I am having terrific fun. It's Hallowe'en and I have spent all afternoon accessorising my silver witch dress. There are many more looks to go but my laptop, my camera and I all need recharging now: they are having their electric juice snacks and I am having my dinner! I'm not sure I'm going to get everything done today. Tomorrow is a public holiday here and then there's the weekend so I may just have to spend four whole days being a cute witch for the camera. A TGirl's work is never done!
I'm feeling good, too. We've had four days of sunshine and warmth and I have been recovering from the seasonal affective disorder that was plaguing me last week. Indeed, today's burst of activity seems to be testament to some new-found energy. Thank you for the kind wishes following my last post.
So what shall I team my cobweb motif silver witch dress up with? I left some cobweb tights and elbow-length cobweb gloves back in London and I regret that now. But I do have some silver paisley pattern tights that were briefly in fashion about 12 years ago. Also for hosiery I have some fishnet stockings, some bold open pattern hold-ups, and some barely-black sheer tights that might work well. For footwear there are some high-heeled court shoes, ankle boots or knee-length boots, all in black. I have decided on red lipstick and nails, having rejected black or silver. I have the cheap silver wig bought specially but also an older and better quality somewhat goth-style ruby red and black wig. The hat that came with the cheap party dress is surprisingly good quality ... but is it best straight up, or with the tail bent? How about worn at an angle or straight? Should I look fierce, mean, sly or cutesy? I've been working through the combinations and now, 4 hours and 150 photos later, I and my kit have taken this break. I think I'll post some photos now just for fun and a more honed selection when I'm all done.
Cutesy fun :-)
I put a spell on you!
And on you back there!
Oops, gone cutesy again. Just can't help it. Burn the evil witch!
Showgirl!? Now you're just being silly!
Silver hat, silver hair, silver dress, silver tights. Have we struck gold?
A curse on this suspender!
Of course, we do need a break half way. The Porky Pig mug seems apt as I have neglected my slimming routine over the summer!
I'm quite liking my close-ups today, too. Sometimes I feel ugly; maybe today I'm having a blast and it shows.
Artistic shot ... with my evil twin
You don't have to be in character all the time, though...
I like how I look here. Actually, I look very like one of the regular cashiers at my supermarket checkout who has bangs like this.
I think I look quite sweet, even pretty.
AAAGHH!!! A WITCH!!!
Lol. More to come. Do let me know which accessories work best in your opinion.
Whatever you're doing this evening, have a fun Hallowe'en. Don't eat too much candy!
Last week I slept badly, ate vast amounts of chocolate and didn't feel like doing anything. I wondered if possibly I might be developing an illness or have caught some virus. But then it dawned on me: it's my old enemy, Seasonal Affective Disorder or SAD. I used to suffer very badly from it when I lived in Britain where cloud cover can be total for days on end, even weeks. It's one of the main reasons I moved to the Italian riviera where there are, in theory, 300 days of sunshine a year. When I was in Britain again in September and now back home in Italy it's done little other than rain and after six weeks of low cloud and virtually no sun, it's causing me this depressed mood.
It's the first time in six years, ever since I moved to Italy, in fact, that I've suffered this, which is why I've only just realised that this is what's going on. If you've not experienced this slump in desire to do anything because the weather is overcast for an extended period, then you are lucky.
I did have one of those powerful mood lamps that you are supposed to look at in winter to give you a dose of something similar to sunlight but I didn't find it very effective. It made an excellent desk lamp, though!
Fortunately, today the rain gave way to sun again and it looks to be set fair for the rest of the week. I went out this afternoon and it was a pleasant 22C (72F) and the sunshine felt lovely on my face. Hello old friend. So I'm feeling a bit better already.
The other remedy is to do nice things. I spent the weekend reading books, watching comedies and listening to music and podcasts, and to hell with the housework. And I've planned my Hallowe'en when I will be accessorising a witch's outfit. Yes, there will be pictures. But will the reality match the ideal? I'll need to employ a bit of magic, I think.
I'm also downloading photos from the original discs of my early photoshoots.
Pictured on a tossing ship. Or else my camera lady is drunk!
