What sets you off?

 I messaged a trans friend via a social media site and, as it happens she'd just posted a picture of a favourite band of her youth and how it drove her gender expression wild at the time and continues to do so. I was going to say gender dysphoria but that's too negative - you can get a very positive response from gender triggers.

This is what she posted:

© Smash Hits magazine 1985

 Strawberry Switchblade were a short-lived group from Glasgow that sang songs, yes, but developed a uniquely polka-dot, rara skirt Lolita look. Needless to say, they were big in Japan. 

© Lookin magazine 1985

It's the ultra-girly look, isn't it? All those extra ribbons, bows, lace and froth, rara skirts with extra ra, high heeled booties, jazzy nails and big big hair ... 

I wish she hadn't posted it. I've been reliving the bad old good old days of ridiculously overblown '80s girly-girl fashion that drove me gibbering in my teens and it's driving me nuts again now! I could do with a touch of youth too, perhaps, but I can't get stuff like this at the moment! Or even fit into it, I imagine! And to think that last month I picked up a bright red lacy burlesque rara skirt in my storage unit in London and put it back thinking: now when the hell am I ever going to wear that? Answer: now, dammit, I want it now! 

So, yes, this triggers my thirst for feminine expression like nothing else. I suppose it's largely the association with an influential time of life. What if I'd been a teen in the '50s? Tight sweaters and wide skirts with petticoats would've been the trigger, no doubt. Or the 1890s? Waspie waist, presumably - just as well I don't have to try that right now! I'm genuinely not sure what the youth of today are into but in the 2060s what will the CDs/TVs/trans folk be reminiscing about?

So that's what's bugging me right now. I need a polka dot rara ribbon combo right now to feel complete! These leggings I've been doing my housework in are perfectly feminine, up-do-date, sporty and flattering but wouldn't it be so much more fun to be a beribboned strawberry girl? I doubt much work would get done, though, apart from polishing the mirror all day!

So no thanks to my friend! I can't get this out of my head! 

Just one more thing to add to the growing list of influences (click the relevant label, right, for more).

Harvest time on the riviera

Talking of older things, I've been enjoying the various local antiques markets recently and got things for the home: clocks, teapots, glassware and the like, and a lot of cheap books, DVDs and CDs. One girl's junk is another girl's treasure!

The wine harvest is starting and the fountains are flowing with wine! Well, it's something like it anyway!

Here's combining the two!

Of course, there are all sorts of other things in season: olives, garlic, snails (!), mushrooms (lots of mushrooms!), and food markets and food fairs abound here right now. I had some really fabulous porcini mushrooms (ceps) in my pasta in my favourite restaurant last week. And swordfish seems to be abundant just now, too. I enjoyed this little slice poached with white wine, lemon juice, mushrooms and my own parsley at home and it was special. Mmm.

I bought Arnold the Olive as a tiny cutting three years ago during the pandemic and he's now grown big enough to be producing a crop of olives himself. Photos another time when it's not pouring with rain, which is another feature of the season. But the annual summer drought needs ending somehow.

Happy autumn. 

Sue x

Ladies who lunch, and more

 In my last post I recounted a night out in Bolton in Northern England. Today it's a day out in nearby Manchester. Both with the widows of lovely friends who've passed away. 

My Manchester day out was with Suki, nickname of the wife of my beloved friend Kate who died last year. Suki and I have had the misfortune of making many appointments to meet over the last year and been frustrated by illnesses, mechanical problems with cars, family engagements and other issues. But this time we managed it.

Suki had booked us into the Ivy in the city centre. For those who don't know, the Ivy is now a chain but started as a single restaurant in central London that soon became popular with the celebrity set. Not to be confused with the Ivy, LA, which attracts a similar crowd. Lesser mortals found it hard to get in, and harder still to pay the prices. About 20 years ago, a plate of fishcakes was the cheapest thing on the menu, priced £35 (about $60 at the time). Indeed, Ivy fishcakes famously  became almost an informal unit of currency in the early 2000s, like the Mars bar in the 1970s! But celebrity spotters who wished to observe the likes of Hugh Grant and Jemima Khan munching fishcakes besottedly were prepared to wait and pay for the privilege.

