Boot quest and sights in the sky

There's all this talk of big discounts this week so I have been looking for bargains.

The shops themselves are a bit crazy and, frankly, as I mentioned before about sales, there seems to be little of interest. No matter, there's always online shopping, right? So, armed with my credit card, I set about looking at nail varnish, and also ankle boots that I definitely need. 

There are what look like nice sets of nail varnishes, some in Christmas boxes. But beware with the gift sets: most pots of nail varnish are around 10 ml. These gift pots are 3.75 ml, 2.5 ml, even 1 ml! The average teaspoon is 5 ml so unless you're a child or plan to use your gift varnish just once, forget it! I soon decided that the only proper way to buy makeup is to get your paws on it in a shop. 

The ankle boots, however, produced more interesting results. This week I have been relying on a cheap pair I bought as an emergency last year in Primark in Manchester, UK, after my much loved German-made pair from Tomcat Leather in London became too scuffed and lost a heel block. These cheap ones are comfortable and a nice enough shape but I hate the tapered chunky heel. 

 

So I'm looking for something similar to my old favourite pair, which were these:

                

Ideally, I want quality, and that means spending money. So I spent some hours going through the sites of good shoe makers such as Geox, retailers in Italy such as Rinascente, and even foreign brands such as Clark's, and there were pairs that were high quality and not bad but, again, the style is all-important, especially if a pair costs €120 or more even after Black Friday and new customer discounts. Heel shape and heel height are paramount to me. The inverted kitten heel? - no. Flat heel? - what? no! seriously?! 6-inch stiletto? - sadly, not even when I was clubbing! I want a tapered or at least rounded 3-inch heel. Always.

In the end there was nothing that quite met my criteria. As I was giving up, I bimbled through a cheap retailer's site, Pittarosso, who have lots of stuff that possibly falls apart and pinches but they had perfect styles, perfect heels and also a pair of shoes that remind me of a favourite pair ... and since they do click and collect, which means no awkward moments if the neighbours notice fem shoes arriving, I got three items for the price I would have paid for one. OK, they won't last as long but that, I'm afraid, is shoe retailing in the 21st century. I'll let you know what I think when I've been to my nearest outlet to collect them, which should be within a week.

 

From looking down to looking up

The nights have been very clear this week and I have seen some amazing things in the sky. I even have a stargazing outfit, you know! I saw a fata morgana or mirage, and there's another planet to tick off my list. 

When I went to see the British cemetery at Bordighera I went home by train and the station is right by the beach so you can see the sunset over the sea. But what happened that evening is that far-distant  headlands and islands off the coast that are just on or even just below the horizon appeared stretched upwards and looked like jagged mountains rising from the waves. If you don't know this coast I guess you'll have to take my word for it and my photo, annoyingly, has station furniture in it but here it is. 

 

The evening colours are nice. Here's the Wiki explanation for a fata morgana like this. It's not the only time I've seen such here. In late May at sunset the conditions are such that you can often see the mountaintops of Corsica nearly 250 km away, and these are actually well below the horizon. 

I have also been gazing at Uranus (stop giggling at the back!) and I can say that this is the first time I have ever consciously seen the tiny bluish blob that is actually a massive planet, although people with decent eyesight in dark locations can see it with their naked eyes. 

Try as I might, I can't see it with my own eyes, but frankly I have trouble seeing anything! So these nights I have been lying out late at night on a sunbed with my binoculars in my warm stargazer outfit of ski pants, two fleeces and puffer jacket, those chunky ankle boots and my wig on to keep warm. Wigs are murder in hot weather but on winter nights they come into their own!

If you're interested, Uranus is currently a few degrees south of the famous Seven Sisters or Pleiades cluster in Taurus. In Western Europe it is just south of the zenith (overhead) at around midnight.

 

Image from Stellarium software

The other aerial phenomenon this week is mosquitoes! We've had next to none this summer and now that winter is almost on us I've been pestered every evening. I hate being woken by the whine in my ear and the pain of a new bite. One little beast ate half my face the other night and thrashing around at four in the morning dealing with an attack is no joke. I keep the wall at the head of my bed unadorned and painted a bare white. This is the killing zone, a bare landscape that no mozzie can hide on. Now do you see why I need better, more robust makeup for my face? It's to hide their little toothmarks!

