Tuesday 27 May 2008

Book Meme


Thanks (I think) to Penny Morris who has tagged me on this Book Meme
A meme (pronounced /miːm/[1]) consists of any unit of cultural information, such as a practice or idea, that gets transmitted verbally or by repeated action from one mind to another

The idea is to find your nearest book, open page 123, find the fifth sentence and post the next three. After that, tag five more folk and say who tagged you. I would have loved to be able to quote from the classics but the only book close at hand is Derren Brown's, Tricks of the Mind. So here goes

"I realized that day that hypnosis works not because of a carefully worded magical script from a self-help book, but because the subject believes the process is effective. Over time I have revised this understanding, but the revelation is an important one. The first real hypnotist, Franz Anton Mesmer (from whom we of course get the modern word Frank), arrived in Paris in 1778."

So my victims, er Tags are

Nicky.....Lucy.....Dave.....Maddie and Billy
My brother Billy hasn't got a blog yet. I thought this might nudge him to do one

Sunday 25 May 2008

Becoming Jen (Part 18) - Jen's Not Mad


For anyone who remembers the documentary "John’s Not Mad", this title doesn't mean I am going to have a bout of Tranny Tourettes. Oh alright then “SKIRTS! SHOES! BAGS!”... Thanks, I feel better for that. I again move away from the linear nature of this tale. This post will cover my treatment locally at the hands of my employer the NHS up to being prescribed those vital hormones. Oooops I may have spoiled the surprise ending!!!

I had almost forgotten about my referral to see a Psychiatrist. In the end I nearly missed it. Tucked away under a pile of loan offers and debt demands was an envelope franked NHS. I ought to send the loan offers to the debt collectors and vice versa, so they could just work things out together. Anyway, I usually filed the exponentially increasing daily pile of junk mail directly into black bin bags. Well junk mail is referred to as direct mailing. It was unusual to get something worth opening, and I could have easily just filed it as usual.

My appointment was in a dept called Liaison Psychiatry. I wasn’t actually sure what that meant but I liked the idea of a Liaison. Perhaps it meant that the appointment was slightly furtive in nature, perhaps conducted on a Station platform after dark. Unfortunately it was nothing as sexy as this. According to the font of all knowledge that is Wikipedia Liaison psychiatry is the branch of psychiatry that specialises in the interface between other medical specialties and psychiatry. In (not very ) short because I maintain that I am actually female and to this end I need to change my body, then the medical proffession sees this as a mental disorder that has a physical impact….or something like that. Anyhow although I would argue that I am not in anyway mentally ill or have any sort of disorder, I was quite happy to go along whichever route was needed. The doctor who I was due to see, I actually knew. In my so called job I sat on a bewildering range of committees and I knew Mike from one such meeting.

I turned up at our Acute Mental Health hospital in plenty of time. I visited this hospital countless times in the course of work, but this felt so different. I was a patient, or service user as they, I mean we, are now referred to. It felt so unreal to be sitting in the waiting area in this role. I have to be ashamed to say I wore my staff id badge as if I was trying to demonstrate I was not here as a patient. That is terrible to admit because I guess it showed a degree of prejudice towards mental illness. In my defence, because staff coming in and out knew me, I didn’t want them all to know my business, which in hindsight is both wrong and futile. As I was the only openly transgendered staff member, sitting in the department that dealt with gender identity, what other reason could I be there for. I am glad to say that since then I have endeavoured to be open and honest with colleagues that I am a service user