Anyway, they've now expanded into a chain of smart but less exclusive restaurants and Suki booked us in for their more intelligently priced set lunch. I dressed fairly staidly and smartly for the occasion in a three-quarter length grey skirt, black ankle boots and my favourite sparkly pink sweater.

 

I met Suki in the lobby of the hotel and I was a bit overwhelmed to see her again after all this time and after Kate's passing. 

We took a taxi to the Ivy in the new Spinningfields business district created after the old textile mills were torn down. I'm not sure the architecture is wholly to my taste but I appreciate the greenery. Old factories are not usually beautiful so this is perhaps better. Judge for yourselves.

It's richly decorated inside, a mix of classic and modern. Again, some of it I like, some I'm less sure of. 

 

But the greenery all around our corner table was again a plus point. I find green plants very soothing, though I confess to being a lousy gardener.

Here's me sat at table.

We had spicy oriental calamari with noodles to start, then I had their signature shepherd's pie, which was very good, and ended with the biggest profiteroles I have ever been served in my life! That's ice cream in the middle, and the choc sauce was very, very gooey. Wow! 

 

You can also see Suki's frozen berries with ice cream on the side kept cold by some magical device that you can see smoking cold. A bit of theatre in your dining experience is always fun!

Anyway, we were both very happy with the food, the attentive service ("Ladies", "Madam" - oh yes, we like that :-) ) and the very acceptable price. The toilets are, intelligently, unisex units comprising WC and basin - so no "bathroom controversies" and complete privacy for the entire performance.

Well, after that, we needed to walk it off and do some shopping. Given the battering my lovely boots had taken on Britain's rotten pavements, (that I complained about earlier this month), and the breakdown of my chunkier German-made boots that were unsalvageable in the end, I wanted to find a new pair. I never did find something to suit, though, and in the end opted for the current fashion for horrid square toes and chunky heels from Primark. I hate the style altogether, but they were cheap and, it has to be said, very comfortable. I tested them that very evening, in fact, in Canal Street ... but more on that episode and the boots another day.

Suki needed the Ladies in a shop at one point so I waited for her outside. Can you believe it, though? She picked the restrooms in the menswear department! Yeeeurrgh! No wonder I look inimpressed!

I also had the pleasure of meeting Helen Atherton for the first time, though sadly she had to be in boy mode. Helen works in central Manchester and lives close to Suki so she joined us and went home with Suki after we'd had a cup of tea at my hotel. Helen was a regular in the Zoom chats organised by Kate and Suki that we had on Saturday evenings during the pandemic. I described the first of these here and they continued on and off for a long time. Helen said they're actually still going. Maybe "social distancing" actually resulted in social bonding in our case. 

So that was a lovely day. I felt confident and happy in my femininity and where I was. And the support from a wonderful friend and trans ally was uplifting. 

Thank you, Suki. You are the friend of all TGirls. And I'm glad life is OK for you after our Kate passed away, with a lovely little grandson to play with.

Sue x

A girls' night out, travelling the unknown

 I went to Manchester mainly to meet up with the widows of two beloved trans friends who have died recently. A trip tinged with sadness, therefore, but one that went beautifully for all that.

My first evening out was with Sandy, wife of Bobby Sox who passed away three years ago. I wrote a tribute to Bobby here. 

Sandy sold their home in Wales and moved to Lancashire six months ago. As Manchester was a little far for her we agreed to meet half way, in Bolton. 

I had been to Bolton once before, for work in the 1990s. But that was just straight from train to office by taxi and back so I'd never actually set foot in the town. For those who don't know, Bolton was once the cotton spinning capital of Britain, with over 200 mills, and therefore a city with a significant industrial heritage. All gone now, although those who watched British TV in the 1970s and '80s may recall Fred Dibnah, a Bolton steeplejack who fascinated the nation with the way he dangled off high roofs, his ways of bringing down industrial chimneys without explosives, and his traction engines.