Eh? What's that? Mosquitoes don't have teeth? Believe me, these ones do!

This species also have sausage-shaped bodies with rusty brown stripes, a bit like overweight prisoners in jail suits. The little whining deliquents!

 

Makeovers and photoshoots part 2

A year ago I posted about my makeovers and photoshoots at the Boudoir dressing service and was going to post about subsequent makeovers and photos this week but I'll do it next month. This is because I feel tribute needs to be paid to Charlotte Sparkle's bridal makeover and photoshoot on her blog, Still in the Pink Fog, and it's never appropriate to upstage a bride! 

Seriously, Lotte planned her makeover and photoshoot thoroughly and the results were stunning. Girls, this is how it should be done. Lotte's wonderful story and gorgeous photos are here: Bridal Makeover and Photoshoot. Many congratulations to her for a well prepared and well executed session.

 

Blogroll update

I've added Michelle's interesting site Between Genders to the blogrooll on the right. More than just a blog, she has a lot of useful thoughts, experiences and knowledge to share there. Thanks for your thoughtful comments here too, Michelle. 

I'll see if I can get the awkward software on Blogger to place this site in position whenever it's updated. It's always a pest to do.

Sadly, I've now taken down the links the Mandy's blogs, From "Me" to "Mandy" on Blogger and Mandy's Miscellany on Wordpress as she was having too much difficulty with both platforms that she hasn't been able to post for a couple of years. Mandy has moved from Maryland to Tennessee to be closer to "the grands" and seems to be well. You can still find her and her amazing painted nails on Flickr.

 

A dip in the archives

I haven't dipped in the archives for ages. I mentioned going to Tomcat Leather in London and buying boots on the day I also bought shoes from Geox. That was in 2014 and there was a lot of meeting up with other girls and restaurants to visit: Two Days of What I Do Best.

 

Comfortable Geox low wedge shoes in cream by the Somerset House fountains, London

Sue x

Let me see your war face

 In Milan I noticed (and it was hard not to) that the hosiery brand Golden Lady has hired the most prominent spots in the metro stations to advertise. Their poster catches your eye at the bottom or top of every escalator: a model in a very simple pair of black 15 denier tights - nothing special; in fact, they're just like my first pair I bought with my pocket money aged about 10 - but it is very, very effective. Presumably men will be thinking of buying something for the lady in their life, women will be thinking of looking good, and TGirls like me experience an explosion of dysphoria that is like a bomb going off every time I see the poster. I want to be like the model (and I don't mean young and attractive  - well, maybe I do). A voice in my head says, "Sue, you don't need more tights. You've already got hundreds of pairs. What are you? a centipede?" But the product is not the issue. Dysphoria gets you in ways like this.

Not to be outdone, another leading brand, Calzedonia, has got their campaign going too. It's war! And in war, it's the innocent who suffer. I'm taking cover!

 

Old

Today, I began the laborious business of claiming an occupational pension I am owed. I'm allowing 18 months to go through the process from start to finish, including avoiding double taxation and obtaining tax reliefs, reducing exchange rate complications and other issues. My accountant is on standby!

This means I am officially old.  

It's not the first time I've mentioned this but I have noticed a distinct change in my face in the last couple of years - more saggy, more jowly - and it's something only a Fairy Godmother can fix. I've been reluctant to post photos of myself. My makeup doesn't hide this and I'm starting to look for tips for makeup for older women which I hope to adapt because of the added complication that trans women have in their faces. As for hair, I've always worn a hair colour that's close to my own (I'll never manage the Marilyn Monroe look!) but I'm wondering if a new wig with a hint of grey is something to consider. 

Rats! 

They say age is a matter of attitude so now I need to find some attitude! 

