Two girls visit Macbeth's castle

 

The last of my fully fem time in Scotland was a trip to Cawdor Castle, home of the thanes of Cawdor. Shakespeare famously makes Macbeth the thane, although the real King Macbeth never actually was. 

It's a well-known tourist attraction which is presented pleasantly by the current (25th) thane. The website is here.

It's certainly picturesque and almost the archetypal Scottish castle. I photographed it from the front lawn and the back garden: 

 

As well as the fine art and furniture by mainly 18th-century British artists such as Romney, Lawrence, Reynolds, Chippendale ...

 

... we actually liked the quirky tastes and jokey descriptive guide notes of the owners, and the various cartoons from Punch or by Charles Addams (of the Addams Family).

If I stayed here I'd insist on this pink bed:

(Mind you, I have actually slept in four-poster beds and in my experience they are firm as rocks. No pocket-sprung mattressing for those hard-as-nails Georgians.)

It was when descending the spiral stair in the middle of the castle that tragedy struck. I don't see well in half-light and these stairs were pretty dark so I misjudged a step down and scraped the heel of my boot on the granite step. It took all the leather right off not only the high heel itself but much of the back of the boot, too. These are my oldest and favourite pair of ankle boots and I've been out so often in them that I was heartbroken. What with having had these coated in the mud at Fort George earlier and my high-leg boots breaking at John O'Groats the day before, this weekend wasn't going well for my footwear. So, as before, I had to get out my ballet flats. Just as well I always carry a spare pair of flats (with spare tights, lipstick, etc.) in my capacious handbag. 

The garden was nice and again we noted the family's quirky sense of humour in the plant arrangements that seemed slightly suggestive yet maybe not ...

 

There was also a repeated theme of a ball on a pole among the garden sculptures, such as this glass and slate tiled item that I particularly liked (it reminded me of the twisted slate tile fountain at Kew Gardens near my old home.) 

 

(By the way, the white bag I'm holding contains my torn ankle boots). 

Roz saw the sculpture as a crystal ball. 

 

The theme continues with a fountain that's a spitting pufferfish  ...

 

... and an unusual bronze bird feeder with spouts for seeds.

The birds loved this but I wasn't able to get a decent photo of them as they don't stay still a moment. I liked this stone tile fountain, too which reminded me a little of the Weltkugelbrunnen (Fountain of the World) in Berlin (a.k.a. the Wasserklops (Water Meatball) as the sardonic locals call it), so there were quite a lot of evocations of other sculptures in this garden for me.

 

As we left the garden, the heavens opened, so we went home and that, sadly, was the last trip of my weekend in Scotland. Everyone we met treated us right ("Hello, ladies") or offered to take our photo. It's how things should be. 

Much love and many thanks to my wonderful hostess and beloved friend Roz for her kindness and hospitality. Stays at Roz's have always been special. Here she is with the painted caravan in the grounds of Cawdor Castle.

And thanks also, and not for the first time, to Miss Twist, whose road trips through Scotland dressed as a girl have influenced my choices (see her interactive map here). Miss Twist is taking a break from cheeky superheroine sightseeing but I hope she'll be back soon because she's exceptionally good at it!

Miss Twist at John O'Groats. Many thanks for the inspiration, hon.

It is lovely being out in the world as a woman. I feel at peace this way.

Sue x 

A postcard from Lombardy

 I've been travelling again, this time to the Lombardy region of Northern Italy. It's not so easy blogging when you're staying with someone you'd rather not know that you were trans.

