ll come see you on Thursday ;-)

And dear reader … she did !

Manipulative Cow ? … Moi ? … well maybe just a little bit

Picture of the Week

2009-09-13T22:18:00.003+01:00

ooooohhhhhhhh I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want I want

Picture of the Week

2009-08-30T14:45:00.001+01:00

Green & Blacks Organic Chocolate Ice Cream (which I bought for the first time ever this week-end)

Try it … Its fabulous

That Was The Week That Was …

2009-08-30T00:23:00.003+01:00

Well that was … annoying

As previously posted, I spoke – on wed 12 the Aug, The Timeline is …uh ~~important~~ amusing – to the ‘Human Resources Dept’ at work regarding some changes that are happening in the near future. Claire from HR took it all on board whilst retaining a very professional attitude and was careful and considerate about what she asked.

So far so good…

Comes to Monday 17th Aug and my Shift Manager catches me briefly on the way into work and tells me that we
‘Need to have a Word’

My response is along the lines of' ‘Oh … Ok … Ummm, what did I do wrong ?’
( Insecurity in an adult is just soooo unattractive doncha think?)

Well, turns out I did nothing wrong, and Neil (Shift manager) just wanted to inform me that he would support me 110% and was keen to impress upon me that should anything untoward happen (i.e. workplace bullying etc) then it would be dealt with properly.

So far so good …

So I ask him how he got to know and it seems that HR felt it appropriate to share my personal information with every manager in the factory.
At this point I’m thinking … OK … but also wondering about how telling that many people and expecting my confidentiality to be respected was a huge ‘Act of Faith’ on the part of the HR dept. But I shooed that (ungenerous) thought away with the observation that I was being unkind to people who were expected to behave in a professional manner and would surely keep my ‘Personal Information’ quiet until such time as I had chosen to make it public.

So far so good…

Tues 18th Aug (or more properly 4am Wed 19th Aug – I work the night shift) A co-worker says – in the best James Bond tradition – that she has something to talk to me about and will do so on the way home. (I and this co-worker live within a 100 yards of each other and sometimes walk home together).

A little alarm bell starts to ring … but I ignore it for an hour or so … But it just rings louder …

So, I ask co-worker what it is.

Seems that my private life is now ‘Canteen Gossip’ and once she muttered the ‘Magic Phrase’ of ‘Sex Change’ my (annoyingly loud) Alarm bell turned into an Orchestra of Sirens …

Dammit

So, from private life to soap opera in less than 7 days (Is this a record? … probably not)

Dammit

Not that I particularly care about the information becoming public, it was gonna be public knowledge soon enough. I was (and am) bothered by the –what I would term – appalling breach of confidentiality. I was also bothered by how it became public.

The person gossiping about my private life in the canteen is also girlfriend to one of the Shift Managers

Dammit

I really shouldn’t care about this shit … but its just so annoying.

(How could I ever approach a manager at this company in the future about any kind of personal issue ? Clearly I can’t , well not if I wanted it to remain personal)

Dammit

Picture of the Week

2009-08-23T18:49:00.001+01:00

If you’re an Aussie … Rasssppppppppppp

(which is somewhat ungenerous of me, but, if the series had been reversed … well, what would you have said?)

If you hail from the U.S. … ummm … sorry, but I’m not going to even try and explain.

/Mooches off whistling ‘Oh Happy Day’/

P.S. If you’re an Aussie … Thanks for a fabulous Ashes Series … It was fun.

Well, I thought that went (surprisingly) well …

2009-08-12T17:44:00.001+01:00

Today, I made a step forward that I have both looked forward to, and also greatly feared … on occasion feeling both emotions at the same time (which is a weird mix).

I went in to work this afternoon for an initial consultation with the ‘Human Resources Dept’ about Mar 1st. And if I were to tell you that I have been a little … uh … twitchy about the prospect of ‘Outing’ myself to someone who has the power to have me sacked … well I’m sure you will understand that the prospect of this afternoons meeting has been weighing a little heavy.

On the whole? … T’was something of a non-event.

[that rushing sound you can hear is just me breathing out … ]

Claire (for that was her name) struck me as being very ‘professional’ in attitude, and asked a couple of relevant questions and (more importantly from my viewpoint) absolutely no irrelevant or unnecessarily intrusive questions. But, she did state that she herself has little experience of dealing with Gender Transition in the workplace and that as far as she was aware, I would be the first transitioner at the site where I am employed.

My response was along the lines that this was a learning curve that we would have to travel together …

(and I’m not too sure how I feel about that … but, lets try it and see…)

So, another small milestone passes … and still the sky resolutely refuses to fall in.

Transition #3

2009-08-09T20:57:00.002+01:00

Way back in February of this year I had the need to ‘Out myself’ to someone I work with. ‘D’ has been an absolute star ever since. I am grateful for her acceptance … which she seems to have offered ‘unconditionally’ (and though I might like to think that were the situation reversed, I would be able to offer the same in return) I am … grateful all the same.

Which made the events of Friday Guilt-Inducingly painful for me.

It seems that one of the ‘Team Leaders’ on the day shift felt compelled to ask ‘D’ (who is the team leader on the night shift) whether it was true that “‘Boy name’ is having a sex change”?

Now, I have actually ‘Mentally Gamed’ out the scenario where I am asked that question, and have decided that should someone on the night shift actually have the Chutzpah to ask that question directly then I will not lie.

But, it never occurred to me that the question would be aimed at someone else …

More, it never occurred to me that the ‘Someone Else’ might feel obliged to … ahem ‘Fib’ on my behalf …

But she was, and she did … and now I feel awful for having put her in that position (Yes, I did tell her after that, if it happens again, she should direct the questioner to talk to me personally. But that was after … before the event it never occurred to me that it might happen).

So Now I feel guilty for having put someone (who has offered me positive acceptance) into the position where she felt the need to lie for me.

Oh what a tangled web I (sic) weave …

Picture of the Week

2009-08-09T14:46:00.001+01:00

It was 40 years ago today … (well yesterday actually)

(not that I remember the Beatles … no no … not me … far too young … /sniff/)

Oh Drat !

2009-08-08T21:28:00.007+01:00

Electro Jo is moving on …

Bugger, Bugger, Bugger, Sh*t, Sh*t, F*ck ….

as a lady of my acquaintance would exclaim.

/sniff/ Wot am I gonna do now ? /sniff/

Ok, so I am being a little melodramatic … but only a little, cos, and its a little surprising to realise it … ‘I’m gonna miss her’

Not in any romantic sense you understand but simply because …. she is damn good at her job. Not only can Electro Jo wield the needle more gently and (in some cases) more effectively than others … but she can do so with a smile and a sense of humour that makes me (genuinely) ‘Laugh Out Loud’ .

So, now I need to come up with an idea for a suitable Gift … something that says ‘Thanks’ for all her hard work and also says ‘Good Luck’ at college (since that is her next stop).

Decisions decisions…. what to buy the woman who has everything …. I have no idea …

(Hint : Jo, this is where you make a comment and offer me a clue …
Chocolate, diamonds or something else... any of those except the diamonds ... 'k? )

Picture of the Week

2009-07-19T21:20:00.003+01:00

A brave man who lived a long and successful life … but who was always ‘Haunted’ by that which he had witnessed

Henry Allingham who died peacefully July 18th 2009

Optical illusions …

2009-07-05T21:38:00.002+01:00

No, not a politician who speaks the truth … but something almost as good …

If you let your eyes just follow the moving dot then all the dots are purple

If you look at the black cross the moving dot will turn green

Now stare at the black cross in the middle – and the purple dots will disappear to be replaced by a single green dot

Try it …

I love stuff like this

Because I am feeling reflective …

2009-07-05T21:09:00.001+01:00

(about which will no doubt form a post for another day … )

sometimes a piece of music is just a perfect fit for my mood … today was one of those days.

