Pink Punters: a tribute

 I am very sad to hear that fire has destroyed the Pink Punters night club in England. 

Like many, I benefited very much from the security afforded by a dedicated LGBT venue when I was a nervous debutante. The owner has indicated he will rebuild and I wish him every good fortune in that. 

Firstly, a tribute to the staff, who have also received praise from the fire service, for evacuating everyone without fuss or injuries (it's a big place spread over three floors and a yard and holds up to 650 people). At a time when one of the chief items of news where I now live is the inquiry into the New Year's Eve fire at a not dissimilar venue at Crans-Montana in Switzerland, where 41 young people died and 115 were injured, not enough thanks and attention is given to people who do things right in these circumstances. Owner Frank McMahon deserves praise for ensuring his staff were properly trained and safety procedures operated correctly. I believe Frank lost his home as well as his business in the blaze. All my love and sympathy to him and the staff for the effects on their livelihoods and for the trauma suffered. Also the distress no doubt suffered by the person arrested on suspicion of arson who has now been released. And the patrons there at the time. The human costs of these tragedies is underestimated.

In the first instance, when LGBT people, and especially trans people, are under open attack from UK authorities, the media and hate groups, it was hard not to attribute malice to the fire. But arson has been ruled out by the police and fire brigade and the blaze is deemed to have been accidental. It does follow a spate of smaller fires at the venue. 

It takes a long time to recover from tragedies like this and I have sent PPs thanks for past times and such hope for their future as I can offer.

Pink Punters was a local institution and many straight and cis people in the Milton Keynes area went there in preference to clubs elsewhere in a city that is often criticised for its poor nightlife because they found it safe, well run and more fun. I recall one evening when my friends and I went on a non-trans night and it was full of local clubbers with us TGirls as a minority. That's good, actually, as I look forward to a day when the term "trans-friendly" is redundant and everyone can feel welcome and at home anywhere.

So thank you, Pink Punters, for being the venue where I had my very first evening out in public and attended my very first event as Sue, in January 2010. The friends I met on that occasion are still good friends. The fact that UK Angels chose PPs as the venue for a national meet-up on their tenth anniversary that day is a tribute to the place. I revisited several times and eventually was privileged to be able to accompany other girls there on their first outings. Like Leeds First Friday, Nottingham Invasion, Sparkle and the like, Pink Punters has been a significant focus for the UK's trans community, and the colourful Pink Punters double decker bus is frequently seen at Pride parades and other events (see below). I wish PPs well in its expressed desire to rise from the ashes, like the brilliantly coloured phoenix bird of legend. 

You can send messages of support to PPs via their message form Pink Punters messages, via PPs' Facebook or Instagram pages, or through local LGBT charities. 

I have only a few photos immediately to hand from the days when Pink Punters was a regular venue for me, in the years 2010-2013, but here are some of those I can muster at present: 

PP's official photo of Ange and me, May 2010

With a bunch of girls including Emma W, Mandy, Tina, Helen ... Feb 2011

With Maddy in the yard, Dec 2012

With Tiff and Ange, upstairs lounge, Oct 2010

With Emma W and Mandy upstairs, Feb 2011

On the main dancefloor. There's another dancefloor deep down in the depths of the dark basement for weird types who like to thrash around to louder noise.

Not playing pool. May 2010

Upstairs, Feb 2011 

Upstairs, Oct 2010

With Tiff, Ange and Gayna in the Yard, May 2010

With Emma H, Gina, Tiff, Maddy and Bobby, Dec 2012

Waiting to go in ...

... and returning to the hotel opposite the club.

The Pink Punters bus at Sparkle 2010 (with Emma doing her thing on stage).

Most of my visits there were before I started this blog but I have previously written about three of the times I went, which present as an illustration of what PPs was to us. 

January 2010 

December 2012

December 2013 

Thank you, Pinks, for all the good times. May there be more.

Sue x 

Let me see your war face

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

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

 

Old

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

This means I am officially old.  

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

Rats! 

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

Faking youth in 2008

 

 

Remembering the dead

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

Waving palms

Spot the tiny signpost to the tiny alley

 

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

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

From the Commonwealth War Graves Commission list of graves

British Commonwealth graves, men from the all over the world

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

My creepy family stories for your winter fireside entertainment

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

Sue x 

Pride and preparation

 This is Pride month and I'm pleased to hear of all the various events happening round the world. I notice in Rome there is a whole train on the metro painted in Pride colours, and I was pleasantly surprised to see in my old home town of Twickenham, UK, that the main crossing in the middle of the High Street was a huge rainbow flag.

So if you're participating in an event this month, do enjoy it.

I'm preparing to welcome my trans friend Stella and her wife who are coming to stay this weekend. Stella and I did a whole bunch of stuff together in England, such as the TGirl bars at the 2011 and 2013 Erotica shows, and various events in London and Brighton promoting trans visibility. 

Stella (left) and the girls on Waterloo Bridge in the centre of London

 

Tributes

My friend Ann Drogyny passed away last month. I had too many other commitments to be able to go to her funeral but I hear it was a colourful event, just as she would have wanted. 