I've been to Milan, which I've written about many times before. As news about food is just as popular here as news about frocks, you might like to know that my host and I went to try out a restaurant run by a young woman who won Masterchef Italia a few years ago. The food is this sort of modern multisensation style in one plate. So, for instance, one dish was warm fish with cold soft cheese, crunchy crumble, squidgy caperberries and tomato puree. It's an odd collection of textures, temperatures and flavours in your mouth all in one go and we weren't so sure she'd quite got the knack. But the pudding, a sort of tiramisù ice-cream bombe, was really excellent, and so was the wine. The service, though, was very attentive and friendly, the prices were reasonable and she's not a snob celebrity chef but one who welcomes the clients, takes orders and clears tables as necessary. (Their website seems to be only in Italian but the menu page has English too: Konnubio menu)

Music seems to be another topic of interest to my readers. 

 

"The Soul of Music" sculpture outside Cremona's Violin Museum

I have been to Cremona, a small but historic city on the broad river Po.

Cremona cathedral and baptistry. There was a peace rally going on in the square here. Pity about the grey day

 

For centuries Cremona has been the home of the world's finest musical instrument makers, the most famous being Antonio Stradivari. There's a brand new Violin Museum there which is also a treasure-house holding some of the world's most famous stringed instruments, centuries old, still playable and worth squillions. 

The main gallery is almost creepy, like mummies in an Egyptian museum, but this is full of priceless violins, like Andrea Amati's 1566 "Charles IX", Stradivarius's 1715 "Cremona", Guerneri del Gesù's 1734 "Stauffer" and more. Awesome.

 

Here's a member of staff nonchalantly hanging Stradivarius's 1668 "Golden Bell" violin, which the ladies in the background have been permitted to examine close up. It's worth an estimated 10-15 million. I couldn't do his job: I get nervous; I break things!

 

If you prefer the guitar to the fiddle, the city art gallery has a collection of guitars tracing the whole history of the instrument from its beginnings to the near-present, with room after room of beautiful instruments.

Then there was the amazing local lunch, and more ...but I'll have to write about that another time. 

Thanks for reading this "postcard". Wish you were here!

Have a nice weekend. 

Sue x 

Two girls and big guns

 By big guns I don't mean muscly arms, although that can apply in the trans world. I mean big guns for driving off people who are annoying. Transphobes, for instance.

My crab companion here, Luggy the Lugbutt, is planning a pincer movement.

So all these military jokes arise from my last trip to Scotland. In 2024 Roz and I went round the Highlands, seeing many of the sites famous from the Jacobite Rebellions (1689-1746), the last of Britain's many dynastic civil wars. The current German dynasty won over the previous Stuart one (so here's a big hi to King Karl III). Sometimes we planned our visits, such as our day at Culloden (1746) which has a big visitor centre and guides, and sometimes we came across sites inadvertently, such as the (rather pretty) battlefield of Glen Shiel (1719), where units of the Spanish army assisted Stuart forces. Anyway, I wrote about it here. So we thought we'd finish our history lesson with a trip to Fort George outside Inverness, which was built by the London government to control the Highlands after the rebellions.

It's magnificent, almost the last word of the star fortresses that peppered Europe in the age of cannons. You can read about it here. 

 

Strangely, it is still an army base and there were soldiers wandering about with mugs of tea (which reassures me that NATO's northern flank is well protected!)

I'm not lost here, just posing by a signpost. Not as exciting as the one at John O'Groats the previous day, though.

Here's me looking about as military as a transgirl can. 

 

Roz and I with some big guns.

 

And Luggy the Crab aiming for Terfs. 

Talking of Terf, or rather Turf, the fort has grass on the bastions, as you can see, and as it had rained it was very soft and muddy and my tapered heels sank right in. I had to clean the mud off in the ladies' toilets when we came back down.

Rooted to the spot!

 

The view from the fort is this.

Pity it was a grey day but this is the Moray Firth. The spit of land centre right is Chanonry Point and behind it is Inverness. There is supposed to be a resident pod of dolphins here but I've never seen them. I've lived on the Mediterranean Coast for seven years now and I've never seen the dolphins here either. Are dolphins real? I'm beginning to think they're made up to attract tourists to barren waters. Hey, I can start my own conspiracy theory. 