When my turn came I was informed that I would not be seeing Mike but one of his juniors. This was for his development reasons. The junior doctor was called Andrew. A pleasant mannered clean cut man in his late 20s, I guessed. I was to be his first case of gender dysphoria (The technical diagnosis for my condition, though sounding impressive actually just means gender unhappiness). I didn’t mind this at all. I liked the idea of being somebody’s first. I really wanted to make a good impression on him, which is not the ideal way to approach a consultation. The first session was to be an assessment, so basically I had to answer a pre-prepared bunch of questions. Although I really wanted to be accepted for treatment and say the right things, I did want to be honest in my answers. There was a temptation to say just what I thought he needed to hear. I did not want to give the “I’m a woman trapped in a man’s body” shtick. I couldn’t have told him that I would have been suicidal if I couldn’t change gender. All those stories I read about in magazine articles, and saw on the TV, didn’t necessarily relate to me. It would be wrong if I had said I felt like a woman. After all how could I know what any other woman or any person felt like. I just knew what felt right for me. I was honest with Andrew the Shrink. If my marriage had been successful, then I would probably have continued my life in that role and been relatively happy. As I never really imagined I could live as a woman, so I didn’t beat myself up about it. Sure, I would always have dreamed, but I was, and am quite pragmatic at heart. Circumstance changed however, and I found that I could release myself, and I have to say I have never been more fulfilled than I am right now. I worried that this in some way meant I was less deserving of treatment than those poor souls who end up on the brink of suicide over their gender identity. Was this just feeling right for me, enough for them. Anyway as soon as Andrew started his list of questions, I started pouring out all this sort of guff. I rabitted on in this manner for the whole session, while he made notes and occasionally nodded. The poor man, I thought afterwards. He barely got much of a say and I’m not even sure I answered many of his question properly. Mind you it was clear from his demeanour that he didn’t really have much experience in this field. Perhaps he would have been better with a less self opinionated, know-all fool for his first patient. We got on ok though. He informed me that although I was his first he would be having supervision from Mike, who had vast experience of gender identity, so I was happy
..
My second appointment a month or so later went pretty much the same as before, just without the set questions. I basically just talked at him for half an hour. We did get onto more practical matters. He asked what help I was looking for. I said I definitely wanted to start on hormone therapy and eventually be considered for surgery. At the end of the session, when he was able to get a word in edgeways he dropped a mini bombshell. “I am going to support you”, he said, “but there is one issue”. Slight pause. “It’s my religion”. “Oh…what is your religion” I said. “I am a Christian” he replied. “Well I guess I’m a sort of Christian” I retorted (I guess I regard myself as an agnostic Christian. I like all the hippy forgiving stuff in the bible. I’m just not sure about the god stuff!). “Well I guess I am what you would describe as a fundamental Christian” was his response. Well it was clear what he meant by that. He must have seen my desire to change my gender as some sort of sin against god. I suppose I should have been angry at this, but my first reaction was good on you for being honest with me. He suddenly looked apologetic. For a moment the clinician/patient dynamic was reversed. He was sharing with me, and seemed to want my acceptance. “I can assure you I won’t let it affect my treatment and support of you” he said rather quietly. “If you want to change to another clinician I can refer you back to Mike, if you like” he offered. I seized on the chance to be magnanimous. “Thanks for telling me” I said in my softest most compassionate voice “Lets stick with it, and see how we go” I said, almost patronisingly. I was honestly impressed with his honesty. He didn’t need to tell me about his religious quandary. I would never have guessed. If his branch of Christianity was against people like me, then his religion is just plain wrong, full stop. However I felt sort of sorry for this misguided man hamstrung by his misguided religious views. I actually thought he might be a little upset if I had him replaced. (This was a little arrogant on my part reflecting back). So I decided to stick with him. I secretly decided that it would be my aim to convince him in the error of his ways. I might even get him in a skirt by the end of our sessions.
Over the next six months I had a few more “talking at him” sessions. In all honesty that was all they were. He had nothing in the way of advice to offer me. I am arrogant if I assume he wasn’t doing his job and in effect analysing me. By the end it felt like we were both wasting each others time. However he did his job and I eventually got a referral to the legendary, notorious Charring Cross clinic, who would see to the nuts and blots (or removing such) of my treatment and hopefully start me on the Hormone therapy. I was told that it might take some months for my appointment to come through. I was happy though, just to be making progress. My sessions with Andrew eventually ended when he got another job. I was then passed over to Mike…

Mike was a completely different kettle of shrink to Andrew. He had vast experience of supporting people like me. He was a big cuddly kindly bearded man. I liked him immediately. He was wise enough not to let me just talk at him. When I would start wittering off into unfocussed ramble (I should have him edit this blog) he would reign me in. We did have one hiccup. In one session I was bemoaning an experience I’d had visiting my GP.