There are a lot of these photos and most of them have never been shared before. Watch this space on 18 November when it will be the 20th anniversary of my first makeover and photoshoot.
One of the books I have been reading is a novel written by a sister of mine. She wants feedback. It's chick lit and I love and read a lot of chick lit but she doesn't know that I am trans. I shall have to be cautious in my feedback.
I also tried some of the free samples of perfumes that come with my weekly copy of Elle. I found Chloéeau de parfum quite overwhelming to start with - even the tiny paper sampler knocked me out - but it settled into a very nice warm scent over time, a hint of floral but not too much. There was still a whiff of it on my pulse points even after two showers, so use sparingly and not if you need to be in bloke mode shortly after. But as a fragrance that seems to work pleasantly with my skin, I think I shall add it to the list of perfumes that are suitable for TGirls. If you haven't seen my popular guide for selecting a good fragrance as a transgender women, here's a link to it: Perfume for TGirls.
Anyway, that's my remedy for SAD. Do happy stuff, smell nice and forget the To Do list. Oh, and leave off alcohol and caffeine (but OK I'll admit that choco is impossible to put down!)
Back to the weather. The rain has been serious this autumn. In Britain in September, fields in the West Midlands were under water and I was frequenty woken at night by drumming rain. Here in Italy the rain has been so torrential that it's caused flooding, landslips and damage to infrastructure. Not as bad as Storm Alex in 2020, but still pretty destructive. To be fair, October is storm season here and you do have to expect some trouble.
On Saturday, I checked the state of the clouds and dashed out between showers to get my newspaper and Elle. I was five minutes from home on my return journey when the heavens opened again and the steep uphill road I live on turned into a literal river with a torrent six-inches deep rushing down it that overtopped the kerb, knocked out drain covers and gouged out the tarmac - you could see road chips surging by on the boiling tide. It was spectacular! Fortunately I was under the shelter of the awnings of a small parade of shops and could watch it unfold without being swept away. It eventually eased off and we have several new potholes now. Regional elections have been going on this weekend and today's paper is seriously wondering why turnout was down on last time. Er, I can tell you why, Mr Journalist!
I'm hoping that's the last of it and the weather will stay dry and sunny. If I'm to be a witch you can hardly expect me to fly off on my broomstick in the wet now, can you?
Another in my series on trans arts and culture. Despite trans people being the new enemy in various places, we continue to produce music, literature and art. You just can't keep us down.
Just a few things that have caught my notice recently.
Music
1) It's hardly a shock that a stage musical has a non-binary character in it, but this is one of the leads, named Oliver, played by Jo Foster in Why Am I So Single? by Toby Marlow and Lucy Moss, the creators of the successful Six (in which the six wives of Henry VIII set up as a girl band to rewrite history!) Playing at London's Garrick Theatre till 13 February 2025.
2) Advance notice of a new production of Francis Poulenc's short 1945 comic opera Les mamelles de Tirésias ("The Breasts of Tiresias") playing in opera houses in France this season. Based on Guillaume Apollinaire's 1903 play of the same name, itself using the legend of Greek seer Tiresias who is transformed into a woman by Hera, goddess of childbirth, in punishment for his hitting two snakes in the act of making snaky love. He lives as a woman for seven years and even has children before being pardoned and detransitionng back into a man after leaving the next pair of amorous snakes he finds well alone. There's also more than a hint in the opera of the brilliant Greek comedy Lysistrata by Aristophanes, first performed in 411 BC when Lysistrata persuades the women of Athens to go on a sex strike to force the men of Greece to end the very real, very long and very damaging Peloponnesian War.
Anyway, the opera tells of Thérèse, a bored housewife, whose boobs float away as she transitions into a man, then forcibly crossdresses her husband as a woman and, now as General Tirésias, she goes off to fight a war against childbirth. Her husband, meanwhile, worried that a sex strike by women will lead to the end of the world, produces inordinate numbers of babies himself. Happily, the couple are reconciled at the end and encourage the French audience to repopulate France after the devastation of World War II. (I have never felt the French needed much encouragement in that direction, but successive French governments have always thought otherwise!)