In one of the guardrooms they have a bunch of period clothes that visitors can dress up in. 

I think I prefer the tricorn hat to the Victorian lady's bonnet. It gives me a piratical air!

 

It was a Sunday and there was bagpipe practice in the yard. 

 

There was also a museum dedicated to Highland regiments and, above all, to medals and their winners. This is where both Roz and I felt uncomfortable. Men getting rewarded for the violent acts they do is not something we feel affinity with these days. I know that as a child I used to make military model kits whilst dressed in a skirt (hey, why not mix the boy interests with the girl ones and save time?!) And the world then was full of relatives, teachers and other men who had fought in wars (and their message was that peace must be paramount). But the pictures and texts of award-winning brutality put a dampener on our interest and we didn't stay very long in that bit. 

I'll save the next and quite amusing leg of our day's sightseeing to another time as I thought it worth sticking with the fortification theme here because the following day I left Scotland and spent a day in Berwick-upon-Tweed, which is now just over the border in England, although it switched from Scotland to England many times over the centuries. It has a complete circuit of magnificent late sixteenth-century bastions that are very impressive. 

 

 

I love the serpent benches all around.

Luggy found another gun to direct, this time over the River Tweed. This is a Russian cannon captured during the Crimean War (1853-56). 

It's sometimes hard as a transwoman not to feel a bit under siege these days. But I think the days of dominant, aggressive men are in decline, despite the current crop of them. Frankly, the antics of the current violent, masculinising leaders is so damned childish; the last hurrah of boys who never properly grew up... And who feel so threatened by LGBTQ people, too! But as you can see, we continue to live our trans lives as nature made us to.

Next time, Roz and I spend an afternoon examining the legend of Macbeth and puzzling over the weird humour of Cawdor Castle!

Sue x 

Disappearing memories

 This week my walkman broke.

Younger readers will wonder what I am going on about. Maybe a walkman is like a walking frame for oldies like me?

Kids, a walkman is - or was - a device very popular in the Eighties for playing audio cassettes. 

 - Playing what?

Well, a cassette was a plastic rectangular box containing two spools of magnetic tape with sound recorded on it. You could even record things yourself. It outperformed the 8-track, anyway. (Sorry, best not confuse things further.)

- And a walkman played these things? Like an app?

Well, no, you carried this machine around in your hand or clipped it to the belt over your aerobics leotard. 

- What the what?

Well, it wouldn't really clip to your legwarmers, would it? 

- What? ...Grown-ups are weird. (Those of you more down with the kids than me might want to insert the current word for idiot. In my day it was wally.)

Anyway, the guy in my local electrical repair shop told me he wasn't interested. Hell, what happens now if my phonograph breaks?

I exaggerate. But I have some rare music cassettes that, yes, I guess could and should be transferred to more modern media now since the studios haven't done so. And when those are out of date, further transfers can be made to whatever new technology has replaced them. And so on until the quality turns to mush.

This is a preamble to the real problem. I have realised that ALL the photos I have of me as a trans woman are in digital format. In the old days, kids, photos were printed on glossy paper and the chemist (yes) gave you the negatives back, which were on the actual slip of film the pic had been recorded on, and you could print further copies from those. No "uploading". Manipulation took skill - just ask Comrade Stalin. And you posed your photo carefully to get it right first time as the film and its development cost money. None of this "best of the set" and enhancement at the click of a button (not that that's not a great improvement - I just want to let the kids know that we had to suffer for our art!)

I think I will get my 200 or so favourite pictures printed properly and stuck in a photo album, if those still exist. Then they'll not be subject to the vagaries of digital media.

A photo album? That, kids, was a book ... oh, forget it!

My worries have been reinforced by an article this week by a concerned journalist who fears that if journalism is "the first draft of history" then 21st century history is going to be very hard for future historians or archaeologists to fathom since there is little material record of our era to go on. Everything is recorded in ephemeral formats using technology that gets outdated ever more rapidly. What will there be to confirm history? 

