Moby Dick & the Holy Grail (with cake)

Back to Posiblogging™. 

I'm back home after a winter break to the city of Genova (or Genoa in English). Both medieval city and huge modern port, with more palaces per square metre than anywhere else, a musical powerhouse, one-time capital of a potent empire and embracing a centuries-old trans community. 

I was here in 2019 when looking to settle in the region, and again for an exhibition in 2024. This time I went for the historical treasures, another big art exhibition, the shopping and the food. It's full of historic shops, some housing the same businesses for 200+ years, and noted for its fab vintage clothes boutiques. Street food outlets sit next to upmarket cafés selling classic Genoese cakes. In fact, it's a tangle of old and modern, rich and poor, smart and shabby, all cheek by jowl. Fascinating chaos that somehow works. 

I saw so much in three days that I'll write about it over several posts and mix it up so that it reflects the nature of the place. Click to enlarge photos.

 

Piazza De Ferrari, the city's main square, that houses the regional government, the opera house, the former Doge's palace and modern banks.

Cold weather gear 

It was very cold for these parts, with snow on the Apennines above town. My favourite wear these days are some really soft, comfortable women's cotton slacks (with pockets!) but they're not warm so tights and/or leggings were essential underneath. I have some comfortable thermal tops from M&S and I invested in some from Tezenis whilst there. Note for readers from English-speaking countries, on the European continent, shops that specialise exclusively in lingerie and hosiery are a common thing. 

Typical old Genoese lingerie boutique

 

 

Moby Dick 

I went with the excuse of seeing the Moby Dick exhibition at the Doge's Palace. Partly a celebration of the Pelagos Whale Sanctuary that occupies the Ligurian Sea and beyond, it was based around Melville's remarkable book, which I hardly call a novel because of it's blend of factual descriptions of the bloody and dangerous business of catching and butchering whales, its mysticism, its symbolism and its Biblical parallels, its social satire and irreverent take on law, politics and market forces, its sly sexual undertones, its nods to other writers from Shakespeare to Rabelais... A bit of a messy exhibition of old and new artworks, harpoons and telescopes, whale lore and random related stuff that, although eclectic like the book, lacked its coherence.

 

"Jonah and the Whale" by David Teniers the Younger (c. 1640). 

"Mae Day IX (Whe)" by Cosima von Bonin. A stuffed whale toy on a swing with a hip flask etched with the words "Oy Vey". No explanation. Luggy the Crab did feel an affinity for this one, though.

A bit of polemic now. This is what annoys me about modern art exhibitions: (1) These piles of material are works on display and to show them they have hidden the stunningly intricate and exquisite plasterwork of the room behind bare chipboard walls and lighting gantries. (2) Art does not repeat the visible but makes visible, as Paul Klee opined. But you can't propose this kind of art without inviting comparison with the genius, the thought, the care and the labour that goes into other art forms. Compare these piles of stuff with the figures and the palm tree in the work below, with every frond and lock of hair delicately carved from a single block of marble in a nearby church. I boggle at sculptor's skill and care: one slip and the whole thing would have been ruined. As Klee says, you don't have to replicate living things, especially not this intricately, to be a good artist, but piling up junk and expecting praise for it is a bit much. 

Christ and St Peter by Michele San Sebastiano (1896) in the church of Santa Maria delle Vigne, Genoa.

 

So I left with mixed feelings about that show. There are greater treasures below. 

 

Tea and cake

There are few nations that have understood coffee like the Italians have, and Italian-style coffee - espresso, cappuccino, macchiato, moca - dominates today's hot beverage market. To give credit where credit is due, the small, concentrated coffee we call espresso that is the basis of Italian coffee drinks was borrowed from the Turks when troops from the Kingdom of Sardinia, of which Genoa was a part, fought alongside Turks in the Crimean War. That and cigarettes, for which the locals still have quite a fondness. 

By contrast, apart from Marco Polo and Sonia Gandhi, no Italian has ever had anything to do with tea-growing nations. So I've never had a good cup of tea in Italy. Not once. That is, until yesterday when I went into the Signor Kiwi café and had a nice plump fresh croissant and a pot of real loose-leaf tea. I was stunned. So lots and lots and lots of points to them. They're just off the main square behind the Doge's palace.