Enjoy …

Picture of the Week

2009-07-05T20:35:00.001+01:00

Photographed at London Pride

the 2 ladies in union Jacks – unknown
Man in blue on the right – Michael Cashman - former actor (Eastenders) - and now Member of the European Parliament
Man in blue on the left – Paul Cottingham … Michaels Partner

Oh … and the lady in black in the middle?

Sarah Brown … wife of Prime Minister Gordon Brown
/sniff/ shame Gordy himself couldn’t make it but still … we’ve** come a fair old way in 40 years donchathink? /sniff/

and an honourable mention to Peter Tatchell for … uh … well just being Peter Tatchell I s’pose

** the term ‘we’ is used in the ‘Royal sense in so far as ‘we’ have indeed come a long way but that progress has got
precisely and exactly ‘Bugger all’ to do with me.

Picture of the Week

2009-06-28T18:48:00.003+01:00

Glastonbury 2009

As I say every year … I wish I wish I wish … I had been there

MJ

2009-06-28T18:35:00.007+01:00

Choosing my words with care …

As a musician … I think we will all miss him (I wasn’t a fan but truly believe that ‘Thriller’ as a catalyst for change in music was as bigger step in the 80’s as ‘Sgt Pepper’ was in the 60’s)

As an example of what a large Ego combined with waaay too much money and seasoned with both an abusive childhood and an adulthood of indulgence of every whim … well … a salutary tale is as generous as I can be …

For the other stuff … I have an opinion yes but lets not speak ill of the dead.

Although I wasn’t a fan there are 2 MJ records that I love.

and

Predictable I know … but as I said … I’m not a fan.

Gosh! I could gaze at my ‘Navel’ all day … (and sometimes do…)

2009-06-28T18:04:00.004+01:00

There’s a time and a place for Introspection, and a time and a place for getting drunk. For reasons that defeat me, I frequently confuse them with each other.

Not that there is anything wrong with introspection you understand – nor anything ‘right’ about getting drunk – but that, rather like ‘Self-Pity’, Navel-Gazing of the sort that I tend to engage in can become both ‘Comforting’ and ‘Self Destructive’ at the same time, and is thus something to be strictly ‘Rationed’.

‘Comforting’ when examination of my motivations leads to positive outcomes and –perhaps – positive planning for the future. ‘Destructive’ when self examination brings negative thoughts and feelings. The worst possible outcome – which previously has happened to me far too often – is when ‘Comfort’ is derived from feeling ‘Bad’ about who I am…

Why do we do that ? ( Or … Maybe you don’t … perhaps its just me and I really am a ‘Whackjob’) Having spent more years than I care to think about self describing in the most awful and offensive manner, and worse, believing it, I really should know better.

But … there is (for reasons that I cannot begin to understand) warmth, security and comfort to be found in self disgust and negativity.

However, I am getting to be much more able to spot the signs of self-loathing setting in.

So, the events of the last few weeks have rather taken me by surprise.

[Rewinding life to about 4 weeks ago]

I had an idea that I thought would move life forward in a positive way and help me towards ‘transition’. Part of which involved (and this makes me squirm to admit it – so you might want to move directly to the next paragraph…) asking Electro Jo to help me come up with a ‘Cosmetic Look’ that I could use every day. Nothing fancy, nothing exotic and most definitely nothing that involved the use of 17 different colours … Just something simple. Something ordinary and everyday. Which – Bless her – she did…

Jesus H Christ on a Polo Pony…

I looked like a nightmare, the very worst and most unsuccessful example of a ‘Cross-Dresser’ (hereinafter and forevermore referred to as a ‘Weekend Princess) the world has ever known. I mean … dreadful

Which – and I confess this with a tinge of shame – made me feel terrible.

Gosh … How shallow am I ?

Well, I can illustrate to you precisely and exactly how shallow I really am by telling you that these events kicked off a month long ‘Funk’ that began with feeling ‘Pissed’ because there is simply no possibility of my ever being able to transition quietly and then fade away into the woodwork never to be noticed again (which, frankly, I would dearly love to happen). The downward spiral from there lead to a spell of what could be described as ‘Past Life Regression’ . Its like I was 19 all over again.

Seriously … not pretty stuff … calling myself the most appalling names, using vile language to do so … accompanied by feelings of worthlessness. A belief that I have no right to inhabit the space on this planet that I do. An absolute certainty that my future was/is over before its even begun, that life from here on would consist of mockery, that friends and family would disown me …yada yada yada …

And the worst of it ? …

There was real comfort to be had in feeling this way …

/sniff/ Whackjob just does not do me justice as a descriptive term /sniff/

and its taken a month … a whole month to get my head out of my backside … and quit stressing about it.

I don’t know which causes me the deepest sense of shame … being so shallow … or taking so long to recognise what was happening and doing something about it.

On a positive note, I have discovered that my favourite drinks are either ‘Sweet Martini and Self-Pity’ or a ‘Bacardi and Self-Loathing’

mmmmm ... Bartender ... set 'em up

Memories of Youth

2009-06-25T18:14:00.001+01:00

Died today at just 62

The hardest thing …

2009-06-21T23:04:00.002+01:00

It is impossibly hard to see your own child in emotional pain following the break-up (at his instigation) of a 3 year relationship.

Yes, we’ve all been there, done that, and logically I know that in terms of my sons life, this is but a minor bump in the road … but still, we all (adults that is) know how that feels … the anger, the loss, sometimes the jealousy, the lost hopes …

I really would give anything for my child not to feel the way he does right now.

But, there is nothing I can do. And in the scheme of things, that’s the way it should be. He will work it through and come out the other side a better and stronger person for the future…

But … I could cry knowing how he’s feeling right now.

Bette Davis Eyes (AKA Picture of the Week)

2009-06-21T10:22:00.003+01:00

Isn’t this fabulous?

Idly Musing …

2009-06-20T22:07:00.003+01:00

March 1st 2010 has a nice ring to it doncha think?

Yeah … I think March 1st 2010 will be a good day for me …

Reasons to be Cheerful … Pt 71 of a continuing series

2009-06-20T21:59:00.001+01:00

(and with apologies to [the late and much missed] Ian Drury )

My Son ‘J’ who has grown up to be a responsible and hard working young man.

My Daughter ‘C’ who at the age of 17 has begun to speak to me again – rather than grunting in the way that teenagers do…

I have a job … not much of a job admittedly … but I have a job.

I’m healthy.

I live in a ‘Democratic’ country with the freedom to do (pretty much) as I please and to protest about whatever I choose.

I may be broke but I get to eat every day.

I have friends who care …

Sometimes I need to be reminded of these few simple things (and truth be told this list could go on and on).

Meanwhile … back in the real world …

2009-06-07T17:55:00.003+01:00

6th June is a special day '… worthy of being marked … worthy of being remembered …

So how come when these days come around the newspapers always have pictures of these guys …

or others like ‘em … Wilson, Major, Thatcher, Bush, Clinton, Sarkozy etc etc

when the day really belongs to these guys …

and these …

And while I’m in this sour mood …

Where exactly does Charlie-boy get off turning up at a commemoration of this kind with a chest full of medals given to him by Mummy (for Bravery whilst receiving Posies from 6 year olds perhaps).

The day belonged to the guys who were there …

and the Politicos and their Royal Chums should do us all a favour and Fuck off …

(How does a 19 yr old kid manage to jump off a landing craft whilst knowing that – at most – they have about 30 seconds to live,
How did they do that? Me? I would have been hiding at the back somewhere hanging on with an iron grip and refusing to let go whilst gibbering out prayers to a God that I don’t believe in …)

Yes … I am in a bad temper today … why ? does it show ?

Picture of the Week

2009-06-07T15:17:00.002+01:00

Been there … many many times

and an honourable mention goes to

really ... you couldn't make it up ...