My walkman was over 30 years old. My smartphone is just four years old but that has developed a problem this week, and not the first of its problems either.

I say this so that you can consider whether you want to back up whatever you have that's significant to you in ways that are less ephemeral than digital. It's why I still buy books rather than get a Kindle or app, and still buy music/films on discs from a shop. 

 

Doomed by fading technology 

 

OK, grandma will shut up now and bake some apple pie. (With her digitalised induction cooker.) 

 

The food blog 

Actually, my cavewoman instincts kicked in this week with a nice wood and charcoal barbecue on which, among other things, I grilled some green and red peppers. They were dreamily tasty - crunchy on the outside with a nice smokey flavour, but juicy and tender on the inside. Must do that again soon. There's nothing like real fire to cook with.

 

My travels continued - trains, food, and trans fashion

So last month I spent a fortnight travelling through France and Great Britain. So far my record of that trip has been a bit random to date ...but so what? 

I prefer to ride trains than take a plane. It's much more comfortable, you can walk about, have all your bags with you, and get plenty of reading, work or that all-important online stuff done, or just look at the countryside whizz past. Making the journey part of the holiday experience tends to reduce stress over delays and cancellations, you see stuff that a plane just flies over and you can try the local delicacies along the way. Incredibly, all of my long-distance trains were on time. Let's make a habit of this.

My first stop from home was in Nice, which I've described many times. Here's a photo I took of the Bay of Angels still in warm summer sunshine. 

 

The train journey along the corniches is beautiful, if not often reliable. In Nice I chose a Vietnamese restaurant and enjoyed vegetable nems (like spring rolls, only smaller and crispier) followed by roast pork with noodles and beansprouts. I like the way Vietnamese dishes are normally served with a big sprig or two of mint. I must find out what the dark variety was as it was really delicious. 

The TGV, France's very fast train network, now 45 years old, is still a pleasure to ride from Nice to Paris, past the turquoise waters of the Côte d'Azur, through the red Martian landscape of the Esterel and up the wide, snaking River Rhone. 300 kmh is my kind of speed! 

Paris's suburban subway system, the RER, is a slow, cramped contrast. Thankfully, it's only two stops from Gare de Lyon to Gare du Nord for the fast Eurostar train to London via the Channel Tunnel. They've got the security system down pat at Eurostar in Paris, taking just a few minutes, in contrast to London's agonising organised chaos that took an hour to get through on the way back.

I mentioned train travel up and down the East Coast of Britain before. But I had the privilege of seeing not only that other trans women were travelling long-distance despite the anti-trans atmosphere in Britain these days but that there seems to be a fashion among them for long, brightly coloured, flaring skirts and dresses. I tend to dress to blend in; these ladies like to stand out. Good for them. 

More on my adventures another time, including eel pies, big guns, playing at Lady Macbeth, and spotting eccentric and whimsical stuff.

Sue x

Two girls in the Far North

 I'm back home now after a trip to Britain via France. The highlight was a weekend with Roz who lives in the Scottish Highlands. Two years ago (Movements: Scotland, part 1) we did a monster tour of Loch Ness and surrounding valleys, and visited places connected with the 17th-Century civil wars and 18th-Century Jacobite rebellions. 

This time I wanted to tick some items off my bucket list and visit the North Coast. It’s renowned for its wind and unpredictable weather so I selected a long skirt, a thick coat and good boots (well, I thought they were good …)

On the way, we passed places we'd seen last time: Tain, Dornoch, Loch Fleet, Dunrobin Castle (Movements: Scotland, conclusion). This time we carried on all the way to the town of Wick where the world’s shortest street is to be found. Ebenezer Place seems to be just a sign on a road junction! But if it’s official, then I guess I really was there.

The only address in Ebenezer Place is the No 1 Bistro behind me and we decided that was a good place to have lunch. My beef casserole was not bad and the gooey brownie was memorable.