Faking youth in 2008

 

 

Remembering the dead

By ancient tradition, November is the month when we especially remember the dead. Obviously for me, Transgender Day of Remembrance is the main event. But as part of my exploration of the lesser known areas of the riviera, I went to Bordighera British Cemetery. I've been aware of the existence of this place for a while but never found it before. That's because it's a cemetery within a cemetery, tucked away behind high walls within the main cemetery that is itself behind high walls. That said, it's a beautiful, quiet spot with a mountain torrent on one side and a forest of date palms climbing the hillside on the other. The lane to get there is hard to find, the one tiny sign pointing up a narrow alley to the only entrance is even more so.

Waving palms

Spot the tiny signpost to the tiny alley

 

Many people over the centuries, not unlike myself, have come to this area for the healthy climate, from wounded crusaders in the middle ages who had their hospital at Ospedaletti to consumptive Victorians who appreciated sanatoriums like the now derelict Villa Helios at Sanremo. In the First World War, when Bordighera was practically a British colony anyway, with about 2000 British residents to 1000 locals, the British Army set up a hospital for sick and wounded servicemen fighting on the Salonika Front in Greece and later on the Italian Front. The British Cemetery, then, is where those who died of wounds or from popular diseases of the era like pneumonia or Spanish flu, is managed by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission.

I wasn't looking for any grave in particular; I visited just out of curiosity. There is a cabinet at the entrance containing a visitors' book that I signed with my fem name and a list of the 72 British Commonwealth men and 12 "Austrian" men buried here. They call them Austrian but they came from all over the Habsburg lands. It also contained service sheets from the recent Remembrance Sunday service. It's one of those odd things that the service date was based on the armistice with Germany on November 11th 1918, which is irrelevant here: the Salonika Front armistice with Bulgaria was on September 30th and the Italian Front armistice with the Habsburg Empire was on November 4th. To further cloud the issue, the First World War is also known locally as the Fourth War of Independence, as Italy emerged piece by piece from Habsburg rule over the course of 70 years (or longer if you count Napoleon as part of the process). But I guess all these historical niceties made little difference to these poor guys who found peace sooner.

From the Commonwealth War Graves Commission list of graves

British Commonwealth graves, men from the all over the world

Some Habsburg Empire graves along the back wall. I like that they have carved the double-headed eagle on each. Presumably these men were prisoners-of-war being treated at the hospital. Some Polish and other Slavic names among the German ones

Why Indian driver Rup Lal has a grave all to himself is not made clear. A civilian, maybe? A Hindu or Muslim who couldn't or wouldn't be buried with the Christians? 

A poppy is the UK's war memorial flower and one on a cross has been left beside each grave after the recent memorial service. Blasius Klensbigl, what a marvellous name! 

 

This cemetery is always open unlike the surrounding civil one which closes at night. Presumably that's why there's a separate alley to get to it. 

A curiosity, therefore. The older I get and the more feminine I get, the more war disgusts me. I've never been called to fight, unlike my grandfathers and great-grandfathers who all survived but did not much enjoy the experience. Those who are currently trying to wreck the eighty plus years of peace in Europe are pure evil. 

Let's go to the main cemetery. Some cultural points as many of my readers come from the British Isles where cemeteries are usually the same as churchyards, so every church is surrounded by graves, people are buried there in perpetuity, and the traditional tree is the yew. In Italy, by contrast, the local cemetery is almost always a necropolis, a "city of the dead" on the edge of town, a very ancient idea (there are necropolises three thousand and more years old here). You usually hire a plot for a number of decades and then, if deemed reduced to just bones, your loved ones are then disinterred and put in a pigeonhole in the columbarium (the "dovecote") ... those who like creepy tales can read below about a deceased distant relative of mine (and this all ties in with the tights that started this post, if you can believe that - oh yes, everything on Sue's News and Views connects!) The preferred cemetery tree here, as has again been the case for thousands of years, is the cypress, because many species drip sap as though crying tears, and the preferred flower for graves is the chrysanthemum. A warning to men: never, ever give your Italian girlfriend chrysanthemums as a gift. Oh, and wear bug spray as cypresses attract mosquitoes like nothing else!