Anyway, we agreed to have an evening there. So I got into a little floral dress over leggings and my beloved old ankle boots.

 

When I first started going out in public as a woman, the prospects of taking public transport made me nervous as hell. And although I have been out very little in the last ten years, the last few trips this year seem to have killed off any recurring nerves to speak of and I merrily set off to do a train journey I'd never done before. Living life as a woman becomes too joyous to worry so much about whether you pass or people will notice you. The increased confidence you get as you go out more and more eventually does away with such niggles. I am a woman getting on with her life, and how I feel about that affects my demeanour and how people treat me. Nobody took any notice of me, which is how it should be. Of course, if you want the attention, I'm not saying you shouldn't get it. But I was just off to have dinner with an old friend I hadn't seen in years so what's that to anyone else? I was just another commuter at a crowded station.

So I bought a ticket from the machine, found Platform 14 and its airport-style waiting lounge where a crowd was gathering and eventually the train came in and rattled its way to Bolton. 

It was so lovely to see Sandy again and looking well. We went straight to the Achari Indian restaurant near the station where they gave us a big table to ourselves and unfailingly referred to us a "ladies" and called me "madam" and what could one possibly want more than this affirming treatment? That is the joy I derive from doing this. It makes all the aggro with makeup and wigs worth it. 

Anyway, we had a lot to catch up on. Sandy seems happy in her new home and is settling into her new work and surroundings. Her son and daughter-in-law are not too far away in Yorkshire. So I'm glad to hear all that. I hope she may visit me in Italy one day. 

The food was not at all bad, by the way. Perhaps not the most memorable chicken balti I've had, but certainly tasty, and I was hungry.

We had a bit of time left and so went to look for a quiet place for a drink afterwards and the York Hotel seemed like a possibility. You can never be quite sure in an unknown place what a pub might be like, what sort of people patronise it, how welcoming it might be. But once inside we found it festooned in Pride flags and that was an immediate reassurance. And the other unexpected find was that they served Britvic 55! For those who don't know or don't recall, Britvic 55 was soft drink that saw its heydey in the 1980s with a hard advertising campaign that touted this mix of orange juice and fizzy water as a drink that was both healthy, fun and very much the 'in' thing. I couldn't believe they still make it but there it was. I felt like I was reliving my student days! So we guzzled our Britvic as we chatted.

It was really nice to see my friend again who has always been a staunch ally of the trans community, frequently joining us girls on our nights out. And I got the benefit of an evening as myself with that positive support.

I'd normally leave my narrative there but I have to describe my journey back to Manchester as it required some innovation on my part. I would never have believed years ago that I could just get on with the outdoor life of a typical woman. But here I am.

The trains to Manchester Piccadilly were cancelled. Typical! The best I could hope for was Manchester Victoria after some wait on the gloomy platform at Bolton. I don't know Manchester well and had little idea of where Victoria was. But it was that or walk. So it was that. I assumed there'd be surface transport from Victoria to Piccadilly and I found on arrival that there was a tram. I've never been on a Manchester tram before and working out the route, timetable and ticketing arrangements took a bit of time. No big city ever really helps visitors work out how their complex transport system functions in any easy way. 

Anyway, having worked it out and got a ticket, I took the tram which was reasonably empty and I took some bad selfies just to prove I'd been on it. I think I'm getting old and ugly and by evening's end my makeup isn't looking so good. But here's the least awful picture. Let me look down on you, little ticket inspector!

 

Apart from a lesbian shouting abuse at a man who'd joked "get a room, you two" when she kissed her girlfriend, there was no trouble. (You can tell I don't really like late-night transport!) So I got back to the apartment later than planned but exhilarated by my adventure. A mundane journey for some, but an uplifting experience for a trans woman who hasn't been able to live as she'd like for years. 