Signor Kiwi Bistrot from their Facebook page

Hot drinks were generally in order to fight the cold. I don't drink coffee any more but another thing they do well here is hot chocolate. Italian hot chocolate can be very think, almost like pudding you could eat with a spoon. Delicious ones were at the Caffè dei Musei, with a lovely slice of cherry tart, and the very special one at the ancient Pietro Romanengo chocolate shop that was unique (mind you, I should hope so for the price).

This is one of the 100+ ancient shops of Genoa. More on those later.

Genoese cake, i.e. the sponge cake which often has buttercream or lemon icing/frosting on top, is based on a local recipe but it's actually less well known here than elsewhere. Two doors down from Pietro Romanengo is the Klainguti bakery established 1828 which specialises in this cake, or "Torta Zena" as it's known here (Zena is the local dialect name for Genoa).

This sort of cake is the basis for much French baking, like Proust's madeleine. More cakes from the same baker ...

Apart from the two pastries I've mentioned, I was very good and had no other cake. I did have some very good savoury food, though, and we'll come to that. 

 

Relics, devil's chess and silversmithing 

The cathedral is typical medieval Italian "bathing costume" style.

Inside, one half is gothic, the other half baroque jazziness. A dark corner houses a huge navy shell that thankfully failed to explode in 1941 or it would have destroyed the whole building. Outside, the north wall has bits of Roman tomb embedded in it, and a chessboard five metres up the wall under the window. How it got there is the stuff of many legends, some literally and metaphorically diabolical. These days I suspect only the local drunks try to play on it.

But I also wanted to see the cathedral treasury which has some revered relics and their beautiful containers. 

This is their most precious item, a bowl believed to have been cut from emerald and that was said to have been either the container for the paschal lamb at the Last Supper, or the cup in which Nicodemus collected Jesus's blood on the cross, or even the Holy Grail itself. Napoleon stole it, his minions found it was made of glass and modern scholarship thinks it is Islamic from around the year 1000. Still, it's rather beautiful and has an impressive history.

The whole treasury museum in the cathedral basement was designed in the 1960s with this relic as the template for the layout with its lobes and side chambers, which reminded me of the creepy monastery library in Umberto Eco's medieval detective novel, The Name of the Rose. 

The silverware there is quite stunning. The reliquaries contain items believed to be strands of the Virgin Mary's hair, a spine from the Crown of Thorns, the ashes of St John the Baptist, the forearm of St James and more. The quality of the craftsmanship is unequivocal and the precious stones are worth ... a lot.

Intricately worked and highly detailed silver chest for carrying the ashes of St John the Baptist in processions through town. 

 

Silver and jewelled tree surrounding a tiny glass bubble containing hair believed to have been that of the Virgin Mary

Roman onyx plate with 15th-century French gold surround, said to be the plate on which the head of St John the Baptist was presented to Salome. 

 

These are great treasures indeed, but not in my opinion the greatest, which is a musical one. More on that later.

 

Vintage clothing

Genoa has a particular specialism in vintage clothes shops which, of course, are a haven for TGirls. Betty Page Boudoir is highly thought of, but there are plenty of others, like Lipstick Vintage (sadly closed for the afternoon when I came to it).

There are also interesting old clothing items (among much other stuff) in the antiques market in an old palace. As shopping locations go, this is quite impressive. 

There's more vintage clothing and a lot of nice jewellery, old and new, on the stalls in the glass-roofed arcade off the main square, too.

The Catholic church disapproves of trans people. Men are men and women are women, they say. This man in skirts here is a Catholic priest. Go figure.

 

Oh, Columbus! what have you done? 

The most famous Genoese was Christopher Columbus. In the Middle Ages and Renaissance, Genoa was capital of a powerful maritime empire. Not much land, but dominant on the Mediterranean, Black and even Caspian Seas. The Genoese forts of Crimea are a Unesco world heritage site. Important goods came to Europe via the Silk Roads from China, India and the East generally and the Italian maritime republics like Genoa saw it got to Europe from Western Asia, but as Turkish power increased, trade became harder with this new middleman in the way. Columbus thought he'd go west not east and so cut them out of trade arrangements but the Genoese government wasn't convinced by his proposal. He did manage to persuade the neighbouring Mediterranean empire of Aragon to fund his expedition, suggesting a cheeky ten per cent cut for himself of any resources he discovered. King Ferdinand of Aragon didn't expect him to return so he went with the proposal. The rest, as they say, is history. And Columbus became one of the wealthiest men in history as a result. Donald, you have a lot to learn about business.