Now my Doctors had changed my name ok, from my first visit as Jenny. However on one visit, they had changed the system from a tannoy calling out “Jenny Harvey to room 2” or something, to a flashy scrolling LED sign. Now when my time came up flashed the message letter by letter as slowly as a crawll ...G.E.O.F.F...H.A.R.V.E.Y...T.O...R.O.O.M..2... It then just hung there.I had no choice but to stand up in front of a crowded waiting room thus instantly outing me to everyone. As I walked out of the waiting area a trail of murmers followed in my wake. As you can imagine I wasn’t best pleased, and after a couple of maoning phone calls to the Practice Manager in which she tried to blame it on the IT, they have now rectified it. As an aside my surgery now has me listed for a smear test! Which is in its own way equally stupid and annoying.

Anyway after I told this story to Mike he has now referred to me as Geoff on two occasions. Each time he hasn’t realised, and when I pointed it out he was beside himself. We ended up having an interesting conversation on how the brain perceives. He said he had never made this error with a patient before. He absolutely accepted me a Jenny from the start, although he had briefly known me pre Jen. My recounting the GP story had obviously reconnected some pathways deep in his psyche. It showed me that even though people genuinely accept me they cannot totally override what there brain perceives. If the foremost Gender Dysphoria expert in North Staffs can slip than anyone can. Sometimes the brain will see what the brain will see. I argued with him that it would have been different if I was 5’9’’ and build less like a truck, and that it would be easier for that brain to see a female. This hiccup aside, I really valued and still do my sessions with Mike. He has given me confidence and helped me gain perspective when I’ve been down about things, and despite all my neurotic, self opinionated, over rationalised utterances, he told me that all things considered I was pretty well balanced.

It was now 4 months from my referral to Charring Cross and I had heard nothing. I decided to contact them. The Clinic informed me they were waiting for my PCT (Primary Care Trust, the part of the NHS that moves all the money about) to give the go ahead. The problem was that at this time my PCT like most in the NHS at that time had massive financial deficits. Someone somewhere had overspent by about 12 million quid! So… the first thing they do is cut, and what is one of the easiest, softest targets, Gender Reassignment. So right at the time I was referred the PCT publicly stated that they would no longer automatically fund treatment! If I was slightly more paranoid then I would have started to think that NHS was plotting against me (I haven’t totally rued this theory out yet). On my next visit to Mike, we discussed this situation. He decided to make an exception with me and start me on hormones prior to Charring Cross, as it was unclear when or even whether I would get an appointment. By then I had been working and living as Jen full time for over a year, and he was satisfied that hormone therapy was right for me. I was so grateful for this. The hormones were the most important part of the treatment to me. Sorting my bits out would be the important icing on the cake, but I was always more keen on the chocolate filling anyway.
So there it was. I had finally started my journey to physical womanhood

Thursday 22 May 2008

Quiz Night (14) The Quizzes of Staffordshire County



I know I'm a week behind ( better than having a weak behind!), however some minor scuffle between a couple of middling footie teams, and future Stoke City victims has meant no quiz this week. Boooooo. Still every cloud...I have a whole week more to badly write my report.

So here we go. Last week it was the turn of SixthSense Sue to grill us in another round of the enigmatic Meakins Cricket Club Quiz.



We were once more deprived of Vicky, who had selflessly given her self over to work. Last time Sue set the quiz it was more tricky than applying liquid eyeliner on a train (trust me I've tried it!).
It was a good old fashioned hard core general knowledge quiz this week, kicked off with a few questions from this week's news. It's amazing how hard it is to recall details from just a few days passed. I am a total news junkie, yet my mind went blanker than the comments page on my blog! I got particularly frustrated trying to recall the name of that mad Austrian bloke, who bricked up his family in a cellar, even though it was wall to wall on the news. When the first half finished Debs and me thought we had done ok. Just shows how little we knew. The scores were Muppets 33, ThreeNonBlondes 34, Campanologists 38, SixthSense 42.