As is usual, the locals, who are all Catholic, are kept separate from foreigners who have all sorts of religions: Russian and Greek Orthodox are here, Jewish, Anglican, Lutheran ... Celtic crosses and Stars of David abound. Even in death people have to be separated, it seems. But, near the tombs of the Russian Princes Galitsine, is a large cypress embracing a smaller cypress. This may be an accident, or trained this way by the gardeners. I think it is sweet, and makes me happier to see than all those dead soldiers.

Rest in peace. I'll try not to dwell on how I'm getting old. Oops, I just did! 

 

My creepy family stories for your winter fireside entertainment

Skip this bit if you don't like yucky things.

In Italy, you rarely buy a burial plot in perpetuity but hire one for a number of decades. After the rental period, your loved one is exhumed and you are invited to agree whether or not they are sufficiently decomposed to be moved. If no, you rent out for another decade; if yes, the plot is then returned to the council for hiring out to the next unfortunate. Pity about that lovely marble tomb you spent lots of money on in your grief; that just gets chucked away. You can move the bones of your loved one to another cemetery, or to the columbarium where the costs are a lot less. 

Some distant relatives of mine were invited to the exhumation of their mother. Whilst her top half was decomposed, her lower half was not. This is because she had been buried in the Sixties in a lovely outfit but when nylon tights were really tough and they preserved her legs. Needless to say, she went back underground for another decade or two!

Perhaps better than friends whose grandma was deemed ready to be moved. They decided to take her elsewhere, packed her in a choice receptacle - a cardboard box - and drove her to her new resting place with the box of bones rattling along merrily in the back of the car. 

People are a bit too matter-of-fact about dead people round here! Where's the sentimentality?

 

That's a long enough post for now. I'll save yesterday's fata morgana at sunset for another time. 

My title comes, of course, from a line in Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket. It seemed adaptable to the themes here. 

Sue x 

Pampering and replenishing

 I'm back home after a few weeks away. I decided that what I could really do with now is a good pamper: epilation and, above all, painting my nails. 

My fingernails that I complained had broken a while back were almost back to their ideal length... and then this morning another broke. Aargh! It's the middle finger that's usually the failure point on either hand, maybe because it sticks out further than the others and catches on things more. Or maybe it's just weaker. Nails are a good indicator of dietary health, weaknesses often indicating a lack of minerals or vitamins, but I have a good diet so I doubt it's that.   

I prefer to grow my own nails rather than use stick-on nails. But I have only ever worn nail varnish in pinks and reds and maybe it's time to be more varied and increase my dwindling stock, so I'm looking for a set of varnishes in different colours just for a change. Purple and black, definitely. Maybe blue. A Christmas gift to myself, perhaps?

 

Nice but too little variety ... and too few pots. You can't have too many varnishes!

Looking at my now nearly zero stock of lipstick, I think the same rule applies.

I keep being screamed at from every angle about how Black Friday is coming and how I must grab those bargains, but invariably the stuff on sale is usually rubbish that retailers have found hard to shift. Don't be fooled by the propaganda - in the last 30 years, the shop sales have largely been a junkyard sale. However, I'll doubtless do my usual trip out to see what's available, especially in perfumes, another favourite self-gift. 

It's also time for warmer clothes. Last week when I was away there was a hailstorm - a rare event here - that punched holes in my cactuses! And on Thursday the daytime temperature here dropped to below 10C (50F), there was a waterspout offshore and snow dusted the high ground. On the riviera this is taken as a clear sign of the impending apocalypse and everyone who went out and braved the wrath of the gods was wrapped in their skiwear. Fortunately, things have gone back to a healthier 16C and I have been able to eat outdoors in the sun again. Many thanks to that dear trans friend who sent me a picture of her sitting on an iceberg in Greenland during a recent cruise, plus details of how she's planned a trip to Norway in January, but I'll stick to warmer climes for my holidays, thanks! That said, the cardigans are out, and the thicker tights and the boots. Summer frocks are lovely but there's something to be said for winter elegance. 

I haven't succumbed to putting the central heating on yet this year but that may be just a matter of days. Still, it's a contrast with my life in Britain where I always had the heating prepared for switch-on any time in September. I don't do cold! 