There was a last laugh. Apparently, because of traffic, the hearse was 45 minutes late. So Ann, who was always punctual in life, arrived late for her own funeral. That final irony would have tickled her!

I note also the passing of Lynn Conway, trans pioneer, who did something that I don't understand with computer stuff but who is nevertheless one of the better-known members of the trans community. Pink News obituary. May she rest in peace.

Rest in peace also, Stacy Novak, long associated with Transliving in the UK, its events and magazine.

Sue x

Ann Drogyny: a tribute

 I'm very sad to have to write that my friend Ann Drogyny passed away last night. 

 

I am glad she is out of pain following accidents and a long illness. But I am sure she wouldn't want her friends to be mawkish and sad for too long as that would go against the whole grain of her life, her wicked sense of humour that she never lost to the last, and her love of upending expectations. The photo above of her enjoying a swim on a crowded beach in Spain sums it up. When people puzzled at this ebullient tattooed trans person from abroad splashing around with her family and asked why she holidayed en femme with her wife alongside, she'd simply reply that she liked it, her wife liked it and it didn't harm anyone. Which is kind of how any trans person wants to be.

I met Ann quite a few times in London. Here, for instance, at a bar ...

where I recall loving her beret. And here eating out with our friends ...

She just enjoyed doing things as a woman, such as visiting museums or taking her daily constitutional walk near home after retirement. This is how I remember her.

 

With her wife, she was a well-known figure on the fetish and fancy dress scene, too. For father's day, her daughter once captioned a photo of her and Ann going out somewhere in latex skirt suits, "the family that are weird together ... are weird together", a typical skit on the more homely mottoes that families are supposed to live by.

Ann centre stage at Magic Theatre at the Rivoli Ballroom

 

Ann's Flickr pages are a cornucopia of weird and wonderful outfits, modelled with typical exuberance, from floaty classics to sexy fetish.

I used to link here to Ann's blog, Androgynous Meanderings, but she stopped writing it some years ago. It's still a top example of what a TGirl living life to the full can get up to. 

Such a fun person and such a great sense of humour, from very dry and sardonic at times to quite knockabout at others. Her chosen name says it all!

I think my lovely friend Stephanie (on the right in the picture below) has today written the perfect farewell to Ann:

"You will be greatly missed, my friend. RIP you old tart."

Thanks for the good times, Ann. And for all the laughs. Will miss you greatly and am unlikely to forget you, for all the right reasons.

Sue x

Busy days, and a memorial

 Hello blog, I thought I'd better check in as the last few weeks have been very hectic and I haven't had time to write. After nearly three years of global pandemic restricting what one can do and where one can go, all of a sudden it's been possible to deal with stuff that's been waiting a long time to be dealt with, from dental work to catching up with family and close friends, to buying new clothes and makeup and digging out old ones, to considering what to do with residual stuff in one country when I now live in another... I'm quite tired now but I have decided that six weeks in Britain are enough for the time being and I will be going back to my home in the Mediterranean next week. 

I've already described my clothes, makeup and accessories situation and there's a lot to say about my lightning trip round the South East of England and the East Midlands last week, but I will leave that for now as my poor friend Kate is still on my mind. It would have been her 62nd birthday yesterday and tonight there is a memorial for her in Manchester that I can't go to. I'm sure it will be a fitting tribute to a much-loved lady, followed by what Kate herself enjoyed best: eating and dancing. Rest in peace, my lovely. 

 

 Over the course of my life I've seen family, friends, colleagues and neighbours pass away and this is always distressing and leaves holes in your life and emotions. But when Bill, a friend of mine and stout trans ally passed away some years ago I cried so much. And when lovely Bobby died two years ago. And now I can't think of Kate without crying my eyes out, too. I said that I can't go to her memorial tonight and that's chiefly because I'd be too upset. Maybe we trans folk become especially attached because of the secrets we share with and keep for one another, the support we give one another and our need to look out for one another against hostility. Or maybe it's just that some friends are special, never mind the transgender thing. I don't know, but I can say that I and others have been very tearful this past month. 

Thanks for reading.

Sue x

Kate Collins: a tribute

 I am heartbroken to have to write that my friend Kate Collins passed away the other evening.

 

Kate was a big presence in the trans scene in Manchester, eventually setting up the Manchester Minxes as a trans social group that would meet up regularly in the Gay Village. She also promoted trans awareness at work and had her office represented at Sparkle, the UK's annual national trans celebration. 

Kate at work

 

I first met Kate at Sparkle in 2010 and every time I went to Manchester she was there with her wife, who has always been a kind and encouraging ally to all us trans girls. A good organiser, Kate would arrange meet-ups in restaurants and clubs, and dancing in Napoleons club would usually round off a night out. We had some lovely meals out over the years.

 

Kate and I at Sparkle in 2015

When Covid came and the world was locked down, Kate set up TGirl Zoom chats every Saturday night. Knowing you had that regular commitment to get yourself dolled up for a video chat with the girls helped us keep sane and balanced when so little else was predictable, and was just what we needed to give our femininity a boost when the lockdown attitude was to let your appearance go. On that subject, Kate could wear short dresses with conviction as she had great legs (and I'm not jealous at all, no).