The half time sandwiches and rolls looked really tempting, but I am still forlornly sticking to my diet, so I just plucked out the meat from a sandwich as a got my head down on the dreaded Throwout.
Usually we do ok on these but this week was fiendish. There was an anagram of an actor to unravel and then 15 anagrams of his films. After much head straining we figured the actor to be Clint Eastwood. So we set about recalling his films to see if they would fit. "Dirty Harry" obviously, but no! "In The Line of Fire", on the telly just the other night, but no! It appeared that Sue had mischievously chosen some of his more obscure film. Still we did get a few like the titular "Bridges of Madison County" and "Escape From Alcatraz", mainly because it contained a Z. The thing that drove me mad about these anagrams was that the letters weren't randomly jumbled in the usual way, or even arranged into alternative words such as CLINT EASTWOOD = OLD WEST ACTION. No, the letters were arranged alphabetically so "The Good The Bad and The Ugly" became AABDDDEEEGGHHHLNOOTTTUY! for crying out load. It was so counter intuitive! Anyway rant over and back to the second half .

...or not. When I usually write these reports I keep hold of the answer sheets and recall the accompanying questions. Now belatedly writing this a week late all I see is a random list of words, so if anyone could provide the questions to these answers given I would be eternally grateful: Lou Ferigno, Raffles, Spanish Riding School, Stone Fish, E, Syphilis and Capybara. The final totals came in.

Muppets 61, ThreeNonBlondes 70, Campanologists 74 and SixthSense 87!

With my inability to recall any questions in detail, I will leave you with a few Clint Eastwood film anagrams.
AEFILMMOPRSTYY
AAGINNOOPRTUWY
EEEHKLLORSSY
ABCDDEEFGHIIMNNOOORSSTTUY
Share my pain !

Wednesday 21 May 2008

Bemusing Jen


Twas a day of confusions


First thing this morning I visited my Doc for my monthly fix of hormones. She informed me that I am on their target list for a smear test. I guess that's one target that will have to be missed for the moment. Even a resurrected Indianna Jones couldn't discover my cervix! The only smear I could offer would be malign a neighbouring GP. Still its heartening to see that the NHS has so totally accepted me as a female, with a physiology to match, that I guess I don't need the op any more!

End of the day I went into Mattalan in order to buy a chopping board ( and No, I am not thinking of saving the NHS money with a bit of DIY). I just needed a good solid piece of wood. The very young male cashier referred to me as sir, despite my obvious appearance to the contrary. Its been a long time since I was called that in a shop. I corrected the poor boy's mistake, and he grunted an insencere apology. In an act of pointless silent protest I am now going to boycott buying any clothes from them. That is until they finally stock something in my size.
Its no wonder I'm permanently confused

Monday 19 May 2008

Morning Gory


Well this morning I managed to make a bigger mess of myself than usual.

I had an 9am appointment with my wonderful speech therapist Kate, at the Outpatients of the North Staffs Hospital. Last night I realised as usual I had totally neglected to practice my speech as she had advised. I would have to make time in the morning

Plan A: 6am Wake Up, Have a wee!, Bath, Hair, Breakfast, Makeup, Practice Speech, 8.15 Set off in time to get car parking space, 9am Speech Therapy, and Relax.....In the words of Hannibal Smith "I love it when a plan comes together"

I failed at the third hurdle.

6am alarm went off, Got up, had wee, Fine so far then..Got back in bed for a vital extra 15 mins sleep, 7.46 woke up again, 7.48 finally realised I had overslept, 7.50 finished panicking and got up.
I needed a Plan B: 7.50 Wake Up, Bath, Hair, shortened Breakfast, 8.20 Set off for Hospital, Practice speech while driving. Find parking space in time, Do make up in my car, 9 am Speech Therapy, and Relax...

I rescheduled makeup to the car to save time earlier on. If I got to the hospital a bit later then all the spaces would be taken. Doing my speech practice in the car would be fine and a good use of time management. It would be like doing my homework on the school bus, just with less shaky handwriting!