Thank you, Sandy, for your friendship, kindness, support and company. May we meet again soon. And here's to you, dear Bobby, you never-forgotten glamourpuss.

Sue x

Costly success

 I'm back from my two-week trip to the UK, which went well and enabled me to catch up with lots of friends. It was exhausting, though, because of all the travelling and heaving two suitcases about on trains. TGirls don't travel light!

I have just done my accounts after the trip and the cost was truly eye-watering. I did feel that this was likely to be the last such visit and I think that clinches it. Not only has train travel always been monstrously expensive in Britain but the hotels are, too. And when you are away from home, eating out adds up as well. 

But I achieved almost all I wanted to on the social front. I described my trip to Brighton in my last post. After that, I saw one of my sisters. Then I went to Manchester, mainly to see the widows of two of my lovely trans friends who have passed away, and that was a very good trip, if tinged with sadness. Canal Street was dead quiet, though - I had hoped for a worthwhile night out there. I saw Emma and family in Leicestershire and met the ever-interesting Lynn of YATGB fame. After that it was Nottingham, where I stayed with very old friends and we enjoyed a day out at the National Tramway Museum in Derbyshire. 

All to be recounted in due course, especially the bits in a frock.

I also spent time in my storage unit, swapping clothes about and picking up some fun things in the way of books, CDs, DVDs, ornaments and, of course, girl clothes and shoes I've been missing. 

I do try to run a positive blog, but I have grumbles ...

The first is the atrocious state of Britain's pavements, the holes in which have stripped the heels of my favourite ankle boots of their leather. I was due in a smart restaurant and was dismayed at the extensive damage my boots had sustained in Brighton, Bolton and Manchester. Without time to go to a cobbler or repairer, I blacked in the missing parts with kohl pencil! I think my 'running repairs' passed muster. (I don't know if my eyes did, though!)

Another is the abominable state of British and French transport. French trains have always been lousy but the UK did get its railways working comparatively well in the period 2000-2020 but this year only one of the 13 rail trips I made in the spring went to plan and only my trip to Brighton did this autumn. What with strikes, delays, breakdowns, cancellations, diversions, people hit by trains, technical problems, floods, trains shortened, and more, it's a nightmare. A trip from Nottingham to Twickenham should take 3 hours - it took 5, in overcrowded trains. My trip from London to home in Italy (partly by plane) should take 7 hours - it took 12. The Italian leg went perfectly ... others please note.

The third is that in Britain it rains. It rained all the time! Hard, drumming rain that woke me at night several times. Apart from my afternoons in Brighton and at the Tramway Museum it rained almost constantly. I finally got to Nice Airport where I picked up my sopping wet cases that had been left out in the driving rain at London's Heathrow Airport. They dried off in the balmy 22C sunshine of the riviera. It was 25C here today. This is why I moved here!

I'll leave you with one other thing that could be bad or good. Here's me relaxing in an outfit I'd planned to go out wearing in the Gay Village in Manchester. Just as I stood up to go out, my skirt fell off. I have lost enough weight this year that this number no longer fits. Yay! A pity that I had to swap this sexy item for an altogether more staid skirt with an elasticated waistband that wasn't going to fall off, but it's as well I discovered the problem whilst I was still indoors and not out in the street! 

Sue x

A day of shopping in heels

 I’m spending ten days in England to see friends I didn’t see back in the spring. And to go out with them as Sue.

My first proper stop was Brighton, which I’ve been to several times before as Sue (see below). I stayed with Stella who lives on the nearby Downs in a house with a beautiful garden that her wife has nurtured to perfection over the last decade. 

The rain was torrential as I went there, and also each night, but in the afternoons it was warm and sunny. We relaxed in the garden on Friday but on Saturday we decided to go out shopping. 

I wore my oldest and most comfortable pair of ankle boots - I’ve had them for 20 years. As this was my first time out in high heels for six years, I wanted to make sure my feet could cope after all the time away, so a pair I knew to be reliable was essential. I proved that you never really lose the knack as I stomped several miles along the busy streets without difficulty. I also wore an old paisley skirt with autumnal tones and a pink sparkly sweater. The weather was uncertain so I took my scarf and coat too and semi-opaque tights. And a big patent leather handbag with room for a pair of black patent ballet flats in case my heels proved too much. I did put those on for the last ten-minute walk back to the car. 