Do read the log of Columbus's first voyage if you can. The original text and its copies haven't survived but a summary by Bartolomé de las Casas does and it seems clear that Columbus actually kept two logs, one carefully recording his ships' actual progress and location, the other a fraudulent one recording different speeds to persuade his crew to put more effort in, and different locations as it was illegal for him to be in the waters he went to, which were reserved for the Portuguese by treaty. His contemporary, Machiavelli, the political theorist, would have regarded this as the normal way of statecraft. But we live in more honest times, don't we. (Don't we?)

My speculation on what might have been if Genoa, an aristocratic republic of bankers and merchants, had governed the Americas and not Spain (i.e. the union of Aragon and Castile) is based on what has happened in other colonies that have been put into the hands of other very wealthy individuals, like the Welser family of Augsburg who were bankers to the Holy Roman Emperors and were granted Little Venice (Venezuela/Guyana) and exploited it pretty ruthlessly in the 1530s and '40s, inviting speculation on the legends of El Dorado, or King Leopold II of Belgium's notoriously brutal personal fiefdom of the Congo in the late 19th Century. Things might therefore have been even worse for American natives than they were under the Spanish conquistadores. 

Anyway, digression over, Columbus's birthplace can still be seen. A small medieval house with little in it, that was partly damaged in the French bombardment of 1684.

It's by the medieval gateway on one side ...

... and a huge modern scooter park on the other.

 

The cluster of buildings and tunnel in the bakground are classic fascist architecture from the interwar years. 

You're nobody if you don't own a scooter in this region. 

I don't own a scooter. 

 

More to come soon: savoury food, the incredible Rolli palaces, pirates, top musicians, shopping in old and new style, a tangle of streets, the grand new harbours ...

Thanks for reading. Have a nice weekend. 

Sue x 

It's snow joke

"I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I feel something terrible has happened."

Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars

I aim to present trans life in a positive way, as I've said many times. Occasionally, something bad happens and I can't ignore it. So today I'd better acknowledge the bad stuff first and go on to the better stuff.

I usually sleep OK; not brilliantly, but OK. In my dreams I am almost always a trans woman who is accepted as such. That's been the standard dream premise for me since I was 5. 

Last night, though, I had a very bad night, troubled by horrible visions: first, a skeletal goat in a cowl standing by my bed; then a serpent convulsing in its death throes, biting itself but also lashing out at bystanders. 

To cap it all, a mosquito bit me. A real one, not a dream one. Mosquitoes in the depths of winter are unheard of! 

If these were ancient times I would take these as visions and signs from the gods, and consult an oracle or sybil about them. But in these less superstitious times I conclude that the traumatising news over the last two weeks has gotten to me. And that climate change is alarmingly real now if there are mosquitoes in January.

I've said here before that the purpose of government is to brutalise, and we see this regularly, such as when you're don't pay your taxes even with a good excuse, when you get burgled but the police don't take any interest, when your social security office is understaffed and you can't get that payment you are entitled to, or when you try to register a change to the gender marking on your birth certificate but you have to go through years of bureaucracy and scrutiny. The list is endless. Or you might want to complain about excessive policing or government economic policy. Then you get shot. Of course, if you kill someone, even inadvertently, your government may put millions into finding you and jailing you. But when a government has enemies, it can freely order the killing of as many as it likes with impunity. 

The story I posted last week about my screaming insane boss shows how hierarchies are often structured to cover up the behaviours and inadequacies of its members, and how bad promotions and choices of leadership can cause so much damage. That bad experience and even worse ones at work, the evil school I went to, the sick religion that was foisted on me as a child, make me chronically concerned about all the harm that is done in the world by a handful of deeply deranged individuals. 

I now live my trans life without reference to the authorities, to doctors, to activists or other people who allegedly act for the public good, our best interests, etc. I don't trust them at all. And when I see ayatollahs killing tens of thousands and presidents threatening, bullying and abusing millions, or dictators invading other countries, and hear their supporters rejoicing at the extermination, then I think I'm right to shun their evil and avoid those in their pay because if I want sanity, security and peace, I'd better look after those benefits myself. 

That said, we have no honest choice but to push back on these evil forces, support those suffering and try to engage the checks on power that are being usurped. Ostracise people you know who support murdering regimes: don't help them, don't buy from them, don't socialise with them, don't co-operate with them, just isolate them. Their outlook and behaviour are vile and that needs to be made clear to them in ways that cause them loss. In so doing, you are not so much losing a friend, relative, supplier, colleague, entertainer or other contact as reducing evil and chaos in your life and community.