So thinking towards Christmas ... since I've never had family or partners buy me any girl gifts, although occasionally female or trans friends have done (thank you!), I've usually given myself a little something. In the early days it was lingerie, then hosiery and after that perfume. It looks like it'll be colourful new lips and nails this year.

Sue x 

What if everyone is transgender?

 Ten years ago I posted a question as to how many transgender people there are. The answer is unknown and unknowable, for various reasons but mainly because no-one agrees on what constitutes transgender or even male and female; because the overwhelming majority of gender variant people are in the closet, totally unknown even to the internet, only to themselves; and because often gender variance occurs for a while in someone's life rather than throughout it. 

Suppose we stop assuming, because of lack of evidence or through prejudice, that trans is or is not X number of people and take the opposite standpoint: what if everyone is actually trans? Perhaps the gender binary is an illusion caused by social and reproductive expectations for many people, especially those promoted by the aggressive people who usually dominate societies, and most of the remaining population simply fall into line for simplicity's sake. If left to their inherent sense of self, would people actually feel totally masculine or feminine as is claimed? We don't know, any more then we can claim that there are clear male and female forms. I've made more than enough references in my blog over the years to trans people going back to ancient times and arising in all cultures and locations. Transgender is very much a thing.

Supposing you took a significant random sample of people - I'm talking tens (ideally hundreds) of thousands, not the usual trans studies that involve a few dozen or maybe a few hundred out-and-proud trans people - and actually asked them honestly, privately, anonymously, without fear or favour or ability to be traced, how they felt about their own masculinity or femininity, what the answers might be. We have very little information on this and all discussion of trans people is either from haters or from the tiny number of trans people who are out and those who study that tiny minority.

I hear it said that sex is all about reproductive organs or gametes, completely ignoring intersex conditions. I hear it said that genes don't lie: it's XX for girls and XY for boys, completely ignoring the mixup of conditions like Turner's Syndrome (X) or Klinefelter's syndrome (XXY). Stangely, no-one seem to point out that, on that basis, all boys have one girl chromosome, which should surely give us the two sexes of female and transgender? I hear it said that trans people are simply mentally ill; apparently, threats and abuse seem to be the proposed cure. I hear it said that transgender ideological terrorism is converting people to believe that they are something they are not. And so on and so forth, anything to try to pretend that trans people don't actually exist or shouldn't. I said I would not transition and the reason is that I don't trust states not to turn against beneficiaries of previous government policies. Having said that, I thought it unlikely that trans policies would be reversed in my lifetime and yet, when you look at Russia, the USA, Britain, Hungary and other places, maybe my caution was well founded. 

So as my short contribution to Transgender Awareness Week, leading up to Transgender Day of Remembrance on November 20th, I'd just like to ask the haters what on earth they're talking about as the evidence for there being a gender binary is laughable. How about if everyone is trans apart from the outliers, those naturally very masculine or feminine people? Could it be that you haters are simply too scared to admit or embrace who you perhaps really are, that is someone not at the extremes of a gender spectrum? 

So as many rich and powerful people in the public eye focus on trans bashing to draw attention away from their own corruption and incompetence, banning a handful of trans sportspeople from participating here, encouraging conversion therapy there or turning a blind eye to transphobic violence, I rest assured that this current game of trans Whack-a-Mole can never work in the long term because nature just keeps creating trans people and most of them are invisible and out of reach. 

Tomorrow we remember those who tried to live authentically but died for it. 

 

Sue x 

Window shopping in Milan

 I know it's transgender awareness week so I should write something on that subject (which I will) but I am in Milan, I promised some fashion pics and, after my last post on my favourite frock, my mind (as is that of just about every TGirl) is focused on fabulousness. So as most of us drown in what seem to be worldwide rains and bad news, I think it's time for some sparkle.

Now, darlings, I am looking for a sparkly, shimmery frock, some twinkling jewellery to stave off the winter gloom, maybe even a little leather something in the bag or shoe department. As it happens, my girl birthday comes up this week, and we're heading into party season, and Christmas is coming as well, and as gift giving is very much the thing at birthdays and Christmas, well, I'll just drop that little hint ...