Brighton is probably the most alternative city in Britain and it’s estimated that 15% of the population fall under he LGBTQI+ umbrella. Frankly if you aren’t lesbian, or an artist, or a vegetarian, or smoking dope, or all the above, then you don’t really belong there! It attracts a disparate crowd, from music and motor sports enthusiasts, international tourists, stag and hen parties, to people who like the old-fashioned seaside atmosphere. Something for everyone, I guess. But only an hour from London. The point is, no-one took any notice of two T-girls.

Here’s me with my purchases: toiletries from Boots and posh (but heavily discounted) makeup from Mac. I like discounts.

 

The main shopping streets don’t just contain the standard shops of every high street in the world now but have a lot of independent businesses. The old Lanes are best, with an eclectic mix of cafés, pubs, jewellers, sweet shops, antique and junk shops, quirky odd products, and all sorts. Here’s one place that sells nothing but rubber ducks!

We had a cheap, light lunch in a café, stopped for a glass of bubbly mid-afternoon and later enjoyed a really outstanding ice cream. Brighton’s like that.

Here’s me with my glass of something like prosecco in the quiet back yard of a bar tucked away in a already half-hidden corner of the Lanes. Stella is a professional photographer and this apparently is an artistic pose. I’m not so sure that an upwards projection is ever flattering! Discuss.

We drove home along the coast road. This is the new i360 viewing pod that replaced the ferris wheel. The pod of people rises slowly up the pole … and then comes down again. 

So it was a good day that started wet but got warmer and sunnier. I got plenty of exercise in my heels, saw pretty shops and enjoyed the company of an longstanding friend. It was my third trip out as Sue this year after several years’ drought. I feel comfortable visiting old haunts with friends at the moment, till I find new girlfriends in my new home in Italy.

Manchester is my next stop.


A dip in the archives

Previous trips to Brighton include:

Pride in 2010

Pre-Sparkle 2011

A weekend with Stella in 2013

A spring break in 2014

I’ve just realised that the skirt I wore last weekend was the same I wore in summer 2011! It’s now officially designated my Brighton skirt.

Mini golf in Brighton 2011

Sue x

Suitcase pack, and epilation record

 I'm going away for a couple of weeks and I have two cases, one with my usual andro clothes and one with fully fem clothes. Yes, I have planned several girly outings. I feel a new lease of girl life this year after all those years of sickness, emigration, pandemic and so forth. I'm in little doubt that whatever I get up to will be recorded here in due course.

Where am I off to? ...You'll see.

I'm not going to write again about how to pack your girly suitcase. I see I've done that more than once! So, having followed all my tips, I think I'm set.

I was amazed and pleased at doing my first all-over epilation after summer in just 45 minutes. This is the big one, where I remove the gorilla suit. Being in the pool all summer is the one time I don't wear anything femme, so I let my body hair grow to match. I love the summer, I hate the hair, but that's how it is. So autumn has its merits. But I'm impressed at my new-found speed. Maybe it's just a burning desire to be smooth and feminine again as fast as possible. It's not quite perfect but we can deal with straggling hairs over the next few days. I book into hotels that I know have good showers for this reason. 