My love to my trans sisters who are in the front line of so much hatred right now. Love especially to Hannah McKnight in Minneapolis whose humane and inspiring blogs I have followed for years. Stay strong but safe and know the world supports you.

 

Climate 

 

The view from home on Saturday: sailing under moody skies and choppy seas.

Despite my globally-warmed mosquito, it actually snowed on the high ground yesterday. There was a dusting of white on the mountaintop above home, but it was gone today. Heavy precipitation is expected tomorrow so it may become white again.

Mount Bignone, or Bignose as I call it. 1300 metres high (4265 feet)

This is news because, in the last 40 years, the Alps have rarely had the snow cover they used to. My train journeys this week will pass through the Alps and the Appennines and the dramatic rise from palm-fringed beaches on one side of the train to snow-capped peaks on the other makes this a very panoramic line. 

 

Packing and planning

I'm now packing to go on a city break to Genoa for a few days where the weather looks cool at best, so I'm looking at layers. I have packed some nice thermal vest tops, thermal tights and thick leggings. I also found a bodysuit that I'd forgotten I had. This is the trouble with a female wardrobe - the variety is so great you forget what you've got!

The shopping is way better in Genoa than here so I'll see if anything nice catches my eye.

I'll need to watch my eating when away, though. Since New Year I've lost a very impressive five kilos, or 12 pounds. Maybe by the end of the month it'll be six kilos off in all; that's one stone. But sightseeing is energy intensive so any excess food intake could get burnt off. 

 

Valentino

RIP fashion designer, Valentino Garavani, known simply as Valentino. 

I know I've often poked fun at some of his creations on my blog, especially when looking at his store in Milan's fashion district, but I have to acknowledge he was one of the greats. In some respects, it was his efforts in the '50s and '60s that got Italian high fashion associated with quality.

 

Offline

I'm not taking my laptop away this time so I'll be offline from Wednesday to Friday of this week. 

Stay pretty, stay safe, stay loved. Maybe that's my trans slogan for 2026.

Sue x 

Whackpotology

 A little parable for grown-ups.

Many years ago I worked in an organisation that assisted applicants for research and development funding. I dealt with universities, research bodies, laboratories, government agencies and the like, who wanted advice on a share of big money (millions) to establish international collaborations to advance science and technology, often in new fields like astrobiology and using incredible facilities such as particle accelerators, rockets, robot surgeons and the like. Serious, cutting-edge, exciting stuff, in other words.

I'm not a scientist but international relations are my field and I speak four languages, hence my working there. One day I got a new boss. She told me she'd got this job away from her home a hundred miles away because she needed to be far from her husband whom she could no longer live with. But being the daughter of an elder in the Jehovah's Witnesses, she could not divorce or she would be renounced by all her family, friends and church. So she was caught on the horns of this dilemma: dump the husband but be dumped by everyone she knew or stay put and suffer. Compassion might have been appropriate were it not for the fact that her faith was opposed to scientific advances such as blood transfusions; she claimed the theory of evolution was bunk, and would have cancelled Christmas leave had she been able since Christmas was, to her, "the work of the devil". In fact, that was her favourite phrase. Having no previous international experience, no language skills, an opposition to science, having left school at 16 but now surrounded by graduates and professors - a real fish out of water, in other words - I asked myself how on earth she had got herself recruited to the post in the first place. Coupled with this was her feral and unpredictable temper that caused her to scream, shout abuse, kick the furniture in the office or on trains and in hotels abroad. Sensitive in the extreme to the slightest criticism, suggestion or even query, you just avoided trying to interact with this raving woman. Needless to say, despite a nod to equal opportunities by the employer, her transphobia, misanthropy and other prejudices were expressed openly. Worst - and this is the bit for grown-ups so feel free to skip to the next paragraph - madame here wanted a child but not with hubby, obviously, and not with another man to whom she was not married as that was forbidden by her religion. That added dilemma she "solved" by vulgar and obvious advances and by quietly fingering herself. 

Obviously, even before we got to that last revolting stage, I had started to make complaints via formal staff procedures. Of course, if you are in an employment situation, even though you are complaining of another's antisocial behaviour, the hidden implication is that your boss's bosses made a mistake in recruitment and, as usually happens in these cases, they accuse you of trying to sow discord in a good team. In the end I took the matter right to the very top where I was taken seriously at last but by then, thankfully, I'd got a new job elsewhere. When I left they were unable (or unwilling) to recruit to replace me and for all I know those millions that local researchers could have had probably went to people abroad. All because of a screaming whackpot who'd be appointed to the wrong job and it was too embarrassing for her or her appointers to admit that.