Anyway, the opera will be on next spring and summer. For a taste of the transition moment here's a 2013 production with the wonderful Sabine Devieilhe, possibly the greatest soprano of our era, as Thérèse/Tirésias. (The character of the Grosse Dame (i.e. fat lady) in yellow here is tenor Rodolphe Briand. And, as we know, it ain't over till the fat lady sings!)
3) Not strictly a transgender theme but certainly gender-bending, those interested in older opera might be curious about prolific composer Baldassarre Galuppi's L'uomo femina ("The Woman Man"), a long-forgotten work from 1762 that has been revived and is playing in opera houses in France and Spain this season. The plot is introduced thus:
Two castaways are stranded on an island ruled by women, where the men are docile, coquettish and even a little timid.
Princess Cretidea reigns unchallenged over her subjects. She leads
armies, collects lovers and reassures her favourite, who fears he might
one day be abandoned should his hairstyle displease her. But the
princess falls madly in love with Roberto, the castaway who refuses to
submit to the laws of the island. A lively debate ensues, carried along
by Galuppi’s flamboyant music: who should submit? Who should govern?
Which is the weaker sex?
L'uomo femina is playing at Dijon on 7, 8, 9 November, at Caen on 15, 16 November; at Versailles on 13, 14, 15 December and in Madrid on 3 April (in an unstaged version).
4) I have been listening to songs by award-winning composer (and novelist) Kerry Andrew who uses non-binary pronouns they/them. I'm not sure this somewhat experimental music is quite my thing but it's certainly performed in major venues and valued. Here's Who We Are commissioned and performed by the combined National Youth Choirs of Great Britain:
Art
1) I was pleased to read on my recent rail journey to Britain that the controversial fourth plinth* (see below) in London's Trafalgar Square has a sculpture by Mexican artist (and forensic scientist) Teresa Margolles depicting over 700 masks pressed from the faces of trans and non-binary people, designed to "unite the trans community round the world". Margolles is a very active trans ally in a country not known for good treatment of trans people.
One of several reviews in the UK's Guardian newspaper here
* The Fourth Plinth controversy. Trafalgar Square is a famous open space in central London named after Vice-Admiral Nelson's victory off Cape Trafalgar in Spain in 1805. It is dominated by a column with Nelson at the top. The military theme continues on the ground with four plinths for statues of successful kings and generals, but only three have ever been filled. In the late 1990s it was suggested that maybe, after being empty for 150 years, the fourth plinth might house contemporary sculpture, which was agreed. Contemporary sculpture seems to be controversial by nature. This latest sculpture is likely to be more so than usual both for its subject-matter, its dedication and its style. (For what it's worth, the one item I quite liked was Yinka Shonibare's Nelson's Ship in a Bottle on display from 2010-2012. Silly yet charming and, for once, actually relevant to the surroundings.)
2) In July I mentioned a large numbers of LGBT+ artists participating in the 2024 Venice Biennale. Last week's Elle Italia magazine (always a trans-supportive publication) had an article on another trans artist, La Chola Poblete from Argentina, who has recently won Deutsche Bank's Artist of the Year award and has also just had an exhibition at Milan's MUDEC Museum of Culture. She explains that she distances herself from the notion of gender transition specifically because we are all transitioning really, from life to death.
I have just bought the collected autobiographical trilogy of Fumettibrutti, nom de plume (which I'd translate as "Horridcomix") of trans artist Josephine Yole Signorelli, whose graphic work has won many awards. The second novel, My Transgender Adolescence, is the longest and, I suspect, the most interesting of the three. I'll let you know how I get on and review it in due course.
Film
Close to You is Elliot Page's film about a trans man who returns to his home town for the first time in many years. "On his journey, he confronts his relationship with his family, reunites with a first love and discovers and newfound confidence in himself" (Greenwich Entertainment). This has received largely positive reviews from critics and is out on Netflix in November. Trans people who have seen it and commented say it very much reflects our lived experience, which not all cis people will understand.