Square Pegs … Round Holes

2009-05-31T22:04:00.002+01:00

For some reason this amused me … greatly

I recently got a letter from a local Health Clinic

The letter was addressed to ‘Ms Curtis’ (for which I am insanely grateful – I’ll take validation wherever I find thank-you).

The Envelope was addressed to ‘Miss "BoyFirstName" Curtis’

Which made me laugh … lots

[I do take a certain pleasure in causing bureaucracy a frustrating headache in its continual attempts to pigeon hole me]

Picture of the Week

2009-05-31T19:34:00.003+01:00

Always do … Dunno what I'll do if I ever find one tho ...

Its a Small World

2009-05-31T19:32:00.004+01:00

I met an old friend a while ago.

‘J’ used to work with me about 100,000 years ago behind the counter of a small ‘Fast Food Restaurant’. But in 1997 I left that job to take up the best and most rewarding job I have ever held … namely becoming a ‘Stay at home Parent’ with full time custody of my son.

‘Fabulous Job’ yeah the hours are long and the pay is rubbish … but the ‘best.job.ever’.

In the meantime J had fought a major battle with Cancer (and she assures me that she’s won it too … yay for J) and I had seen her around in the area where we both live.

A couple of weeks ago I just happened to be passing her house on my way to somewhere else, and there she was … walking her dog. I had no plans to look her up that day, but didn’t want to pass without saying ‘Hi’.

So, after we’d spoken for a while I broached the subject of my own life-changes … She didn’t miss a beat … just dropped (what in retrospect were) heavy hints that she was familiar with the subject of the ‘trans’.

I missed it (probably cos I can be so unbelievably self-absorbed … hard to believe I know but there it is…) .

Next day there is an entry in my blog stats that is intriguing … Local-ish IP … hmmmm … wonder who that is?

Shortly after I get a nice chatty email from someone I don’t know called ‘Joanne’ who says that they have been reading my ‘Blog’ and then tells me of the local ‘Trans Scene’ in York and suggesting that I might like to join in.

Hmmmm again …

Then from a second (unknown) person comes the information that ties this all together.

Turns out that ‘Joanne’ is J’s Daughter. Only when ‘J’ and I worked together all those years ago (neat how these rambling stories all fit together in the end doncha think?) Joanne went by a different name and was known to me as J’s Son.

It really is a small world

Picture of the Week

2009-05-16T22:46:00.001+01:00

How insignificant we are…

Taking a good hard look at this leaves me wondering …

Why worry about the small and silly things that I do … ?

[But where are the elephants and the turtles ?]

Picture of the Week

2009-05-10T10:09:00.003+01:00

Some people have Environmental Concerns about ‘Wind Farms, which may or may not be justified …

But I think Wind Turbines like these are Majestic … Objects of Beauty even…

[Hands up who muttered 'Whackjob' under their breath ... ]

Holding my Breath

2009-05-07T14:22:00.001+01:00

Got a call from an agency this morning…

Can I start work on Monday ?

um… oh I dunno, let me consult my diary /rustle rustle/ … mmm … ok then. see you Monday.

Shhhhhhhhhh …

/Very quietly/ Wooo hooo! /very quietly/

ahem.

(Course, the last time this happened they phoned up and cancelled 8 hrs before, hence much ‘Breath Holding ‘)

Note to Self …

2009-05-04T11:24:00.003+01:00

If you really must write long and self-pitying pieces like ‘Transition #2’ on this blog … can you please do so whilst not under the influence of cheap wine and even cheaper 'Mock' Martini.

It will I’m sure make a lot more sense that way

Thank-You

Picture of the Week

2009-05-03T22:15:00.004+01:00

This week an artist called (I think) Peter Funch, who had the ‘Fabulous idea’ of taking a picture from exactly the same spot over a period of days and then using Photoshop to build collages of similar subjects from each 'snap' who all appear in the final picture

like this …

or this …

or this … (aren’t these Fabulous ?)

and my favourite …

Makes me want to yawn just looking at it ...

Transition #2

2009-05-03T21:44:00.002+01:00

Where, when, how …?

(I’ll leave off what & who [me] and why '[huh?] and just stick with those)

The most interesting of those 3 questions is ‘How’. How to move forward in a structured manner that will get me nearer to my ultimate goal … without setting Landmines that will blow up in my face 2, 3 or more years down the line. The ‘Where’ is simple, as in ‘wherever I happen to be’ … easy. ‘When’ is a little more tricky. ‘When’ has been bugging me for a while.

A couple of weeks ago and in conversation with ‘Electro Jo’ I tried to explain how I was thinking and the only sensible way that came to mind was … I have a little voice in my ear … whispering to me … Since I have no job (currently) to lose, my children are both grown and accepting, and my appearance now makes my intentions clear to all… why stick to my vaguely stated intention of ‘transitioning’ before Oct 31st 2010 … why not NOW? and if not now… then why not soon(er than 31/10/2010).

Little voices in ones ear are disturbing… but I remain (fairly) convinced that all human beings have such little voices. Posing questions, making judgements and in so doing helping to direct a life. So, no need to trouble the Psych guy just yet. Unless you know different of course …

/sniff/

Trouble is, I cant answer the ‘Why not now’ question. Well not satisfactorily.

Best answer that I can come up with is ‘Cos I will never get a job’ if I do it now… Nonsense of course. Finding a job in this climate is hard at the best of times. But It CAN be done … and I’m gonna do it.

Gender presentation be damned … ummm … maybe … I hope …

More interesting to me, is to ponder why I seem to have spent time trying to justify ‘not right now’. Why am I doing that?

Do I actually not want to transition now that it is (almost) upon me?

Am I looking for a climb down … a way out? what?

Well … the simple answer… I really want to move forward, and find a way to transition that will work for me

But (can I tell you a little secret? Promise me you’ll keep it to yourself?) but … but … the truth is…

I’m scared … very very scared.

Scared of the reactions of all those people that I haven’t yet met … scared of the reactions of those people that I know and like.

Simple truth is … I am scared …

But, I want … need to push forward.

So … why NOT now? why not this year(instead of next) ? why not in the next few months? why not now?

How ?

hmmmm …

Well the next logical step is a name change …

Gosh, that is such an easy thing to say on a blog … but it carries such a lot of weight. A name change is – everything. A legal name change says to the whole world ‘This is what’s going on with me’ … a legal name change is the biggest brightest ‘Coming Out Party’ that could possibly be arranged.

A legal name change is something I really want to do for me … never mind the rest of the world.

And I have the document sitting in a drawer in my home right now. It was bought and paid for in 2002 (Hey, I believe in forward planning…)

All I need to do is sign and date, get a witness to sign and its done.

And then the fun begins …

/sniff/

Still scared tho’

Picture of the Week

2009-04-27T08:53:00.004+01:00

Awwwww …. I Wuv you …

/snicker/

E.H.S. #3

2009-04-24T20:12:00.011+01:00

Or … Wholemeal Bread, Tommy Guns & A ‘Penis’

Supper time was my favourite meal at EHS.

Imagine maybe 10 or 12 kids of varying ages all sitting around a Couple of tables that had been pushed together purposely to make a larger and more inclusive space. Add 1 adult with a sharp knife and what seemed (to this 10 yr old) ‘Unlimited’ supplies of uncut Wholemeal Bread.

Add in a platter of 4 different kinds of spread … plain old everyday ‘Butter … even plainer ‘Margarine’ and then the two ‘Exotic’ ones. ‘Soya Nut Spread’ … yeah people think nothing of eating soya spreads nowadays, but back in 1968? … mmmm not so much, and finally a spread we called ‘cashew-nutter’, obviously, made from Cashew Nuts, which was a new and ‘Very’ exotic taste to my palette. The correct name is now and was then, unknown to me. Which is a shame since I would give my right arm (yeah, ok, I exaggerate just a little … but still) to be able to source it now. Medium brown in colour, and packed similarly to a pat of butter.