Then off to Duncansby Head where the East Coast turns the corner and becomes the North Coast. There lies the small settlement of John O’Groats that I have been meaning to visit for 40 years, ever since I went to Land’s End at the very opposite, i.e. south-western, end of the island of Great Britain. The idea is that you’re supposed to walk or drive or cycle or pogo-stick from one to the other but I’ve kind of overlooked the middle bit. Anyway, that omission aside, I still wanted to go to John O'Groats where the island also ends.

 

Strangely, my boots gave out here, by which I mean one heel block came off. This is odd as they're decent leather one that I’ve had without trouble for 30 years and even wore them out this spring (Girls day out in London). But I come prepared and carry emergency shoes in my handbag. 

John O’Groats may be the north-eastermost settlement in Britain but it’s not the northernmost point, which is nearby Dunnet Head. The beautiful Orkney Islands a few miles offshore, where I stayed with Roz ten years ago (Andro in Orkney), were clearly visible, separated by the treacherous waters of the Pentland Firth with their tidal races, whirlpools, rocks and other hazards. I don't know if the whitecaps you can clearly see towards the right of this photo are the Merry Men of Mey, or the Swelkie. I think the former, Roz the latter. The Swelkie is the whirlpool of Norse legend that was said to be the grindstone that ground all the salt of the ocean. 

The view of the cliffs of the island of Hoy glowing in the afternoon sunlight was beautiful. 

Luggy the Crab who accompanies me these days to approve and promote LGBT culture, obviously enjoyed his day by the sea and the company of two transwomen living their best lives out in public.

Below, Luggy with the Dunnet Head lighthouse and the beautiful island of Hoy in the Orkneys behind. If you enlarge Luggy's photo below by clicking on it and look very closely towards the far left end of the island, you will see a little spike rising higher than the rest of the cliff. This is the famous Old Man of Hoy, a huge detached sea stack. 

We went on to the town of Thurso which has Britain’s northernmost railway station. Even so, it’s not far north enough because if you live all the way out in the Shetland Islands your nearest station is in Norway!

Nearby is Dounreay, which was one of the first civil and military nuclear development sites, from the 1950s. It is now decommissioned and being dismantled … in ways that the visitor guide boards didn’t reassure us. Basically, they are learning how to dispose of tons of hazardous waste on the job! 

 

What, me worry?

Radiant!

Enriched by a new-found glow, we drove home back down the beautiful east coast road. 

A long day but very memorable. And I got to fulfil several lifelong wishes. And it's always a joy to be out as a woman.

Pity about the boots (you can see my spare ballet flats above) but we fixed the heel block with glue once home and they should hold for a bit. But I'd best get a cobbler to deal with them properly. Believe it or not, there were more issues with boots before the weekend was out ... but that tale will wait till next time.

Sue x

A postcard from windy places

 Hello. I am still on my travels and blogging using a phone is never very satisfactory, hence these quick postcards. I’ll be back home in a few days.

My tour of Scotland en femme with my good friend Roz was a delight and I will write about that properly in due course. Scotland is famous for its wind and taking my brand new wig there was a bad idea! It needs serious care after being turned inside out. 

I take Luggy the lugubrious LGBT Crab and Lizzy the Lesbian Lobster on my travels to spot any LGBT news. There was little to report, though. Luggy feels at home by the sea and sends greetings to all LGBT readers and allies.

I had forgotten how interesting the rail journey up the East Coast of Britain is, through beautiful cities: Peterborough and its Norman cathedral, Newark and its castle over the Trent, old York redolent with history, Newcastle and its spectacular collection of bridges, fortified Berwick and its mighty Royal Border Bridge, magnificent Edinburgh …

The Royal Border Bridge over the river Tweed at Berwick, with train. When completed in 1850 this was the largest bridge in the world and still carries the railway between England and Scotland.