British readers of a certain age (ahem) may recall the late Roy Castle who hosted a very long-running children's programme called The Record Breakers in which he and the founding editors of the Guinness Book of Records, Norris and Ross McWhirter, presented various things and people of unique speed, height, size, etc. It always ended with the dreadful closing theme song, Dedication, sung and played (on the trumpet) by Castle and it used to drive my mother nuts. It used to drive me nuts, too, but more because the implication of the song was that in order to be recorded in the Guinness publication you had to be dedicated to breaking whatever record it was, which didn't sit well with the interview they'd just done with the guy with the biggest nose or the visit they'd just made to the world's explodiest volcano or how they'd just petted world's lollopiest bunny rabbit or whatever it was. As if you had to devote time and energy simply to existing as the most extreme in your class. Anyway, I wanted to ask if, whilst you are doing mindless tasks like epilating, a stream of consciousness ramble fills your head and you wonder if, say, there might be a irritating set of lyrics for a song Epilation to be sung in the shower whilst you get on with creating the smoothest set of legs in the world. I wish my brain wouldn't work like this but I'm sure it's not just me. Is it, nurse?

The one thing missing from my case, though, is my pink camera. I can't find it anywhere. I really don't want to use the blue one. Pink is for girls and blue is for boys, as everyone knows; those are the rules and I didn't make them. 

Missing - reward

 

Sue x

Hacked

 My Facebook account got hacked and then killed off by Facebook because the hacker must have posted something horrible. 

Facebook was just a quick and easy way to keep in touch with my friends but since I never accepted friends there that I hadn't met elsewhere and hadn't some other means of contacting, this is merely an irritation rather than a tragedy. And since I have never posted anything of value to fraudsters, not even locations or interests or any personal information, I doubt whoever it was will derive much joy from it. 

What galls me is that, whatever got it shut down was, it seems, a post to do with human trafficking. Given that I was a refugee as a baby, this is uniquely offensive. Couldn't they just post something obscenely pornographic like normal?

Facebook doesn't do customer service; it's judge and jury of everything and I'm told by various sources that the account is gone and it's utterly unlikely to be reinstated. You'd have thought that 14 years of impeccable use without controversy might count for something but clearly whoever created the system didn't have the wit to treat uncharacteristic behaviour as some kind of hint that maybe the real user has been usurped. 

I tried to create a new account using a different computer, credentials, email and so on and, after thinking about it for 36 hours, Facebook blocked that account, too. 

 

Yes, I could try using a VPN to try to circumvent their border police but I ask myself, since these social media platforms are little more than licensed spying, maybe it's time to get back to more natural ways of interacting and avoid the intrusions into privacy. I have to say, though, that Facebook was a godsend during the pandemic when we were all confined indoors, like Zoom and the like. My newsfeed there was a bit like a personalised version of Mad magazine. But, hey, that's what happens when your friends are a bit weird. ;-) What, me worry?

(c) Mad. June 2011 cover.

Only kidding, I mean my friends are fun, not weird. Not weird at all. 

Anyway, no matter how careful you are, this stuff can happen. I'd noticed quite a lot of attempts in the last couple of years to get details off me and all sorts of bogus accounts in my name, those of my friends or friend requests that look highly suspect. (For some reason, whoever is making these bogus profiles thinks American generals are the sort of friends I'd like to have!)

I have doubts that any fraud or criminality will derive from this. It's just an annoyance.

 

Bombers and canapés

Talking of sabotage - and this is a bit icky, I'm afraid - as I've mentioned, I have access to a lovely outdoor swimming pool over the summer months. But last week the lifeguard opened the facility to find a murdered rat in the water. It wasn't just a dead rat, but a bleeding one. I'd guess it was dropped by accident by a bird of prey, posssibly even one of the huge herring gulls who nest on the cliffs. So our lifeguard rightly roped off the pool itself and we couldn't swim till the pool was disinfected and checked by the bio experts. 

All clear now, and yesterday all the residents decided to have an end-of-season party by the pool, everyone bringing food and drink. It was a great success and a good way to get to know people better. Sadly, the season ends this Sunday and the pool closes. I'm nice and brown and have had lots of exercise this summer. I think swimming is about the best exercise you can get. 

Sue x

Less is more

 It's time to get back to my slimming drive which got suspended at the end of April because of travelling over the spring and because the summer has been too lazy. I did well, losing 32 pounds between November and April. I don't have much more than a stone to lose till I'll be back in my healthy weight range. 

Here's my good-luck whale on my lap to help keep me motivated!