It was ‘Gorgeous’ stuff … just ‘Gorgeous’

40 years later, and if i close my eyes I can still taste it… mmmmm.

So, one by one we went around the table, every one got their turn, at their turn. No pushing in … no tantrums, no sulks … amazing really.

Each person could choose their own favourite spread, and also the type of slice they wanted. Some ( ahem… guilty as charged) always wanted a very thick slice with the crusts left on. Some would ask for a wafer thin slice without crusts. Others would choose all points in between. And around and around we would go, until everyone had eaten as much as they wanted.

Just another meal ? or perhaps a time and space when we all sat together (although it wasn’t in any way a compulsory meal, and everyone could, and from time to time did, choose to give it a miss) and ate together. A moment at the end of the day when any arguments could be quietly forgotten and new friendships forged.

Perhaps this kind of supper-time experience is an everyday occurrence in your home? … it certainly wasn’t in mine, nor I would wager in most, if not all, of the homes of those who shared those supper-times with me.

Its the simple things done simply that add up to (happy) memories of childhood.

What is it with boys and guns?

Practically every boy (and a number of the girls and … ahem, this, then boy, who wanted to be a girl but didn’t dare tell anyone about it) all had a wooden Tommy Gun.

It must have broken the heart of the Arts and Crafts teacher (Mr Hood If memory serves) … every time we had an opportunity to use a ‘Saw’ or ‘Hammer’ on a piece of wood … it always somehow turned out in the shape of a Tommy-gun.

Why is that?

There was much fun to be had, rolling around in mud making strange noises which we thought were stunningly good impressions of what a real gun might sound like, but which, with the benefit of hindsight, probably sounded more like a woodpecker being bullied by a jackdaw.

Strange how i don’t ever remember being told off for getting dirty.

Because we never were… told off that is …

Talking (as I was … do keep up at the back) about Arts & Crafts … there were occasions when we were encouraged to be creative in a non-war-game manner. How about ‘Pottery’? Surely no-one can make anything warlike with a lump of clay …

Well, Gary promptly made a ‘Hand Grenade’

Heh !

(And a very good likeness of a Hand Grenade it was)

For myself, I was never too keen on the pottery thing, but do remember spending hours one long hot summers afternoon printing my own ‘Book-Backing’

(Hmmm, did you ever ‘Back’ your school books? lots of people used old wall-paper cut-offs. Just wrap it around the outside Card Cover of the book for a purpose that escaped me then and still eludes me to this day … whatever)

This consisted of taking a piece of Balsa-Wood, and using various items to be found in an Art Room make an impression. I remember trying to gently hammer a cup hook into the surface of the wood, and screws of various sizes. Well I tried lots of different things… Screw Driver, The Head of a large nail, a Yale Key etc … you get the idea.

Then, using an ink roller, covering the Balsa wood in a thin layer of blue paint before pressing the block down onto an A2 sheet of paper. Repeat until paper covered in print.

Now, I just know that you are reading this thinking ’Big Deal, we did this at home when I was about 3 yrs old, only we used half a potato’ and you would be absolutely correct, you and most normal people did do those things as a normal everyday part of growing up.’

Thing is, I and most of the Kids at EHS didn’t. And this stuff (even at the age of 10) was a source and cause of great ‘Wonder’ to me.

Anyhow … I digress …

The Pottery. I well remember the day that ‘Celia’ chose to express herself using ‘Clay’

After an hour or two of secretive effort on her part she declared herself ‘Finished’ and showed to the ‘Class’ her Masterpiece.

A pretty neat and fairly accurate representation of a ‘Penis’.

And no-one was shocked… the sky didn’t fall in, no punishment was forthcoming …

Rather ‘Celia’s’ Model was given pride of place on the pottery shelf with all the other Clay models … usual stuff, ashtrays, vases, Hand Grenades, mugs, fruit bowls …

The only reason I recount this story is that (with the benefit of hindsight) this particular model helps to show the attitude of the school and those who ran it.

Children should be free to express themselves, children should be heard, children are important in their own right.

And yes, the pottery model stayed on the shelf even when parents were visiting.

Look at that dumb fuck, Daddy,

2009-04-23T09:53:00.005+01:00

"Look at that dumb fuck, Daddy," said my 3-year-old from his car seat.

"Where?" I asked. There were quite a few around us, he could have been talking about any of them.

"The white one," he continued.

That narrowed it down. There was only one that fit that description.

"That dumb fuck is dirty," he said. "Why is that dumb fuck so dirty?"

It was a good question, a question a child might ask, but not a childish question.

"Some are dirtier than others," I replied. "It comes with the territory."

We were sitting outside Starbucks waiting for my wife. We were passing the time the way men do,talking about our feelings and cursing a little- some of us more than others.

"Do you like dumb fucks, Daddy?" he asked. It had an added air of the rhetorical.

"I don't like being too close to them," I answered. "They are pretty fun to watch, though."

My wife returned with our coffee and took a seat in the car.

"Mommy, did you see all the dumb fucks?"

I knew that she had.

"Honey," she said with a straight face. "They're called dump trucks."

"Dumb fucks," he repeated.

"Exactly," I told him, and we sipped our coffee as he watched the last one rumble past.

Thanks to Claire For Posting that one
(Jeeze … that made me laugh …)

Electrolysis …

2009-04-19T10:43:00.003+01:00

Electrolysis sometimes hurts

Electrolysis sometimes merely stings

Electrolysis is (very) expensive

Electrolysis takes time

Lots and lots and lots and lots of precious time

Electrolysis is worth the ‘Pain’, the occasional ‘Discomfort’, The ‘Money’, and the ‘Time’

* * * * * * * * * *

I thank (without reservation) any and every {deity of your choice (in whom I do not etc etc)} for Electrolysis

Now …

Please can I find a Job to pay for it ?

Please?

This weeks Favourite Picture

2009-04-17T16:13:00.002+01:00

and an Honourable second place goes to …

for which I can think of no suitable caption …

E.H.S. #2

2009-04-17T11:02:00.006+01:00

Or ‘Green Cups, Night Lights & Babies Bottles’

My favourite colour is green. It has been green since probably the first week I spent at EHS. The reason for this is … weird…

The cups that we used to drink juice or milk from were a kind of plastic. Not a soft (Tupperware) type, but very hard and unbreakable. Drop them on the floor and they would just bounce. Most of the cups were Red, some (a few) were green. This meant that every meal time there was a minor competition to ensure that you got a red cup. (because all kids like red, yes). So, being contrary, I insisted on having a green cup. If offered a red cup, I refused. If it was my turn to have a red cup, I refused. I wanted Green. So now, all these years later, Green is still my colour. I buy green Tops, green T-shirts, sometimes green socks and for no other reason than my contrariness as a child.

I’m weird … officially …

Night Time can be scary for kids (it can be scary for adults too, but we tend not to admit it). So we had Night-lights. Little tiny electric bulbs that must have been no more than 2 watts. They gave off a pink glow that couldn’t possibly keep anyone awake, but were powerful enough to ensure that no demons would be able to sneak up on me in the night.

Its the little things that matter. Night Lights mattered. To my scared 10 year old self.

Every night before bed, we all had a drink of our own choice (Hot Milk, Cold Milk or Fruit Juice). After I had been at the school for about a month I noticed (and yes, it really took a month for me to notice it) that some of the kids had their drink in a babies bottle.

I felt uncomfortable about that. Not in a lets take the ‘Mickey’ sort of way … more that ‘I wanted one too’ and didn’t know why.

Did I want to be babied? … was I seeking to join a group? … was it a way of getting at the ‘Wicked Witch’ (who in truth would have gone ‘Nuclear’ at the very thought) whilst knowing that she would never find out? what?