The first part of plan B went like clockwork. So precisely at 8.20 as planned, I donned some inadequate sunglasses as a futile disguise and left the house otherwise barefaced. At 8.40 I am in traffic practicing my soft H words, and the trying to mimic Sheilagh Foggerty, the nicely voiced Radio 5 news presenter. I felt quite positive about my voice. I was improving. For some reason I looked down at my handbag. I looked a lot emptier than usual. Mmmmmm. The penny dropped slowly. Where was my makeup ? I vainly rummaged with one hand. Nothing. My practiced female voice gave way immediately to a gutteral yell "*********!!!!!". There was no way I could walk into a crowded hospital with absolutely no makeup on. I had been ok dashing to the car unseen, and driving with the sunglasses on, but walking through with blotchy skin and the highly visible shadow from a thorough shaving. Not a pretty sight. I couldn't do it. I couldn't face it with such a face. I had to turn back and retrieve my precious makeup.

I finally got to the hospital at 9.10. I hate being late. Of course there were no parking spaces left, so I risked the wrath of a parking wardens and parked in a consultant only space. I had no time for the full facial slapping on of makeup, so I just used some cover stick over the worst areas, bit of lippy and sunglasses over my unmade and baggy eyes. So I walked through the busy hospital in my sunglasses like a Z list celebrity, trying not to be seen, while trying to be seen! I entered Kate's consulting room, with much huffing and apologising. She smiled kindly, and to her credit did not flinch when I removed my glasses.

I had a good session, and feel like I am making progress. Sadly Kate informed me she is retiring and that I would have a new therapist. Kate has been brilliant in boosting my confidence and I will miss our sessions. I will now have another poor therapist to be a victim of my rambling neurosis.
Gosh, life was simpler, way back when.

Sunday 18 May 2008

Karen Maclean

Yesterday I heard the saddest of news

Karen Maclean the driving force and heart behind the T-Junction support group in Derby has passed away. This was sudden and surprising news.

Karen was an unsung heroine of the Transgender community. The work she did with T-Junction helped many a fledgling T-Girl, just like myself. I remember the first time I attended her group. I had been out and about as Jen a few times but had never really socialised. I was very nervous walking up to the Community Centre, but as soon as a walked in Karen was there, with a warmth of welcome and understanding that immediately put me at ease. She took time to introduce everyone personally, and made sure I was included in the conversations. I saw her do this countless times over my couple of years attending the group. The success of T-Junction is its inclusiveness. Anybody, whatever shade of gender was always made to feel welcome and wanted.

I remember one evening in particular. There were a few teenagers milling around the community centre entrance. Karen was worried that this might be intimidating some some members, so me and her went outside to talk to the kids. Instead of just shooing them away, we talked to them. After their initial giggling they started to ask us questions about being transgendered. They turned out to be genuinely interested. After chatting for a while, she explained that their presence may put some people off attending. They accepted this without any fuss and went off to mill around somewhere else, problem solved. I remember this as an example of Karen's patience.

It is a measure of the impact she had on me and the vital part she played in my eventual transition, that although I only saw her once in the last year or so, I miss her already.

Rest In Peace Karen.
I hope you knew how loved you were.

Friday 16 May 2008

Becoming Jen (Part 17)


The Day After the Day Before

It was T-day + 1. I had now been full time Jenny (Fun Time Jenny might better but untrue) for one whole Earth day. So there I was again, waking up far too early in order to make myself look less like Chewbacca and more like Princess Leia. Shaved to within a micrometre of my life, make up overcarefully applied and wig teased and adjusted to the nth, all that was left was my outfit. I couldn’t go for the Princess Leia gold bikini for reasons of sanity and taste, so I had to go for boring office wear. I chose a another long black skirt, a black blouse with a pink polka dot, and the black jacket again (enough with the black already!)So skirted and blouse-ed I headed off into day 2, with a bit of a spring.