Now Luigi my chauffeur has just parked up the Ferrari in the Quadrilateral, Milan's fashion district, and I am wandering about the outlets with my camera for a bit of inspiration. What do you think of these for sparkly frocks? I've done the hard work, you only need to pick one.

Chanel, ever classic:

Now, Emé has some interesting items...

 

Long burgundy leather dress maybe, but not with that tie! (ugh! ties are for boys and they're made of slugs and snails and puppy dogs tails, as we know.) The burgundy leather shorts with pop sox? No way! 

But then we spot this:

Perhaps that's more what we're looking for this season. Emé is a bridalwear shop most of the year. *Sigh!*

 

These items from Pronovias, also bridal much of the time. How about the blue ones?

 

Silver and shiny here at Collini:

 Oh, my!

I like the black with gold sparkles or brocade a lot, but trousers are not my thing for a party. Best go with the LBD and sparkly bolero on the right.

 

What has Valentino to offer this year? The window displays are a bit incoherent ...

 

But this is what seem to be in mind:

 

Elisabetta Franchi always gets top marks for her business attire (noted for another time) ...

 

But then there's this very Roaring Twenties style here. I'd have to lose a lot of weight to look good in these:

There's this sparkly silver and fluffy black item. I don't think I'll ever be daring enough to go around dressed like the model in the poster behind, though!

What for me is a No is something like this where every item - leather jacket, tulle skirt, leather trousers - might work separately but they don't go together so well:

 

Some interesting bags:

 

  

Not sure I like the bags in Louboutin's. Quite like the boots, though.

Milan is probably the most LGBT friendly city in Italy so I imagine that Jim and Jack are delighted with their bags from Zadig & Voltaire!

And now for jewellery ... This lady's covered in it, with sparkly creatures on her skirt:

And this guy kept staring at me ... which doesn't encourage me to enter.

 

Well, those are some of the things that caught my eye when I was looking for classy sparkle. I didn't buy anything - the fashion shops are for people with money to burn. 

It was a typical November day here, slightly foggy and damp, but the bustle of people and the warm glow of shops made it lively and welcoming, as this picture of Milan's fabulous nineteenth-century shopping arcade shows.

 

Sue x 

Sometimes you just need to get your favourite frock on

I'm home for a couple of days. Because I really needed to wind down with my favourite dress on. 

It's been a difficult year because of a relative of mine was in hospital for six months after disastrous surgery. He's been back home for a couple of weeks now. I did his tax return for him in September, which was very stressful, so dealing with his domestic arrangements and residual administrative stuff this month has been OK, if dull. But I've gone home for these two days as, frankly, he's able to cope now and I really need a break. More than that, I really need my favourite dress. It's all very well wearing women's trousers and shirts away from home so as to be mistaken for masculine and thereby avoiding awkward questions, but it's another to feel properly feminine, and for that a dress is the best option.

My favourite dress is nothing to excite interest. It's not glamorous, it's not fancy, it's not daring, it's not pretty, it's not eye-catching. Quite the opposite: it's just a plain, charcoal-grey, three-quarter length, soft jersey dress that I have had for nearly 30 years! Yes, I bought it in the January sales in London's Oxford Street in 1997 for just £11.50 and I have worn it and worn it and worn it. It's apparently indestructible! And it flows with me. So it's my favourite, the one I always pick when I really just need to be me. 

Phew! I needed my dress. Feeling better now.

Sue x 

Nursie bites nails

 I've spent the last ten days looking after this relative of mine who spent six months in hospital and who is now home. That's mainly involved my going shopping and doing a bit of light housework for him. His nurse has visited daily to deal with his dressings and check on his health, which is just as well as the only things I know about nursing come from watching too many Carry-On films and that's probably unsuitable training for real life.  

 

Ooh, you've got a big growth there, Mr Boggis. Don't worry, we'll have it off right away.

Given that this morning he walked to the chemist, the newsagent and the bakery himself, I'm thinking that my presence here is now more for the sake of company than anything useful. I expected to be here much of November but I'll be going home for a bit next week. 