To this day I am unsure why I wanted to do this, but as a 10 year old I figured out that if

The ‘Wicked Witch’ would never find out
Nobody else cared (and they really didn’t…)
I really wanted to do it

then why not?

So I did.

And for 3 or 4 months it was an important part of my Night-Time ritual. And then … it wasn’t. So I changed back to a cup. And never thought about it again…

Until my own daughter was about 9 yrs old. When (and I am so happy that she felt secure with me as an adult who loved her enough that she could ask) she came to me one day and said ‘she would like her drink in a bottle’ (well actually, she sidled up to the subject and talked around it for a while before I picked up on what she wanted).

So, a bottle was what she got. And it clearly made her contented at bed time.

And after about 6 months, she stopped. Which was her choice also.

Something's really don't matter a damn do they ? And we make so much Fuss…

Recently, I read ‘Oward’s Book** (Loving Us … out of print) and he had this to say about night time drinks in bottles…

** With Thanks to Robert H who found the book and made some PDF’s available to me … Thanks Robert.

It occurs to me …

2009-04-16T13:58:00.006+01:00

That I use the words ‘I’,’Me’ & ‘My’ waaayyyyy too much on this blog. I read other peoples Blogs and they all (with one honorable exception) tend to write about what other people on other Blogs have said, about other people on yet more 'other' Blogs

Reading them is rather like looking at yourself in a mirror in order to see your reflection in a second mirror placed behind you. All you see is the same view endlessly repeated but each from a slightly different angle.

It is decreed that I (sorry) shall no longer spend all of my (sorry) time looking at my (dammit … sorry) self and shall instead spend more of my (sigh … sorry) time writing about others and what they get up to.

Maybe …

E.H.S. #1

2009-04-15T14:10:00.008+01:00

Its a curious feeling to be sent away to Boarding School. Especially when you are only 10 years old.

Even more so when you discover that the ‘School’ in question is for ‘Emotionally Maladjusted Children… And nobody ever explained to you ‘Why’ it was a good idea for ‘You’ to go there.

But, the most curious thing of all (for this child) was the realization that going to ‘Boarding School’ meant not being at ‘Home’ every day with the ‘Wicked Witch’… and that was a good feeling. And that, absence from a situation in which I had no say or power could cause a good feeling was a surprise since the possibility of absence had never occurred to me.

The long drive with Dad from ‘home’ to EHS seemed to take hours, which is strange because Google Maps now says that the distance was just 25.6 miles and would have taken 37 minutes. But maybe it was that mix of childish fear (of the unknown) coupled with excitement (I’m out, I’m not going to be with ‘Her’ for weeks and weeks) that made the journey seem longer.

Or, perhaps, it was because my ‘Dad’ had bought me a packet of sweets. Which was something that he never did. Ever. Except today. A tube of ‘Rowntree's Fruit Pastilles’.

And I remember thinking that I would eat only as many as needed to get to a ‘Black’ one. Cos Black Pastilles were my ‘Dads’ favourites. And then I would save the rest for when I arrived. The first one was Green, mine, and the second was Black which I gave to dad. The rest were saved. No mean feat considering I never got or had sweets, ever.

Or maybe the journey seemed much longer because almost no words were spoken.

Which, in retrospect, was / is curious. I was going away for a whole term, I wouldn't return for 12 weeks.

And nothing was said…

But, this was happening before the days when I finally genuinely ‘Disliked’ my father. At the age of 10 I was still in that wonderful innocent and trusting place where a father was to be ‘Worshipped’. So I did. Worship this man. My Dad. I would have called him ‘Daddy’ if I could, and still remember wishing that it were possible. But it wasn’t allowed. She wouldn’t allow it. Nor, would ‘she’ allow goodnight kisses, hugs, hand-holding, or pretty much any overt displays of affection for my ~~Daddy~~… um ‘dad’. So, I didn’t show any.

(Now you may think ‘What 10 year old would want to do such things?, surely by that age a child would be embarrassed to be seen as affectionate toward a parent. I dunno, Maybe, but all these things and more had been pretty much ‘Banned’ –strange choice of words. I know, but that was the truth of it, Banned – from about the age of 6. And when I was 6 I LOVED my Daddy, Very Much, but was not allowed to show it.)

When we arrived the building we drew up to looked… imposing. Mainly because it was. Very. And more than a little bit scary.

But, I think it took me about a day to understand that far from being scary this was a place of ‘Great Happiness’… and ‘Love’ …and ‘Open Displays of Affection’…

This was a place like no other I had ever encountered (bearing in mind that from the age of 1 till about the age of 5½ I had lived in ‘Children's Homes’). This place was ‘Special’.

The ‘Head-Master’ - I put that in quotes because

I never met a less Head-Masterly-like person in my life
I don't think he thought of himself in that formal sort of way

- was a wonderful man called ‘Howard Case’ or as this 10 year old (and every other kid in the place) knew him, ‘Oward.

No titles, no formality, nothing to get between him (or any other staff members) and the children in their care.

‘Oward was a great admirer of A.S.Neill and his views on Education. And there was much that could be attributed to Summerhill or Neill himself to be found in the ethos of E.H.S.

I never realised it at the time, but not only was I lucky enough to have found an unexpected escape route from a strange and emotionally empty childhood, but, I had somehow, in some unexplainable conjunction of Timing, The Stars and Undeserved Good Fortune, hit the ‘Jackpot’.

I had arrived somewhere that encouraged ‘happiness’, that valued a smile, a joke, where every tear was important and the cause needed to be discovered. Somewhere that children were seen as valuable, whose opinions mattered, whose thoughts and fears were to be taken seriously and where necessary, those fears were to be faced. But no child was ever allowed to face their fears alone. Someone was always there. Help was there even when you didn't, or as in my case and I’m sure many others, couldn't ask for it. But it was there anyway.

Wow! Talk about a fucking culture change.

* * * * *

I couldn’t possibly write an account of my stay at EHS, if only because, I was there for a year (it should have been longer, but the ‘wicked witch’ put paid to that), but there are – even some 40+ years later – moments (I call them ‘Kodak Moments’) that stick in the mind.

To Be Continued …

Hmmmm ... Thinks ...

2009-04-11T22:05:00.001+01:00

I have an account on Friends-Reunited. Ever been there?

Its a site where you can meet up (thru teh Intahnets) with all those spotty oiks you went to school with/bullied/were bullied by/had a furtive fumble with/ fell in love with/whatever.

Jeeze, as if the very thought aint the stuff of nightmares …

However

It is actually a good site. and yes I have become re-acquainted with some people I spent a large portion of ‘The Best Years Of My Life’ with.

So this is where I confess to an unhappy childhood (s’ok, I’ll be brief and will keep the excruciating personal details to myself – so you can breathe out now) which involved a year in a boarding school for emotionally maladjusted children when I was 9-10 yrs old. Later there was a pleasant year spent in a children’s home by the seaside – which was itself preceded by around 10 months in a secure-ish unit for adolescents (or to be blunt a mental hospital).

So, this boarding school, great fun.No, that’s not the right word, great ‘Freedom’ which was gratefully accepted and processed by my 10 year old self as ‘Fun’.

And now via the Friends-Reunited site (see this stuff is all connected – eventually) someone that I spent time at EHS (the school) has been in touch and mentioned that he would like to collect some essays from former … uh … inmates … um … pupils .. yeah lets go with pupils, from former pupils recounting memories and experiences.

Well, I thought, I can do that, easy.

Only, its not.

Oh sure, I remember lots of stuff, some of it is even amusing, but, its a hard time to write about, not because I was unhappy. On the contrary, its hard to focus on that period without becoming emotional about a year(ish) which even now looking back with the benefit of 40 years of life and learning, was undoubtedly the ‘Happiest’ time of my childhood.

So for a couple of weeks now there has been some part of my brain churning away, pulling out memories of a time I had long packed away. And for some reason that has caused me to feel, uh, out of sorts.