Kate could be a strong campaigner for rights, not just of trans people but cyclists as well - she hated inconsiderate, bad motorists in particular. But she had a good sense of humour, too. Her favourite trick was to pull her "Helen Lederer face". I haven't got a photo of her doing it but this is on the way to it:

I have arrived back in England after nearly four years away and I had hoped beyond hope I would see her before the end that she made clear was coming, but I just missed being able to and that makes me doubly sad. But I hope to see her kind wife soon.

Thanks for all the many good times, Kate, and for all the things you organised for the trans community in North West England as well as for all your friends. You are at peace and out of pain now and I will miss you terribly. My love and condolences to your wonderful wife, your son and daughter-in-law and baby grandchild (you called yourself "glamparent"!) and to all your many friends, colleagues and everyone else you touched. Ta-ra, chuck ... your own favourite way of saying goodbye.

Sue x

Women's Day and more

 Every day is children's day, they say. Every dog has his day, they say. Today is International Women's Day, so third place is not bad. Could do better. Pardon my slightly cynical opening but I see women's place in society is still in need of improvement, and that certainly goes for trans women. Still, I'd like to wish a happy women's day to all. 

Here the mimosa (also known as silver wattle) is the gift given to women on this day and the fluffy yellow blooms are brightening up the local hillsides right now.

The rest of my post has a decidedly international flavour, too.

Veronika Arden's World

I've added this interesting blog from Austrian blogger, Veronika, to my blogroll. She likes to go out sightseeing and shopping in what is evidently a rather beautiful part of the world and has a lot of photos of her and her region. Welcome Veronika, and thank you for your comments.

Veronika writes in German but there is a translation button so you can select English ... or any other language, from Kazakh, Punjabi and Zulu to Scots Gaelic. Take your pick. Or tok ya pok. Or towk yarr pekk. You get my drift.

Veronika's blog

 

Brianna Ghey, RIP

I was very affected by this poor girl's unjust death in Cheshire, where I live when I am in Britain. Her funeral will be on March 15th and the theme will be pink. I approve of pink! Details from Cheshire Live: Brianna Ghey funeral arrangements 

Her family and friends requested a bit of online help to give her a fitting sendoff. Their target of £4200 has ballooned to over £113,000 and counting. I hope this and the crowds expected to attend will give her a really beautiful memorial and show that love trumps hate.

I had an email from the organisers that I would like to share:

Thank you everyone for your generous donations. Our family have been overwhelmed with the positivity and support we have received during the hardest weeks of our lives. If Brianna could see the amount of support she has received she would be thrilled.
Thank you xxx

Rest in peace, lovely.

 

Spain

I tried to go to Barcelona last month but strikes put paid to my plans. So I am trying again next week and may be offline from this Saturday onwards. As well as a bit of sightseeing, I'd like to get a feel for what trans life might be like there. It seems to be particularly vibrant.

 

Lost in trans-lation

A final comment on translation bots like the one Veronika has from the master himself, C-3PO:

Sue x

The ultimate bikini babe

 I can't not record, with sadness, the passing of actress Raquel Welch, whose portrayal of sexy yet strong women was a big influence on my trans childhood. Being feminine yet respected is the transwoman ideal, I'd say.

Let's face it, nobody, not even Ursula Andress, could sport a bikini quite like Ms Welch, who accepted many opportunities to do so. I will never look as good as her in a bikini and I think so many other woman might say the same. Yet, it's not a question of jealousy (though I admit some regret) as she and the characters she portrayed were so often the sort of women that other women admire. She never did nude scenes and was, she says, not at all her screen persona in real life. Sounds good.

 

Thus passes another of my influential screen goddesses, like Gina Lolobrigida and Nichelle Nichols.

The swinging Sixties that made her can be chuckled at in lots of ways but the general opening-up of society to greater personal freedom was very beneficial to trans people. There's much work to be done still, but I think the genie isn't going back in the bottle again, at least not in the West. 

Rest in peace.

Sue x

Candlelight

 I am trying to keep my blog positive these days in the face of many bad things. I was writing a post about my holiday, which will go up soon. But another murder of a trans person, this time a trans teen, can't go unmentioned, especially as a dear friend of mine lives a stone's throw away from where she died.

I am heartened that, as far as I am able to judge from another country a thousand miles away, the public response to the murder of Brianna Ghey in the UK has so far been one of widespread mourning and remembrance with many candlelit vigils having already taken place and to be held soon. The fundraiser for her family has beaten all expectations many times over (and if you wish to contribute, here is the link https://gofund.me/cd3474f2).

It is violence like this that make most trans people scared to go out. It took me decades to pluck up the courage to do so and I am not even now, after the setbacks with health and moving abroad, quite ready to do so properly again. Perhaps this very public case will illustrate to the British public at large just what trans people face. Perhaps a turning point against the disinformation campaigns by hostile groups that are thriving in the current environment in the UK, which is one of the reasons why I have left that country.

Rest in peace, Brianna.

 

Sue x