You can understand how an oppressive upbringing and environment that threatens ostracism for mistakes and imperfections can be terrifying. At the most basic level, before modern social structures, removal from the family or tribe could mean death and modern man hasn't yet lost that instinct for self-preservation (oops, sorry, evolution there, my bad). Not being able to let out your frustrations as a kid and so grow out of them because it is severely punishable, surrounded by a world that you are told is evil and threatening, is awful. Ditto that you feel so much shame if the people around you seem superior. No wonder a big but fragile ego develops creating protective fantasies that you are right in the face of all this imaginary oppression. No wonder you later indulge in the unhinged, antisocial, abusive behaviour that you couldn't express as a toddler.

I mention this unpleasant tale of bad appointments, cover-ups, narcissistic rage, overblown abuse, sexual weirdness, and inability to deal with people in a constructive way, just in case you happen to come across any parallels. You can't change narcissists and bullies - their patterns of behaviour and the delusions they create in order to avoid reality and face their demons, their griefs and upsets, get set by early adulthood. But you can get away from them and leave them and their supporters to their dysfunction. 

 

Remedy 

My remedies this week to rants and chaos, and also winter weather, have included food preparation, quiet pastimes and planning and booking a number of little trips away. 

Sanremo town centre today: cold and damp but still pretty

I've booked a few days in Genoa next week despite possible snow as I want to see some of the Renaissance splendours of the city. There's also an exhibition there on Moby Dick and whales in the arts that I'd quite like to see.

In February I've booked a week on the French side of the Riviera to avoid the overwhelming Sanremo Music festival that blocks normal life round here. I hope to see Antibes, Cannes, Grasse, maybe St Tropez ...

In March I will go to Milan to vote in a referendum (democracy is fun if you can get it) and then plan to go to Rome, which I haven't visited for 20 years. 

In April I hope to be in London. And later maybe Austria, Slovenia and Germany. I did miss out on travel last year so I am trying to make up for that in 2026.

As for food, I have a good rapport with the porter here and he's given me a whole bunch of chilli peppers he's just picked from his vegetable plot. Some I've set to dry, some I've frozen and some I've put in olive oil.

Susie reminded me of jigsaw puzzles recently so, as it's wet and I can't go out to play, I did one that I originally bought to survive the pandemic lockdowns but never actually opened. A calm scene anticipating spring.

 

And always a nice soft dress on. Wear something that makes you happy as often as you can. 

Have a good weekend. 

Sue x 

A perfect female body, bit by bit

 Every woman is looking for the perfect female body. So is every man. ...An old joke that. This is how mine's coming along, bit by bit.

 

Sports and diet 

It's never dull where I live and there are a lot of big events coming up, not least the Winter Olympics based in Milan, Cortina and other Alpine locations. I watched the Olympic torch being carried past last Saturday.

 

 

I went to a sport-mad school and did enough sports there to last me for pretty much the rest of my life so I have little interest in them now. As far as winter sports go, I did learn to ski 25 years ago and quite enjoyed it but my calculation of enjoyment vs. cold + discomfort + expense is too heavy on the bad stuff to convince me to pursue it. So, last Saturday, rather than getting into a sporty mood after the torch ceremony, I treated myself at my favourite restaurant. Lifting forks to my mouth is great forearm exercise and I have fabulous wrists as a result of daily practice. I chose the leanest things on the menu: an octopus starter, then fresh pasta with cuttlefish ink and sauce, both really good. I was a good girl and had no wine. I've lost over 3 kilos (half a stone) since New Year so I'm back on track for the body shape I want.

 

Surgery 

Talking of a perfect female body, my friend Roz, who had her gender recognition surgery, facial feminisation surgery and breast augmentation surgery all done last year (but thankfully not all at the same time), tells me she is more proportioned, more feminine and very, very happy indeed. I'm very, very happy for her, too. For once, it seems that someone got good surgery throughout, so a definite win for transition there.

 

Nails 

The one thing that I was looking forward to a couple of months ago was having fun with nail varnish. Unfortunately, shortly after that, I managed to break a nail on my right hand very badly. Half the entire nail was cracked, and the bleeding and bruising were severe. I had to bandage my finger for a couple of weeks, in fact. Strangely, I've no idea how it happened. Other nails are damaged too. It's been over six weeks since the accident and it'll take several more to get back to where I was. 