So, I decided, bite the bullet, write something and maybe the uneasiness will go.

All this is prelude to my warning you that when you see a long, boring and hugely self-pitying piece or 3 you might be best passing on to your next task for the day.

Self-Pity? I am without doubt, ‘World Champion’.

Unemployment, The Devil & Idle Hands

2009-03-29T15:41:00.007+01:00

What do you do when you have no job and there is (possibly? ... definitely) the worst 'Credit Crunch'*** the world has ever known going on all around you?

Well, yes, pulling the duvet up over your shoulders for another hour or three is one answer.

or...

You could plod off every day to find yourself a job (which really doesn't exist in these times) and become discouraged / depressed.

or ...

you could waste a few hours of your time writing completely useless pieces of software using 'Delphi'.

Guess which course I took... ?

Click here if you are as bored as I am

***Copyright (c) G. Brown

Spring is ...

2009-03-21T12:23:00.003Z

uh... Sprung.

Its a gorgeous day. truly. gorgeous.

As long as you stay in the sunshine, wander off into the shade and its F*&^%$G Freezing.

Posted from the land of the eternal goosebump.

I can't think of a Title ...

2009-03-20T10:17:00.002Z

Interesting Article

2009-03-17T18:31:00.003Z

http://scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com/spectrum/-Body-of-evidence-A.5071047.jp

Every once in a while (say every third blue moon that follows a wet Wednesday while the moon is in Sagittarius) you find a little gem like this article in the media.

No, its not an earth shattering piece, and no it doesn't put forth any new & improved theories.

It does something Much more valuable.

If you have the time, why not take a read ... go on... 5 minutes should do it.

http://scotlandonsunday.scotsman.com/spectrum/-Body-of-evidence-A.5071047.jp

According to the author of this piece a 'Transman' should be referred to as 'He', and a transwoman is called 'She'. I know this because throughout this article, great care has been taken to get gender/names/pronouns correct.

The Trans man is always referred to using 'His' - masculine - name, and the transwoman is addressed by 'Her' - feminine - name.

Big Deal eh?

well, actually, yes, it is a Big Deal ... a very big deal.

The media (usually ... almost always) will never miss a trick when it comes to belittling 'Trans People'. Whether through inappropriate use of pronouns, constant use of the 'Previous' name, or just simple (and unbelievably spiteful) stuff like using images which show Trans people' in the worst possible light.

Why cant more journalists just 'Take this much care' when thay are discussing/dissecting/reporting on a real persons life ?

Really ... why not?

You want to make a friend?

Next time you meet someone 'Trans', use their name. Use the appropriate pronoun.

Or, to put it more simply ...

Give them the same level of (human) respect that you would give to anyone else you meet that (or any other) day.

Go on, you can do it. I have faith in you... make someones day a little more pleasant (at absolutely No Cost to you).

Thank you 'Scotland on Sunday'. You made my day.

For Crying Out Loud ...

2009-03-17T18:20:00.003Z

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2009/mar/17/pope-africa-condoms-aids

How can you challenge such Monumental Stupidity ?

How?

Random Thoughts ...

2009-03-02T20:35:00.003Z

During the whole of last year, I cant really remember receiving one single comment/bad taste joke/gender based joke that truly gave me cause to stop and think.

In the last 5 weeks I seem to have accumulated at least 7 (not that I bothered to count 'em you understand), A couple were funny - 'jeez [Boy name], your a changed man ... uh ... woman ... uh ... I mean' - and were acknowledged as so. Some (to me) weren't - 'Hey [Feminine version of Boy name]' -. One was really awkward to deal with - Team Leader [immediate Boss] takes a good hard look at me and says '[Boy name], is there something going on with you ?' ...

Thing is ... I don't know whats changed, not really. Sure Hormones have worked a little magic, but at my age, a little magic is about all they are gonna do.

Besides which, I worked with all of these people for the whole of last year. What small magic that was worked, happened then ... not now ... I think ...

So, I was pondering how best to deal with this stuff - Yup, I should just 'come out' and say, tell 'em wots happening an all. Thing is, I dont work for IBM or Microsoft or Marks & Spencer or any of those other large (Multi-National) companies that have policies in place, and HR Staff who have been through this stuff before (and if they haven't, they know someone who has) - and it seems that I have no choice but to keep 'stum'.

I am employed by an agency, this means that I have no rights ... yeah hard to believe that isn't it? ... but its true, in Britain in 2009, agency workers have no real rights. We can be laid off at a moments notice, with no guarantees of re-employment.

And then theres the company that the agency employs me to work for. Not a Line, not a single solitary damn line in the Employee 'Code of Conduct' that even recognizes the existence of any flavour of 'Trans'.

So, I smile at some jokes, scowl at others, and worry when my boss makes mysterious comments. I worry a lot.

And that annoys the crap out of me.

Why should I have to worry about any of this stuff? I work in a factory. I do what I'm asked, when I'm asked, and try to do it well. Why should my personal life come into it?

So, I got pro-active

I outed my self to my immediate boss.

Who proved to be an absolute 'Star' about it.

'D' said nothing to no-one, asked some questions of the sort that I could reasonably have expected, and and said that 'No' as far as she knew there was little/no gossip going on and that I had nothing to worry about.

What a relief! clearly my paranoia had gotten the better of me ... again !

Then on Friday I got laid off again ...

Unnhhh ... nearly there ...one more ...gnhuughhh

2009-02-07T23:55:00.006Z

Sorry, I was busy doing sit-ups (um, what did you think I was doing ? ).

Funny thing about deciding to take more exercise, when I start, I really dont want to do it. I have to force myself, and as the weeks pass, it becomes harder and harder to hold up the determination/motivation/whatever.

And then ... something strange happens. It changes from being an effort of will to get on with todays session and becomes something that I look forward to... so much so that if I were to skip a session for some reason, I would miss having done it.

Looking forward to getting to that stage again ... cos I aint there yet ;-)

Next time I make a Non-New-Years-Resolution** would someone please laugh at me ... or shoot me ... or somthing cos that would be easier than the torture I am currently subjecting my aging body to.

Why do we do it ?

No ... not exercise, why do we indulge in an orgy of self-delusion (strangely, usually around the end of December) that we can eat those sticky-chocolatey-sweet-moreish-yummy-things without paying a price in pounds on the scale and inches on the ... I was going to say waist, but I think it would be more true to say inches on the place where my waist was last seen ... about 1973.

Every damn year I do it, Oh! one more 'Snickers' wont hurt ... come on, gotta have some enjoyment in life. Scuse me, would someone pass the 'Chocolate Fudge Cake' oh and goodness me, those 'Eclairs' do look nice dont they? ... Yum F*^$!&G Yum

So,

Up 1...2...3...4...5... down 1

Up 1...2...3...4...5... down 1

Up 1...2...3...4...5... down 1

Keep this up and I shall be back where I started by the end of November ... and we can do it all again (well how else do you think I find motivation if not the promise of sticky-chocolatey-sweet-moreish-yummy-things in the future)

Up 1...2...3...4...5... down 1

**Non-New-Years-Resolution - Resolution deliberately made after New Year has Come and Gone cos I dont do New Years Resolutions (if you see what I mean).

The Superbowl

2009-02-01T19:50:00.005Z

Its Tonight ...

mmmmmm, cant wait ...

/sniff/ ok, enough bull, so, who's playing?

oh, and if you explain the rules to me that would be useful, seriously, Americans are genetically unable to grasp the simple rules (simple?, F'kin childlike really) of a civilised game we call cricket, but devise (invent?) some sort of organised(ish) mayhem involving lots of strapping guys in ... uh ... lots of strapping (whats that all about?) throwing a rugby ball 'FORWARD'.

So, I'm sitting here thinking (as you do) that maybe I should watch the SB, then (to my relief) remember that today is Feb 1st, and I have sworn off TV for the whole month.