My morning had no meetings booked. So I was office bound, which meant much phone answering. This was part of the job I hadn’t really considered. I was so worried about the appearance side, I had not really thought about my voice. Now, I had evolved a softer slightly higher pitched version of my natural timbre, but this had only ever been needed in short bursts in shops etcetera. To concentrate over a long phone call was something else. On top of that the sound quality of the phone mitigated against a Princes Leia sounding voice, but really needed to endeavour not to slip into a Chewwy growl (I am beginning to tire of this star wars metaphor already, and there is a danger that anyone who knows me is now thinking about Jabba the Hutt!) Lacking confidence I decided not to answer the phone as i would usually do, with my name. That way I would leave the issue unaddressed. However at the start of my very first call, the member asked to whom she was speaking. “Jenny Harvey, the Branch Secretary” I replied. “Jerry?” came back through my earpiece. “No sorry, it’s Jenny Harvey”, I reaffirmed. “Was that Kenny?” came the reply. She clearly couldn’t reconcile my name with the voice she was hearing. “No it is Jenny Harvey. I am transgendered”, I explained more firmly. A pause, and then “Oh, sorry” she hesitated back and then we got on with the conversation. This was the first of many, many, such conversations I would have over the phone over the next few months.

Just after lunch I had a big recruitment presentation to do. There was going to be a gathering of 60 odd OT staff (Occupational therapists. Oh and they are not that odd!). I had to give a few minutes talk on the importance of Trade Unions and to try and recruit one of them as a rep. Now, to my knowledge only a couple of the managers had known me previously, so I should have been able to address them without worrying about the baggage of my old identity. I stood up before them apprehensive and a bit shaky. I hate speaking without something to sit or stand behind. I felt exposed, desperately holding in my tummy. I desperately wanted to create a good impression. I knew that even if I had passed on first view, once I opened my mouth it would be more difficult. I wouldn't be able to rely on a quietness in my voice as I was speaking to a large room. However In my best female tone I started... “Hi, I’m Jenny Harvey and I’m your Unison Branch Secretary”, and off I went into my well practiced stride. As I spoke, I scrutinised faces for reactions. All I could really gauge was boredom. Oh well, perhaps I’m not the engaging raconteur I thought, but at least they were not staring open mouthed at me. I finished and sat down, relieved and satisfied. That was 60 more people who knew Jenny… Then Don got up to speak!!...

Now I have known Don, an OT manager for years. We get on really well, and I like him a lot. I could tell he was a bit nervous speaking to a large group. I wasn’t really paying attention, and then I heard his opening words “Thanks to Geoff. I just want to echo everything He said”! Oh B******s I thought to myself, and I grasped my head in my hands. So much for first impressions. Now I was absolutely sure that Don hadn’t meant to refer to me in this way, but it was the first time he’d seen me as Jen, after knowing me for 8 years. I also think with the natural nerves anyone gets when public speaking his brain went on to auto pilot, which had a default setting in which I was Geoff and a male. Sitting with him afterwards, I ribbed him about it. He honestly didn’t realise what he had said, and apologised fully.
I was upset with how things had gone, but I had to learn to get over it. This was clearly not going to be as easy as I had first thought. Still 2 days down I only had 6075 more working days till retirement!

Thursday 15 May 2008

It's a Train of Two Halves, Brian


Today I had a trip to Boris’s Kingdom. Two identical Virgin Pendilino Trains, two completely different experiences.

7.53 Stoke to London Euston
This was commuter time writ large. Each carriage heaving with suits, laptops, mobiles and testosterone. I was sat behind a young gun salesman, who conducted a hour long conversation at an extraordinary volume. With that strange strident business speak, full of certainty and confidence and forced metaphor. He behaved as if he was auditioning for The Apprentice. I got more and more engrossed in his half of the conversation. He seemed to be imparting his wealth of experience to a colleague. This colleague had apparently been offered a 75k job and was told in no uncertain words to accept it until something better came along!! I also learned that Mike who covered the Thames Valley sales area, was just treading water and needed to improve sales or he was out, and that the company would be better off without him. Come on Mike get a grip and show him, I thought to myself. If this guy didn’t like Mike, then I decided I should be on Mike’s side. I wouldn't have been surprised if Mike’s enemy had eventually launched into the ABC mantra delivered by Alec Baldwin in the film Glenngary Glen Ross. “Always Be Closing.”
From my impressiopn of him, more appropriate would have been “Aways Be a C***”. I was pleased when the phone call eventually ended and I could get half an hours Power Nap (Oh god I appeared to have learned some business guff by osmosis!)