This week I have been sniffing around the January sales. Yes, there are various boring household appliances I need to get but I am looking for that killer dress, yet to be spotted. I'll buy some new nail varnish when my nails are ready for it. 

 

Legs 

As for legs, it's not the first time I've enthused about Marks & Spencer Body Sensor 40 denier tights but, as last winter, I have been wearing these most days and they are terrific. 

 

Durable, with a good quality/price ratio, they team equally well with smart or casual looks. Warm yet not too thick, I find they don't slip down even after many washes or as the day progresses, and pill only slowly. I've not laddered any and damage has been only toe holes after long use. Highly recommended, therefore. These are my current Top Tights and probably second best ever (first was John Lewis 15 denier run resistant sheer gloss tights, sadly discontinued). I note you can get them in 30, 60, 80, 100 and 120 D, too, and they're now £9 for 3 in UK stores. I have always opted for opaques in 70D but these do a warming job just as well. So well done, M&S. 

Wearing M&S 40D Body Sensor tights

 

Keep warm

Keep warm and stay pretty this winter. It's certainly warmed up here since last week, which was uniquely cold, and these past two days I've eaten lunch outside. So has this early bumblebee. I've never seen one so soon after new year.

 

Have a nice weekend. For good mental health, don't watch the news but get into your favourite outfit and feel happy. 

Sue x 

A witch in high heels

 I ended my holiday dressathon (or 12 Days of Dressmas) dressed as the Befana. She's the kindly local Epiphany witch who brings children treats, as explained at the end of my last post. There were a lot of other women dressed as Befana round here, too; she's a figure as common as Santa is at Christmas. My next-door neighbours returned from their fortnight away and I'm fairly sure they saw me dressed as a witch but, far from arousing attention, that's normal at this season. I like to blend in!

Two years ago I bought a very cheap witch costume and silver wig for Hallowe'en and had some fun with them. Both the nylon wig and the dress, despite its light material with floating cobwebs, are more robust than I thought, and the hat is very versatile, so I thought I'd wear them again to be Befana. This time, though, I matched them with the cobweb pattern elbow-length gloves and tights that last saw action way back, 15 years ago in fact, at the Magic Theatre's Hallowe'en Ball at the Rivoli Ballroom in London. I also wore my smart new shoes. To blend the silver upper half with the shoes better, I layered the cobweb tights over tan ones to give a better progression to the more colourful shoes. As a general rule, open pattern tights tend to slip on better over sheers anyway.

Here is the final result, holding my Befana doll (who is stuffed full of chocolates ... there's no room for mere ornaments round here!)

 

I made some magic potion (well, it's that lovely violet and rose scented French tea in my lemon shaped teapot).

I don't have a magic wand but maybe a smiley-faced wooden spoon would bring a little New Year magic to the world? 

Phew, all these potions and positive spells sure wear a girl out. Time for a rest. 

So many cobwebs! I admit my outfit is more Goddess of the Spiders than Well-Meaning Witch with her patched worsted dress and cape! Oh, well!

This is what's hidden in the doll...

 

This was a lot of fun. Let's hope I've cast enough sweetness and magic to defy the malign spells of the Wicked Wizard of the West.

I dress as a woman every day but usually in casual stuff so it's not often that there's an excuse to wear all my dresses day after day. This dressathon was also a good exercise for me as it enabled me to see how long I could tolerate makeup. I was in makeup for about seven days in all, including four in a row. I know it meant that this Christmas and New Year was less sociable than usual but I thought I'd take advantage of nearly all the neighbours being absent and the fact that I'd already seen a great deal of my nearest relative last year.

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely 2026. 

Sue x 

Perfumes, all in good odour ... and not

I've been enjoying perfumes old and new this Christmas and New Year season. My all-time favourites remain Versace's Crystal Noir and Forever by Laura Biagiotti.

 

I was a bit disappointed that my Crystal Noir seemed to lack potency, more like a mild eau de cologne than a proper perfume. Manufacturers do change their formulas but I felt that this was a dilution too far. Then I realised that I must have bought this bottle at least 12 years ago and didn't get to use much before getting sick and moving abroad so it has actually faded naturally in all that time. It's annoying because the bottle wasn't exactly cheap. So I have been spraying it quite liberally to get more oomph. I forgot that, by contrast, my bottle of Forever was pretty new and, being used to the weaker perfume, I absent mindedly sprayed myself liberally with that on New Year's Eve, didn't notice its strength at the time because I spent an hour and a half outdoors in the cold watching fireworks. I woke the next morning with a headache that worsened all that day till I finally realised that it was the perfume that was causing it. All my clothes and bedsheets smelt of it and even my morning shower hadn't diluted it much either. 