I am not obviously dressed as a woman, although I always am. I have to be discreet about washing and drying my underwear here, though, as it's clearly feminine. I got a compliment from him on my shoes, despite their being women's shoes, which made me chuckle inside. 

Last night we watched an old episode of Commissario Montalbano, the well-known Sicilian police drama, in which one character was having an affair with a trans woman. My relative turned to me and informed me, as he does every time any trans woman, drag queen, crossdresser or feminine queer person ever appears on TV, that "that's a man, you know." Apart from the condescension of assuming I need such information, and that the actress playing the trans character (Morgana Gargiulo) is actually trans herself, the transophobia is brazen. I guess it wasn't so bad this time; usually he comes out with things like, "That's not a woman, he's got a penis, you know". The fact that this blunt, bigoted commentary from him seems compulsory every time a trans face appears on TV or in the press suggests the phobia runs very deep indeed, like my father's frothing abuse each and every time a black person is on TV. But all my family are like this, and not just about trans or race matters. To them anyone who is not precisely like themselves in sexuality, culture, skin tone, beliefs, preferences or whatever is a deranged pervert. I assume there is a bigotry gene since cultural and generational trauma doesn't seem to me to be enough to explain all this. 

Trying to discuss or reason with bigots is something I no longer engage in as it tends just to make such people more stubborn in their views rather than admit they've been ignorant or abusive.

By the way, you've no idea how difficult it is to visit trans sites and blogs and write this one whilst I'm in the home of someone who is always curious as to what I'm doing or about to do. Why are families so nosey?

As I said before, I am doing this stint at my relative's home as I owe him a big favour but after this I'll be reducing contact with family even further, and it's not close even now. They're bad people and it's taken me decades to come to terms with that sad reality. I just wish life had been different. Trans people who have supportive relatives and loving households should count their blessings.

I'd bite my nails with frustration but, being a trans woman, having them nice, neat and long overrides that urge. 

 

Fashion capital

I'm in the fashion capital, Milan, and I've been looking in the windows of the Quadrilateral, the main fashion district, for any weird and wonderful outfits or accessories but I'm sorry to say that they're all now already outfitted for Christmas. I do a Milan Christmas fashion post virtually every year so photos will have to wait till I declare that it's Christmas! My blog, my rules!

 

Replies 

Thanks for your comments, which have been very encouraging and kind. We seem to be in a period when I can reply so do keep them coming. 

Sue x 

A trip down Memory Card Lane - the Great Drag Race

 I'm not at home this Hallowe'en so it's cancelled. Which is slightly annoying as I'd got my cobweb pattern tights and elbow-length gloves specially for this year's witchy doings. Maybe I'll have to be the Christmas Spider or something instead.

Whaddaya mean there's no Christmas Spider?  

Of course there is! You know, the spider who lives in the chimney and crawls into Santa's boot and bites his toe as he tries to manoeuvre quietly round your living room furniture ... You've never experienced that? It's OK, I'll pop round this year and make Santa wake the kids with expletive-laden stomping about and crashing into things. Merry Cursemas one and all!

So, as there will be no Hallowe'en photos this year, I'll carry on with my posting of rediscovered photos from past years. This time it's the Great Drag Race of 2010, an event I described in Episode 2 of my 2020 series on my First Steps in Trans Living (series here, with links although it's easier if I copy the relevant text below and add to it). This was one of the events that really increased my confidence. Now I have all the photos that my official photographer, Ange, took. She's a professional photographer and came with some impressive kit. Ange is the first T-Girl I ever met and she's something of a sister to me. Thanks, sis. 

Many trans people rely on fancy dress events to get a chance to be out as themselves without attracting undue comment. Events like Hallowe'en or Carnival, the school prom or the local drama club, and similar. So the opportunity I had to be out in public was the Great Drag Race in 2010.

Nothing to do with RuPaul, this was an event organised by Prostate UK and Prostate Action (now amalgamated as Prostate Cancer UK), which are charities that fund research into prostate cancer and look after sufferers and their families. A good cause, not just for men and their families, but trans women too as, even after transition, the prostate may cause problems. The reason it was a race in drag was to acknowledge the high-profile work done by women for breast cancer care with events like the Moonwalk or Breast Cancer Awareness Month. 