Yes campers, Julie has finally gone completely round the bend. NO TV for a WHOLE month, and whats more, I'm doing it voluntarily (sorta).

See, if you're a Brit then you will be well acquainted with the ~~legalised theft~~ License Fee. If you aint a Brit ... congratulations ;-)

So do people in other countries actually have to pay a fee to own a TV set? Not a fee for cable, nor a fee for subscription channels, but a fee which permits you to have a TV set in your house.

No pay Fee ... No possess telly (on pain of a criminal conviction)

We are Nuts for tolerating this stuff.

Well no more for me baby ... uh huh, no way (maybe)

see, if I can get thru the whole of February without a TV set then I plan on giving the damn thing away and getting on with the rest of life as a former TV junkie

And no more License Fee for me (which at £140+ per year is not to be sneezed at) ...

So, here we are, 8.15 pm, thumbs have twiddled more than any self-respecting thumb should have twiddled. Endless coffee's drunk, most of the CD collection has been played, dammit, I even got the vacumn cleaner out (didnt do much with it mind, but the thought - if not the intent - was there) ...

must resist ... must ...

*BING*

Wonder if the Superbowl will be on the BBC's Iplayer...

hmmmmm, Iplayer ... computer ... not TV ... hmmmmmmm

Gawd, I feel like a smoker who claims to have quit, but sneaks out to the shed for a crafty cigarette

Pathetic aint it

On being a ...

2009-02-01T19:37:00.005Z

'Hamster'

1. You get laid off ...

Holy Crap Batman! whaddya gonna do now?

2. You (quickly) become resigned ...

Deal with government bureaucracies, and start searching for the next job

3. You get work ...

Holy Macaroni Batman! this is soooo cool ...

4. You (quickly) become resigned ...

get used to working nights, sleeping days and always feeling ... tired

A little hamster on a wheel, thats me

Interesting moments ...

2009-01-13T14:16:00.004Z

1. The Dole Office

Standing (not quite) in a line waiting for a government Bureaucrat to call my name.

When said (Boy) name is called, taking the necessary 10 steps to arrive at bureaucrats desk whilst simultaneously watching (with increasing levels of humour) as she (for it was a she) looked disbelievingly at my face then back to her form, then back to my face, then back to her form, whilst also doing a (rather good)side impression of a goldfish with her opening and closing mouth.

It was (almost) a shame to have to put her out of her misery ... (but hey, even bureaucrats are people ... kinda ...)

2. The Building Society

I needed to get a form signed for No.1 Daughter to open an account. After waiting for about 2 minutes at an unattended 'Customer Service Desk' (unattended customer service desk = oxymoron, surely ?) I asked an assistant if anyone was available to help ?

'Certainly!' said painfully cheerful (it was before 10am) assistant.

She then shouts from one end of the branch to the other ...

' JENNA ?... CAN YOU COME AND SERVE THIS LADY PLEASE ...?'

Which was a mildly pleasant moment as far as it went ... what made it interesting (or rather for me, humorous) was the thought that appeared (I know not where from) in my head at that moment ...

'Jeez, its probably time I really tried to dress the part'...

which for reasons I don't quite understand, kept me amused for the rest of the day.

Sometimes, I am unbearably immature ...

Oh Happy day ...

2009-01-13T14:04:00.004Z

Oh happy Dayyyaaaayyyyyy ...

Ummm ... sorry

My former employers called today and said that on balance they'd like to become my present and future employer ...

(actually, I made that up. What they actually said was 'Wanna job ? /sniff/' but hey, whatever, needs must and all that.)

So, come Monday I shall be back in the land of the 'Waged'

P.S. Happy New Year ;-)

Happy Humbug ...

2008-12-24T17:26:00.007Z

Disclaimer : I am an atheist ... but

This little ditty has always evoked childhood memories of Xmas

Hope it does the same for you

Oh ... and before I forget

Christmas Day 2008 would have been Quentin Crisps 100th Birthday

I never met him ... but I miss him ... I miss his wit

so on the (smallish) off-chance that I'm wrong and there is an afterlife

Happy Birthday Quentin

xxx

The Pope ...

2008-12-23T13:20:00.007Z

... doesn't like me

apparently

Awww Bless

and its not as tho we've ever met or anything ...

Ho! Ho! Ho! My Ass ...

2008-12-18T10:30:00.020Z

Compile List of Friends Names
GoTo Shop and Buy Box Of Cards (Cheapest)
On way home stop at Post Office
Pay Assistant at P.O. the equivalent of the GDP of a small country in exchange for stamps
Make a Coffee
Look for A Pen
Sip Coffee
Swear at children/partner/Lover/Milkman/Parent/Whoever
Continue Looking for a pen
Retrieve List of names from mouth of dog
Wash remains of half eaten toffee from pen
Sip Coffee
Open Box of Cards
Swear at Dog
Pick up contents of Box from the Floor
Take Insistent Dog for a Walk
On Returning Home Make a Fresh Coffee
Swear at Dog
Try desperately-and Fail-to remove muddy Paw Prints From Formerly Pristine White Card Envelopes
Consult List for First Recipients Name
Remove Top Card from Box
Swear at children/partner/Lover/Milkman/Parent/Whoever
Throw Pen in Bin
Look for (working) Pen
Warm Coffee in the Microwave
Again, Consult List for Name of First Recipient
Write Name in Card
Swear Loudly
Throw Card Away
Throw Pen Away
Look for New Pen that Doesn't Leak
Sip Coffee
Swear Loudly (shit that coffee's hot)
Write Name in Card
Hold Short Debate with Self before Deciding that Purple Ink with a Glitter Finish is Acceptable in Xmas Cards
Place Card in Envelope
Address Envelope (and trying to cover Dogs Paw mark with flowing flowery writing)
Remember that Recipient(s) got (nastily) Divorced 6 months ago
Swear Loudly
Throw card away
Throw Coffee away
Pour a Gin
Make it a large one
Sip Gin
Throw away list of names
Sip Gin
Make new list
Sip Gin
Take top card from box
Sip Gin
Write name in card
Sip Gin
Place card in envelope
Sip Gin
Address Envelope
Sip Gin
Swear at cat
offer cat plate of Kitty Chunks if she will please please get off of Stamps
Swear at cat again
Physically take cat outside
Apply Iodine and Sticking plasters to Scratches
Have a Large Brandy (for medicinal purposes only)
Board up Cat-Flap (Ha! that'll teach 'er)
Have some more 'medicine'
Stick stamp on envelope
Place card in 'To Be Posted Box'
Better have more 'medicine' (for the shock)
Cross name from list
Sip Gin
Take next card from box
Write name in card
Put card in envelope
Address envelope
Stick Stamp on envelope
Sip Gin (to take away taste of stamp & envelope glue)
Place card in 'To Be Posted Box'
Take more 'medicine' (just in case)
sip gin
Cross name from list
Repeat steps 69 to 79 until box empty or no more names
Award self 10,000 house points for paying no attention to who gets which card
Earn 100,000 points Bonus for unwittingly sending Card with picture of Santa in his underpants to Mother in Law
Sip Gin
Take more medicine (better safe than sorry)
Stand up to take cards to PostBox
Fall down
Decide that 'On Balance' you are fine where you are
ask partner/spouse/lover to pass you your gin
Resist Homicidal Urge when partner/spouse/lover asks 'Is this all you do all day? ... lay around getting pissed?
Sleep

No, actually, I don't send Xmas Cards, why do you ask?

Note to Self : Laydeeeze swear much less than I do

P.S. to Note to Self : I really don't give a Fuck

The Employer, The Normal & the Whackjob

2008-12-17T11:53:00.013Z

... it's actually an Opportunity ... (2)

So, I didn't have to wait until Jan 5th

I had the 'Phone Call'...