So pay attention to what you are doing. Big smells need small doses.

As an aside, I have had much greater success with a lovely scented tea. I like to get a spiced tea for Christmas and this year I bought one at the Christmas market in Monaco. This "Macaron Violette" blend from Maison Bourgeon has a scent that I can only describe as ravishing. A mix of green and black teas with violet and jasmine flowers, rose and cornflower petals, mallow, and safflower oil, it has a scent so pretty, so soft and delicate, so intoxicating that its effect on me is like catnip to a cat. I want to roll in it! I wonder if it would make good pot pourri? 

 

I've been addicted to violet, either the candied flowers or the essence in sweets or other foods, ever since I ate a hand-made voilet flavoured lollipop from a stall on a beach in Brittany one summer, aged 13. Violet is like a drug to me. I don't want rehab; just give me the number of a good local dealer!

As another aside, for Christmas one of my sisters gave me some more things for my garden, such as seeds and hanging tubs. Ever practical, she gave me a sack of compost, too! I've never received compost as a gift before. I think I prefer the smell of the tea!

 

In bad odour

Talking of leaving bad smells...

I welcome all comments that are relevant. If you are advertising your site or product and it's trans related then I don't mind, although making additional comments of the actual contents of my post would be nice. 

But don't be crass and thoughtless. I'm looking at you, Chat Urbate. Posting your links to your saucy site under my report on the TGirl bar at the Erotica Fair is one thing; doing the same under the obituary of my beloved friend Bobby whom I miss very much is about as insensitive as it gets, so I've deleted all of your selfish ads. 

Film star Brigitte Bardot, who died a few days ago, gets no tribute either. Active for animal rights yet spewing hate against the LGBT community and foreigners. Er, you want exposure and adulation, yet most of your fans are foreign so you hate them? You can't have your cake and eat it. This is what we always find with extremists: no consistency in approach. According to Ms Bardot, animals deserve greater rights; some humans deserve none. I find that people who treat others right tend to treat animals right, too. 

 

Witchy time

Today is a public holiday in Italy. In a centuries-old tradition, a kindly witch called the Befana brings children sweets and in previous ages it was usual for people to give and receive presents today rather than on Christmas Day. Obviously, it's only the good children who get sweets; the bad ones get garlic. If you're lucky, Befana will sweep your floor with her broom before she rides away on it. 

My Befana doll that, like a Christmas stocking, is filled with sweets

So, as I didn't get to do anything at Hallowe'en last year because of caring duties, I'm ending my Christmas Dressathon, aka Dressmas, with a stint as Befana, the kindly old witch. More in the next post. Now where did I put that broomstick?

Sue x  

Positive resolutions and dressathon update

 Happy New Year! I wish you a peaceful, worry-free, happy year ahead. Those are my own aims for 2026 anyway. If the world would just comply, that would be dandy.

Actually, in terms of New Year's resolutions, apart from losing weight, finding the ultimate lover, winning the lottery, yadda yadda, you know the drill, I do intend to keep focusing here on the positives and nice aspects of being transgender. It's not easy being trans; trying to find one's way in a world that, at best, merely tolerates minorities or those with less usual circumstances, but I'm finding ways that work for me. If I share anything that helps even one other trans or LBGT+ person in their living or coping or even flourishing strategy, then this blog serves a purpose. Positive blogging is the new cool in this second quarter of the century. 

Sorry, does the word "cool" show my age? Substitute whatever word da kidz say nowadays, then. (Are they even "da kidz" now? I struggle to keep up!) And talking of nomenclature, Lynn over on YATGB and Jonathan on Male Femme and I are discussing the merits of the term Posiblogging. Could we set up a League of Posibloggers perhaps? Or the Goddesses of the Positive Blog League? As a Posiblog Goddess (or Demigoddess, since I am not full time) let me wish you a divine 2026.

 

Dressmas news

So I decided to spend the traditional 12 days of Christmas wearing dresses rather than my usual casual attire and seeing how much time I could spend with makeup on. I struggle with cosmetics that, like many products, can cause me unsightly and painful skin reactions. 