I'm not a drag queen and, frankly, neither was any other participant, but here was a chance to be dressed in public, with praise for doing so thrown in. Win-win! I had various sponsors though my contribution was slight as I managed to get time off work only at the last minute. 

It was quite a high-profile event, held in London Fields, a park in North-East London, and the compère was Peter Duncan, best known for his TV shows, notably Blue Peter (a very long-running children's magazine programme). A very personable, down-to-earth man in real life.

So although most of the participants being sponsored to run were just men who'd borrowed something off their wives, some of us like to think we were a bit more like the real thing. In fact, as I applied my makeup, one guy looked over at me and said, "You've done this before!"

This is my official portrait photo from the event:

(c) The X Foundation

 

This is my unofficial photo in the official photo spot:

 

And this is the unofficial photo of the official photo being taken, a metaphoto if you wish:

Stop giggling at the back. I'm entirely innocently holding a furled pink umbrella by my side for this family-friendly event. But, yes, you can see why I've never posted this before! Always check your camera angle, Ange! 

Ange did take a good artistic picture of me applying my makeup, though:

There was a general makeup table to sit at and apply such makeup as might be wanted and it was there that another official event photographer wanted to snap me before I was fully in Sue mode and I refused to allow her to as I was very much needing to be in stealth as I wasn't out as trans at this point at all. I know it's a contradiction to be in stealth at a high-profile public event but then trans living is a university degree course in finding inauthentic ways to be authentic. One day I might graduate.

Here are some more photos, looking neat and fresh before I ran the race:

So after makeup and photos the next thing to do was to break a world record. With pep talks from a professional drag queen (whose spicy thoughts perhaps overlooked that this was a family event - oops!), and from Peter Duncan and organisers, and then ten minutes training from choreographer Lisa Lee, we formed a chorus line of 128 queens and danced (or flailed around) for five minutes to Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out for a Hero. Guinness World Records considered this activity sufficient to qualify for the title of Longest Line of Dancing Drag Queens and so, dear readers, I am a world record holder with an official certificate to say so, and if Roy Castle were still alive I'm sure he'd tell everyone on his show about our outstanding achievement. Dedication and all that. (For younger and non-UK readers, Roy Castle was a musician, actor and entertainer who had a TV show for children called Record Breakers. "Dedication" was the lousy theme song that he sang at the end of every episode.) This record was broken by a new line of 144 drag queens at the Great Drag Race in 2012.

The race itself was 10200 metres overall (six and a third miles), representing the 10200 people who die from prostate cancer in Britain each year. It was a warm summer's day and, frankly, running that far in a wig is no joke. The hair I chose was a cheap but light purchase from Doreen Fashions (a shop for trans women that sadly now exists only online). I did wear sensible running shoes but swapped them for four-inch court shoes for the last lap, and waved my pink umbrella too! Frankly, such shoes are not for running in - I bruised my toes! Sadly, Ange had got bored by this point and put her camera away so you'll just have to take my word for it. 

Some action shots now. The pleasant companion on my right kept pace with me most of the way. 

 

 

The whole event raised about £20,000 and was the first of several such sponsored races.

It was exhilarating being out in a very public place in this way and thereby gain more confidence. I spotted another TGirl participating. You could tell because we actually looked different from the rest. It was her first time out in public and, incredibly, she came on the Underground dressed already. I didn't actually talk to her on the day, only subsequently, because of the unwritten rule that you don't point out to a TGirl you may have spotted that she's a TGirl, even if you both are. She has now transitioned successfully. From small acorns like this, mighty oaks grow.

There's not a lot online about this event any more although I did find this on YouTube which gives a bit of the flavour. I'm in the photo at 1:08-1:11 sandwiched between the red dress and the white camera.

Thanks again to Ange for giving moral support and taking the photos and for the people who sponsored.

Thank you again to those who comment on my blog. I'm still having problems replying but solutions are being worked out...

Happy Hallowe'en.

Sue x