Lose this belly, he says!

Notice how my feet are trying to emulate his tail. We are one, he and I: siblings in blubber. So let's see if I can get well into the healthy weight range by Christmas.

I mentioned various books in my last post and one that I have just finished reading is relevant to weight loss, or rather weight gain, and that is the bestselling tome Ultra-Processed People by Chris van Tulleken. 

It's a pretty disturbing look into why the world has developed an obesity crisis in the last forty years, especially in poor countries or among poorer classes. The easy-to-eat processed food that abounds would seem to be the culprit. The stigma attached to being fat makes fat people depressed but, the author argues, their size may not actually be their fault. I recall how thin people used to be in the 1970s - look at any old TV show of the era - before ultra-processed food really got a grip. Modern ultra-processed food is designed to be appetising so you eat more than you should because it tastes good, and it's soft so it goes down faster. And the food industry makes more money as a result of your overeating what is cheap to produce.

Reading this alongside other scientist authors working in the same field, such as Tim Spector of King's College, London, I get a fairly awful picture of how processed food is bad for us; how trying to maintain longer shelf life and improve palatability is harming our bodies. The correlation is not certain, but then neither is that between tobacco and cancer. But just as smokers on average die sooner of nasty diseases more often than non-smokers do, ultra-processed food consumers are fatter and unhealthier than the few who can still find 'real' food. 

I'm fortunate in living in Italy where people are still keen on local, natural foods. OK, so cheese and wine are processed, of course, but not to the extent that, say, US-style burgers and ice-creams are. Food origin, hygiene and overall food policing here are very strict. For example, pork sausages here are around 93% pork from specified farms, the rest being salt, herbs and casing. This compares to the UK where half the sausage may be rusk, to say nothing of preservatives, colourings and other agents. Pasta in this region is made of durum wheat flour and water; nothing else, not even egg. There are local denominations for certain specific products that are jealously guarded, and this guarantees quality. There is also a Slow Food Movement specifically to contrast the idea of fast food. In fact, fast food restaurants, such as McDonald's and Burger King, have somewhat different products from elsewhere in the world as there are requirements for them to use local ingredients here. To be honest, a quarter pounder with cheese wouldn't sell here - never mind the metric system - because US-style meat, cheese and pickles just wouldn't appeal to the local palate.

So I'm in a better position to get healthier simply because the food is better quality and not so full of processed stuff. I am spending more on proper bread, but I eat less of it as it takes more effort and is more filling than a processed loaf. I'm also weaning myself off sweeteners as they are not good at all.

I recommend the book if you're into reality horror and maybe feel it's better to eat well.

Anyway, wish me luck for the rest of my slimming journey.

Sue x

Bikini, sunglasses, cool drink, good book ...

 It's officially the first day of autumn tomorrow but, here in the Med, the hot days of the last seven weeks continue unabated. I love the heat, as I've said so often, but even I like a bit of a change to cooler weather, even for just a day or two, from time to time, just for variety (hint). Apart from the wild thunderstorm a fortnight ago, it's been unvarying. So I lie around reading books in my bikini (no, sorry, no photos!). OK, I do other stuff, even the boring washing up (!), but it's not the weather for a lot of exertion. 

My books this week include a gorgeous edition of Jane Austen classic, a horrifying science bestseller (Ultra-Processed People), and a book on LBGT love (Altricorpi) that I mentioned a review of a few weeks ago. I'll talk about the latter two in due course but today, just look at this lovely edition of Sense and Sensibility from Chiltern Publishing:

Being a trans person, as I've said before, is not just about the clothes. My home is full of things that are associated more with femininity than masculinity. That feels right to me. This book is beautifully bound in floral decorated hard covers with gold edging on the pages. It's lovely to read, resting chunkily in the hand, as a real book should. It's not cheap, but it's not expensive either. I also bought their edition of Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights. It's so lovely in every way that I plan to buy more books from them. And what girl doesn't love a classic romance anyway?