I wrote about my Dressathon choices over Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day here. December 27th was a lovely day: mild, clear and sunny. I sat out in the sun in the short summer dress that you've seen a hundred times before. Really I should wear leggings with it but my current favourite winter tights are just too comfy, so a lot of leg it is in the photo. Those are my new ankle boots that I'm breaking in as they are quite rigid and need softening up. 

 

My chosen perfume of the day was Sì by Giorgio Armani that, thankfully, was only a sample bottle as, to start with, I thought it made me smell a bit like a cucumber sandwich. The aroma did get better with time and was not unpleasant as the day wore on but I don't think I'll be investing in a full bottle of this. Who says TGirls aren't good enough to eat?

Talking of which, I even enjoyed lunch outdoors in the sun, a classic local dish of pasta strips and pesto sauce that's made with basil, pine nuts, cheese, garlic and olive oil. I treated myself to a tiny bottle of prosecco, too, because it's holiday time and because it's worth celebrating being fully feminine. That left one little bottle for New Year's Eve (see below). 

 

The brand name of the prosecco, incidentally, is Maschio, which means "Male" in Italian. Sorry, guys, no matter how much of this I drink, your masculinising potion is not working! 

After four days in makeup, even with the expensive quality primers, foundation, concealers and blushers from Mac, and my gentle removal products from Avène, my skin was very dry and flaky so I decided to give the makeup a rest for a bit. But I did prove that four days with my face on is now possible, which means I could now manage a good long weekend away at some trans event. This is great news after 10+ years of struggling with this problem. 

So I next got made up on New Year's Eve and watched the annual fireworks display (with that last precious tiny bottle of prosecco - yes, I was rationing it because wine makes me fat and I'm tired of being fat).

My camera is hopeless in the dark, especially with moving light displays, so I have no picture of me sitting outdoors that night. Besides, the temperature plummeted, so I was kitted out with puffer jacket, two fleeces, a slip under my long dress and my long boots, all under a blanket. But here's me when I'd come back indoors to toast us all a Happy New Year. 

 

Still, it was a good New Year display with a light show, then a drone show (which we've never had before) making attractive, colourful, moving representations of local landmarks, events, sports, and a gorgeous red rose to acknowledge our winter flower industry. And then, as midnight struck, there was the civic fireworks display which I always enjoy and which is accompanied by as many bangs and flashes as residents can manage from their own gardens and balconies. Apologies to the startled bat trying to go about its evening business whilst illuminated by flashes from every angle like in Dracula's disco. (More on bats below.)

Yesterday, New Year's Day, was really cold with a keen wind and I kept the same long dress, and even the boots indoors. By evening, I finally had to admit that the time had come to turn on the central heating. So for the first time since last April, the radiators are now operating. And as for my gas company who, in the true spirit of the season of goodwill, sent me a bill on Christmas Eve, it looks like the cigars in your boardroom will be smaller this coming year after the many weeks of savings the mild weather has given me. Have a happy new year, won't you!

However, it looks like it's going to be a uniquely cold week ahead and I was hoping to wear another short cotton dress during my Dressmas but that's very unlikely now. I'll try to stick to my Dressmas plans but my lined ski pants are on standby if need be! (Incidentally, if you like skiing, some of the best snow so far this winter is here in the Ligurian and Maritime Alps.) 

 

Dry January

That was my last glass of prosecco for a while. I'm doing Dry January again this year as leaving alcohol off the menu really helps lose weight more than anything. Perhaps that's a pity as someone - who obviously knows me well - gave me a novelty corkscrew for Christmas. 

 

It's a bat! I love it and it gives me the giggles each time I use it and its batty arms unfurl. Apparently, it was designed during the pandemic when bats were bad news so, in a fine example of making lemonade when life gives you lemons (or wine when there are sour grapes, I suppose), they came up with this. 

 

The party continues

In England where I used to live, my main complaint about winter was not so much the cold and dark and wet, which is no-one's fault, but the fact that between New Year and Easter there are no public holidays and no significant public celebrations or activities. Therefore, you have three or more months of doing nothing but working. How delightfully puritanical! By contrast, here in the hotbed of popery that is the Mediterranean, the gloom of winter is combated by a whole lineup of big events. We have another public holiday next Tuesday, January 6th (Epiphany); then Carnival, the Menton Lemon Festival and the gigantic Sanremo Music Festival in February; the Cycling Season opens here in March with the Flower Festival and Sanremo Pride. There's always something to keep your mind off the shorter, colder days. I'll report back. 

Once again, all the best for 2026.

Sue x