Well, my last post certainly seems to have generated a lot of interest, if the infallible Blogger stats machine is anything to go by.
I guess the styles of our formative years have a bearing on how we see ourselves. Don't get me wrong - I no longer dress like a teenager of the 1980s, fun and desirable though that style may be (or not!), because I am a mature woman of the 2020s so, yes, my leather pants and boho blouse are now 'in' and rara skirts are not.
I believe trans women are women and should follow contemporary fashion, as any other woman can if she so chooses. I know ultragirly clothes are especially attractive to trans girls as they compensate for years of forced masculinity, but if you want to be treated as a woman then behaving like one is important, and that includes style, which is always a key signal to others of one's own intent. Should you dress as a polka-dot goth lolita if you want to? Absolutely! But you will get noticed, which is fine if you like that, but if you're like me and would rather get on with life without being pestered or pointed out as someone odd then it's better to blend in and appear in something similar to what other women around you are wearing.
I'm not sure that the ubiquitous 'casual' style of the moment is that great, although it can at least be cheap and easy to wear. But I am becoming very conscious that I am getting older, less flexible, more tired and it's a struggle for my face to look anything other than flabby and wrinkly. Losing weight fast has, I think, left me with wobblier skin on my face. I don't like how I am looking in photos any more - it's hard to take a good picture now that doesn't make me look jowly. It bothers me a lot because it's giving away more than I would like - no, not so much that I am aging but that I have had the crushing disadvantage of having had to go through male puberty and the damage to my femininity that results from that.
A lovely trans friend has emailed me saying how ugly she is - according to her, at least, and to the nasty folk she seems to insist on listening to. Actually, she is gorgeous, with beautiful natural blonde hair and a lovely mouth and cute eyes and I would love to have even half the pretty features she has. But I can't easily reassure my friend of her beauty when I am having doubts about mine. It's hard not to feel that ugliness has set into my features as time has passed. Again, I don't have the natural advantage of as much female hormonal development as other women and that's bothering me more than before.
As for clothes, tottering on five-inch heels is no longer my desire - I'm not sure it ever was - but three-inch is still tolerable. Elasticated waists are a godsend and Lycra smooths out so much.
I did ask my genetic female friends recently about what I should change in my style so as to represent my aging better, in terms of hair, makeup and clothes, and they said that these days it's the thing for a woman to dress younger, to colour her hair and to wear it how she wants. Hearing that was encouraging as I have long since settled on a hairstyle that I love and I think suits me perfectly ("Carrie" in darker tones, by Noriko) and I'd like to keep it.
I do notice mothers and grandmothers in Western Europe dressing similarly to their daughters and granddaughters. Now any age, it seems, can opt for attractive, contemporary and stylish. Gone are the days when old ladies were expected to dress like old ladies! Here on the continent of Europe I notice very many older women (70s/80s) wearing leather leggings, short skirts or brightly coloured shoes. (A small, fluffy, gormless-looking dog carried in a basket or handbag really adds to the look, too!)
I thought this look might have been a bit too much for a night out last month for a woman approaching retirement but, no, the somewhat seethrough blouse, leather skirt, mesh tights and high boots is perfect now even for a woman of my age.
So thanks to my friends for their reassurance.
More food festivities
As mentioned last post, it's foodie time on the riviera.
Roast chestnut festivals are the thing in most of the mountain villages in the province this month with huge smoking braziers in every village square.
You won't be surprised to hear that pumpkins are being celebrated in various places, too.
And codfish! Always a traditional staple food, but usually salted or dried.
Mushrooms continue to abound and I treated myself to these beauties, which I had just cleaned and washed when I took this photo.
I then chopped them smaller and stewed them up with lots of the amazing local garlic from Vessalico (a village up the road that's renowned for its garlic that's twice as spicy as the boring stuff you get in a supermarket), and with the wonderful oil from the local Taggiasca variety of olives, a touch of the local vermentino white wine and my own home-grown parsley, mint and chilli pepper. Fresh local produce pretty much guarantees a delicious dinner.
This girl likes to eat. Thankfully, my clothes have elasticated waistbands and stretchy Lycra these days!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