Hot flushes

Thanks to people who commented on my last post about nightwear for hot nights. I must check out menopause nightwear. One of the main reasons I moved from cool, rainy, cloudy Britain to the warmer Mediterranean was because I developed an odd health problem in that I am cold in the day but too hot at night. Upright = cold; horizontal = hot. I've had no end of medical checks to see what's up: could it be a disease like lupus? or a circulation defect? or a vitamin deficiency? No doctor could work it out so in the end they reverted to the centuries-old suggestion of moving to warmer climes, like Robert Louis Stevenson or Paul Gauguin who went to the Pacific in the nineteenth century for similar reasons. Where I live now on the Italian riviera the typical winter temperature is 15C and in summer it's 30C. The lowest I've ever noted is 8C and the highest 36C. That's all fantastic for me, but cooler nights in summer are becoming an issue. 

 

Cute news

The beaches are still pretty full. (And are very regimented here to fit everyone in!)

I treated myself to lunch today at one of my favourite places to eat which has a lovely view within a palm grove.

But the cute news is that leatherback turtles, which are somewhat endangered, have been laying eggs on beaches here for the first time, right among the sunbeds and beach umbrellas. They don't normally do that this far north but global warming has changed their lifestyle patterns. Local environmental agencies provide protection and the eggs are hatching now, the first clutch at Laigueglia a few days ago. It's so lovely to see all the little turtles hurrying to the water as fast as their little flippers will carry them. There's another nest just five miles up the coast and Hatching Day is expected to be on Monday. Here's one video of the recent event.

 

Mama Turtle there got 43 live young and they all made it to the sea. I have no egg-laying capacity, nor even a womb. I wish I did but nature has her inscrutable ways. I wonder if there are trans turtles? Given how many species display trans tendencies, I suspect there are. Anyway, good luck to these little ones in a hostile world. At least they've got a hard shell to protect them. 

Sue x

Nightwear for summer

 I've always loved feminine nightwear and, when I finally stopped purging and accepted that I was a trans woman, the first thing I did was buy lots of nighties. The most feminine styles were so affirming. There's nothing wrong with pyjamas, if you like them, but they're too much like the masculine item to be of interest to me. Nighties might be unfashionable nowadays, but we trans girls need our feminine boost, right? (I think it's TGirls who are single-handedly keeping the stocking industry alive, for the same reason!)

It's been a hot summer as always but, thankfully, not as hot as the previous two years and, unlike last year, we haven't experienced any forest fires. At least, it's not so hot by day, but it's been hard to sleep because, although daytime temperatures in the low 30s (85-95 F) are fine, nights ought to be cooler but they're not because of soaring sea temperatures that don't let cooling evening breezes arise. This year the water temp hit 30C, like the Caribbean, which is way hotter than it should be.

Anyway, the nights have been too hot for the usual nightwear and even the light microfibre underwear alternative I suggested last year hasn't been good. Yes, there's air conditioning but I find artificially created atmospheres are not healthy for various reasons and, in any case, I prefer not to keep it on all night. Thankfully, french knickers work well but the best solution for tropical nights, short of a bamboo wife*, are these underskirts or half slips. 

 

Totally unfashionable and hard to find these these days, I happen to have a few which I bought in the 1990s (!) that were useful for use under unlined skirts at that time but now make great summer nightwear. Still feminine yet cool. 

(*If you're wondering about bamboo wives, they're a wicker structure still found in some homes in South East Asia that you embrace in bed on hot nights and so as to allow air to flow around your body, making a night in bed less torrid. This is the best illustrated article: Good Night's Rest; and the Wikipedia article. My grandfather spent a lot of time in Hong Kong and mentioned them to me as a child.)

(c) CosyOne

 

The good stuff

I was delighted to hear of the election of another trans person to public office. In this case, Kim Coco Iwamoto in Hawaii. Pink News article.

One day this sort of thing won't make the news because of the trans aspect, but until being trans is accepted as normal we'll celebrate these achievements of our community.

Do enjoy the rest of summer.

Sue x