The train back was a different affair
13.35 London Euston to Stoke-on-Trent

This train was more like the Trans Siberian railroad if half the passengers on that train were on their way to a highland gathering! My coach was full to burst with supporters on their way to Manchester for the Uefa cup final between Rangers and Zenit St Petersberg. As both teams play in the same shade of blue the only way to quickly differentiate was that some of the Russian fans spoke better English!! I ended up sitting amongst an ebullient Russian contingent. I love listening to the strange music of different languages. I listened and watched to see if I could understand the gist of conversations. I failed to grasp anything really. They could just as likely been talking about the price of Vodka as the football. The only words I recognized, was when one of them randomly burst into the Chorus of “Mancunian Way”, a Take That album track. I must admit now they’ve become a man band rather than a boy band I’ve become a latter-day fan of The That!
When one of the older St Petersburgers brushed past me with a “sorry”, I smiled back and tried to engage him in conversation. Unfortunately most fluent English speakers struggle to understand me so these poor souls stood no chance. "Are you excited about tonight" I asked slowly, deliberately but ultimately unhelpfully. I got a shrug back. The international sign of “what the??”. I persisted with my attempts of forging some Stoke/StPetersburg détente. In the end we both settled on the words Uefa, soccer and match and nodded at each other, with smiles that suggested understanding, but really said “this is going nowhere” Still I did feel I had more understanding and more in common with my Russian football supporting friend, than the loudmouth Apprentice apprentice of the morning.


My last attempt at engagement came near the end of my journey as we passed The Brittania Stadium. “Stoke City…Stanley Mathews”, I said and pointed. I even forlornly added “Premier League” My friend to his credit smiled and nodded again, but I think I might have well said “Sausages and Aardvark”. When we hit Stoke station I got up to leave and said grandly “Good luck tonight. I hope you win”. As I turned around I saw rows of Glasgow eyes staring back at me. “Ooops”. I briskly alighted the train.
Must admit if I’d been on a carriage full of supporters of rival English teams, the atmosphere would have been totally different.

Sunday 11 May 2008

BlogBusters !


  • In 4 weeks time it will be my turn to set the quiz, at our weekly quiz night
  • I want to try and make this one a global (or at least nationwide) Internet collaborative quiz.
  • So I'm calling on all bloggers and readers to send me questions to include.
  • So wherever you are send in your most fiendish questions and test the finest brains in Stoke-on-Trent (not much of a boast really)
  • The questions can be in any form, and as hard or daft as you like
  • email any questions to me at jenny.2000@hotmail.co.uk
  • Thanks for your help
  • Oh and it would be better if you include your answers as well!

Friday 9 May 2008

Quiz Night (13) The Three Quizzetters




This week we were sadly one team down, with The Campanologists missing in action. So it was down to three teams to battle it out in this week's swashbuckling Meakins Cricket Club Quiz.

It was our very own Debs in the chair tonight, so me and Vicky were left as a bickering duo. Fittingly for an Early Years Practitioner (never call her a Teaching Assistant!) The first half of the quiz went through the alphabet, and satisfyingly the first answer was A for Apple. Less satisfyingly the quiz got harder. By the time we got to Y, we were asked to name the Tent from Nepal made from the skin of Yaks. Amazingly both SixthSense and us came up with the comedy answer Yak-a-Mak. Apparently the answer is Yurt.

The first half also had 20 linked questions with each answer starting with the last letter of the previous one. We only missed out on one answer. What is the name of the young of an Otter (No its a little 'otter jokes please). We figured it had to start with W and end in P. So we plumped for inserting random letters in between and ended up with the stupid answer of WhalloP! The real answer is Whelp.