I get as many comments on this blog about the food I’ve been eating as about the frocks I’ve been wearing, so recent meals have included classic staples like fish and chips (not bad, but we had to have haddock since cod is overfished) and that uniquely Scottish dish, haggis, with roast parsnips and mashed potato (what, no neeps?). I would like to single out the excellent and generous portion of shoulder of lamb with assorted roast vegetables in Berwick, just back across the border in England. That was a treat and genuinely local.

I hope to post properly again this weekend.

Sue x

A quick postcard from Scotland

     Quick greetings from Central Scotland where I have just spent the day in Perth. A pleasant town with a significant art gallery, a well-stocked local museum that houses the coronation stone (last used in 2023), a very Victorian cathedral, even an old house said to have been that of Walter Scott’s Fair Maid of Perth. She was fictitious but the Royal Scottish Geographical Society who now occupy the building are very real and very friendly and even showed me their rather cosy library with fire in the grate where polar explorer Ernest Shackleton once used to preside over meetings. 

    I’m off to Inverness this evening, capital of the Highlands.

    I did come here via London but having to deal with an insurance matter deleted my opportunity for a Sue day out shopping there. This is really annoying as that was one of the original reasons for planning this trip but I am getting quite a lot of financial compensation so that should enable me to book another trip soon. But there will be girly time in the Highlands over the weekend. It’s never possible to be sure what the weather will be like here in September so I have everything from a light skirt to a heavy coat ...and two suitcases to carry it all in!

From my last trip to Scotland, spring 2024

    It’s been a trip full of interesting food, too. Last night’s dinner of local Scottish dishes was one to remember: warm, home-made Scotch egg, beautifully tender venison with black pudding dumplings, and the most amazing chocolate mousse with honeycomb crunch, lemon balm and steeped amarena cherries. To finish, a foaming parma violet cocktail that was super delicious. 

    More when I have a quiet time to write. Have a nice weekend.

Sue xx

Joy in picking clothes for the season

 Blogger (run by Google) is going through one of its clunky phases and the blogrolls are not updating properly so I've no idea if readers will see that there's a new post here. So if you're reading this, thanks for making the effort drop by. 

The problem seems to be improving little by little. Google and all its services also seem to be going rapidly to pot these days, like all the other online stuff that was once worthwhile has already done (I'm looking at you Facebook, Twitter, and more). As for Google's AI on their search engine, it is so atrocious it should be banned.

In the interests of Posiblogging™, though, let's talk about better stuff. 

The weather where I am is wonderful. It's what the summer should have been - warm but not oppressive, sunny but not scalding, dry but not arid. 

I'm packing a suitcase to travel to the British Isles for the next two weeks where the weather in September could be almost anything. So although light summer dresses and strappy sandals are lovely, there's something satisfying about getting ready for autumn with its need for more clothing. We TGirls rely on our clothing to emphasise who we are so, in some respects, more clothes = clearer feminine intent. 

I'll be going to Scotland for several days and, actually, although I love the feel of hot sun on my bare skin, after this long summer I'm now also looking forward to changing into a longer skirt, a good pair of smart boots and a pretty sweater. I'll be glad to suffer a lot less perspiration, too.

Whether I get any shopping time in London as part of the same trip really depends on circumstances. I've lost a lot of property in a flood in June and dealing with the insurance has taken a lot of my time recently. But it also means I'll almost certainly go back to London again before the end of the year to finalise things. London in the run-up to Christmas has always been impressive with its lit-up shops, illuminations and huge Christmas trees. 

So it's fun to plan my outdoor outfits for the coming seasons. Autumn colours and motifs, smart skirts and coats, robust footwear, warm soft hosiery... As I implied above, clothes are more significant as a trans woman than a cis woman and need more planning and preparation. In some ways that's a pest; in another, it's one of the joys of being trans. 

 

Spring

Summer

Autumn

Winter

Have a nice weekend, and thanks for making it through Blogger's broken update system. 

Sue x