/sniff/

seems like the 'Normal' Won

dammit

'Its not a Catastrophe ... its actually an Opportunity ...

Breathe in ... Breathe out'

Transition -1

2008-12-16T13:42:00.039Z

tran⋅si⋅tion

–noun

1. movement, passage, or change from one position, state, stage, subject, concept, etc., to another; change: the transition from adolescence to adulthood.

2. Music.
a. a passing from one key to another; modulation.
b. a brief modulation; a modulation used in passing.
c. a sudden, unprepared modulation.

3. a passage from one scene to another by sound effects, music, etc., as in a television program, theatrical production, or the like.

–verb (used without object)
4. to make a transition: He had difficulty transitioning from enlisted man to officer.

Dictionary.com Unabridged (v 1.1)
Based on the Random House Unabridged Dictionary, © Random House, Inc. 2006.

So what does all that mean in the context of 'the future'?

Well, probably safe to say that it does Not mean what most (Straight ? | Normal ?) people seem to automatically think it means. As in Transition has nothing (at least in my life and future) to do with hopping onto the surgeons table. Nothing.

Which is not to say that I intend never to hop onto the table (well, more likely to be a sleepy roll onto the table really, but I digress), just that the subjects of 'Surgery' and 'Transition' are not as closely wedded as many people seem to think.

So, Transition, whats that all about?

For me, 'a moment of absolute truth brought about by a presentational change'.

Or possibly, 'A presentational change brought about by a moment of absolute truth'.

(God, I do talk 'Flowery Bullsh*t' at times ... lets try the previous sentences again).

Changing 'Gender Cues' that others use in order to index me into the 'M' or 'F' box. (There is a whole other post about how we should not index and catergorise people in this way, and no doubt on the next rainy day when I cannot think of a Blog subject, you will be subjected to a long and tedious tirade on how such behavior is wrong. In the meantime, thank your lucky stars that the weather today is fine.)

Gender cues can be simple things, Name (usually but not always - Nick to Julie is a new Gender Cue, but Francis to Frances ... not so much), Style of Clothes, (but in the 70's much much less so - bring back the seventies say I!) The Job one chooses to do (but also much less clear cut than it used to be ... Francis was a Fireman whilst Frances was a Nurse, nowadays, either can and does do either job, but there still exist areas of work that are seen to be male or female)

Gosh, this Bullsh*t is getting More Flowery by the second.

Listen, its simple, If I want the world to acknowledge me as a woman rather than a man then I need to make some changes that will let people around me know and understand that.

Yes yes yes, I could just make a big announcement, and that lets everyone know today. But what about tomorrow? what about the people that I have yet to meet? how will they know what is and isn't appropriate?

So Transition really is about presentational change

Yeah, I might well end up looking like a 'Freak in a Frock', ummm, actually, theres no 'might well' about it, I will look 'Odd', always, but fortunately for me - and possibly those I meet - I tend not to do the frock thing ... so ... theres that...

And if there is one thing that I am certain of, its that time to transition is ... well now really.

I came to this somewhat stunning realization on the 31st Oct. this year, which just happened to be my [mumble mutter]fifty[mutter mutter] first [mumble mumble] birthday. I decided that I will Transition in the next two years

New Name ... new Job... new presentation ... new everything ... except me I shall be the same, the changes will be in other peoples heads ... not mine, which is either

a. a stunning insight into human nature
or
b. an illustration of my undoubted capacity for self-delusion.

/sniff/

Course, ever since I decided (finally - after all these years...) there has been a little voice in my head ... and it keeps saying ... 'why wait'?, 'what are you waiting for'? 'why two years, why not now'? ...

But ... I refuse to rush this ...

Fleeting Fancies

2008-12-13T21:22:00.014Z

We all have 'em ... remember yours?

I was talking with someone this week who told me that her 'Major' Teen crush was (Oh God!, I don't believe this) ... Mark Owen from Take That especially when he was singing 'Babe'.

Ok Laura, this is the only time Marky-Mark will feature here so enjoy ...

Hey!, wasn't my Fantasy ... although I had Laura marked down as a woman of taste, style, substance yada yada yada (shows what a lousy judge of character I am )

Course, what really hurts about that conversation is the obvious age-difference ... Her Crush was from the Nineties, mine are from the Seventies.

So, were mine any better? ... well I like to think so. waddya think

All together now ... OOOoooooohhhhhh

he was just 'SO' Pretty ...

ummmm ... sorry ... where was I

Crushes

and then - inevitably - I grew up and got over D.C. only to fall into the clutches (metaphorically speaking) of Bryan

Grrrrrr .... (and - amazingly, since one wouldn't think it possible - in the original early 1970's video he was even Sexier)

Growl indeed.

Course, like all teenagers I was a little ... ahem... uh, ambivalent shall we say, so ...

OK ... those are my cringes ... uh ... I mean crushes, your turn

Its actually an Opportunity ...

2008-12-08T19:12:00.003Z

and repeat

Its not a Catastrophe, its actually an Opportunity

Breathe in .... Breathe out

and repeat ...

Got laid off on Friday ... Does my naked fear show?

No, it didnt come as a complete surprise and yes there is the (very real) possibility that there will be a job for me on Jan 5th.

Thing is ... and not to whine (I hate whiners) I have a nasty feeling that my appearance (hmmmm Androgynous at best - Downright weird** looking at worst) is starting to gather its own collection of minus points on my behalf.

So, given a choice, does the Employer give the job to a regular looking person ... or the Whackjob?

Hmmm, decisions decisions ...

Either way I get to spend Christmas at home with No.1 Daughter whilst pondering on the motivations of an employer ...

So, where was I?

Its not a Catastrophe, its actually an Opportunity

Breathe in .... Breathe out

** I before E except after C ... sometimes ... apparently

Mondays ...

2008-12-02T18:16:00.009Z

... are Electro-Day.

I pay some really nice people lots and lots of money I can't really afford to (wait for this, its a doozie) stick a very fine needle into each of my over-sized facial hair follicles, send a current of electricity down said needle to zap the 'growy-bit'**, then pull each individually fried hair from said follicle with a pair of tweezers.

I'm not wild about Mondays ...

I cant help feeling 'There must be an easier (ok, I really mean cheaper) way to do this

And a quicker way would help too.

Still, its not all bad news. Of the three (really nice) people who Zap me, 'J-R' does the most and she is completely and utterly ...

'Out of her Tree-BatshitCrazy'

... in a fabulously humorous way.

I sometimes wonder what people the other side of the door would think to hear us both giggling away ...

I'd love to tell you about some of J-R's adventures but 'twould be rude (but she is a very adventurous girl)

suffice it to say, that if you ever pass an open window in York on a Monday afternoon and hear lots of insane cackling, fear not, its only us.

Still not wild about Mondays tho

**Sorry for the use of insider 'Technical Terms' wont do it again (till the next post at least)

Once Again ...

2008-11-30T00:31:00.007Z

Did you ever do that thing?

You know ... the thing where you start a new project and swear that 'This Time' we are gonna keep at it ... and then dont.

I do ... Often.

Welcome to my third attempt at a Blog (personally, looking at my past history I'd Bail now before you've invested even 10 seconds of your day in something that probably wont be here next week).

Still here? Optimistic aincha?

I should take a moment to introduce myself but (frankly) I cant be bothered ... suffice it to say that I am a 51 yr old (and that is OLD) Transwoman ... (wassat then ? I hear you cry, or mebbe not ... patience child, and all shall be revealed) with a fairly normal - even humdrum - life in the sticks which is about (sometime in the next 23 months) gonna get uh... ummm ... interesting

This Blog exists to document the whys hows and wherefores of all that is to come in life during my transition.

I'm hoping that it will be the most boring Blog it has ever been 'Anyones' misfortune to read ... /sniff/ but I fear ummm ... not

So, wanna join me for the ride? I'll be here (probably) ... see you here too