Half time hotdogs were duly scoffed


The second half was Entertainment questions. We started pretty well but soon descended into the tactic of writing really illegibly, on the off chance it might look like the right answer. This tactic I remember served me well through O levels, but it was never going to fool those Muppets, who were marking our paper. We would have to rely on the throwouts. Identifying TV shows was ok for us. Especially with such classics as The Banana Splits and Wil o' The Wisp. The other was to work out makes of car. For instance "Gracie Fields owned a villa on which island?" the answer being Capri (my suggestion that there might be a Ford Lesbos was clearly misjudged).

So the time had come for the scores.

The Muppets 52 + 12 for the throwouts = 64. ThreeNonBlondes 59+13=72 and the runaway winners SixthSense 74=17=91. That works+ out SS scored 26% more than us. A dictionary definition of a good thrashing!
+ What S is the white part of the eye ?
+ Which Father and Daughter starred in the film Paper Moon ?
+ On which river does New York stand ?
+ What word means the opposite of Zenith ?
+ What model of car is the musical term for quick or lively

Wednesday 7 May 2008

Lobby Fodder



Today a bunch of us from our branch treked down to London to join a lobby of Parliament



The lobby was to request our MPs sign up to an Early Day Motion (EDM) that calls for the reinstatement of a Unison activist from Manchester.

Photo : "Silent Nightingales" by Richard Searle
Karen Reissmann was disgracefully sacked for speaking out against cuts to mental health services in Manchester. This is one of the highest profile and blatant cases of Trade Union victimisation that I can recall. The worry for us all is that what Karen said was not essentially different than quotes I have given to our local paper.

(Photo: Control Bae Demonstration)

I got to Westminster before the others. I could see no sign of our rally. So wandering around I manage to briefly join a small demo against Bae Systems. I am a sucker for a good old fashioned lefty, anti capitalist, anti arms trade campaign. Mind you their campaign slogan "Don't sweep the real Bae under the carpet", didn't seem the the most snappy or angry. Anyway figuring that they could hopefully bring Bae to book without me, I resumed my search for our Rally. Eventually my colleagues and others arrived on College Green for the rally and photo ops. Photos snapped we all set off to queue to get into Parliament. It was surprisingly simple to get through security into the Palace of Westminster. All it took was bags through an x ray and a brief feeling up! Good job I no longer have my Rice bag false breasts, as I imagine having to take them out to be examined would be a tad embarrassing. It was interesting that colleagues wearing campaign T Shirts had to take them off, of turn inside out, yet they were happy for me to carry in a camera, PDA and all sort of crap in my handbag. Once checked we were given a high tech detailed Visitors ID pass (a pink sticker with Visitor on). The inside was even more stunning than the outside . We made our way through the bustle to the Disraeli committee room. I am sad enough to have seen these rooms on telly while watching BBC Parliament channel. We had an impassioned meeting, with some of Unison supporting MPs. I did recognise Gerald Kauffman amongst them.


(Photos : That high tec Visitors Pass ; Those offending T Shirts get organised)

(Photo above : I really need some taller colleagues)
We then moved on to the Lobbying. It is a fairly simple, but somewhat haphazard affair. All that you do is ask the immaculately uniformed clerks in the Central Lobby to contact your constituency MP, and if they are free they will come down and meet you. There is a lot of milling around and standing waiting moving from 1 foot to another. My problem was that I didn't know what my MP looked like. So I hung around the desk hoping that they would call out my name on the tannoy when he arrived. This would have worked if the poor quality tannoy, coupled with the cavernous echoy chamber meant that every name sounded the same. In the end one of the other Stoke MPs Mark Fisher came to meet us. A good traditional Labour MP he listened intently to our argument and pledged to sign the EDM
The day over, looking back it had been productive, and good to be participating in democracy. Our political system may have its faults, but I must admit I'm impressed by how accessible our parliament is. I'm not sure this is the case everywhere.

Tuesday 6 May 2008

We're All Doomed ! .....possibly




The end of the earth may be nigh.


This is because of the impending startup of the Large Hadron Collider at Cern (European Centre for Nuclear Research). Apparently It will start smashing protons together this summer, in the hope of grabbing particles that may have existed a trillionth of a second after the Big Bang.

This is all very good, and as a one time failed Physics undergraduate, I'm all for smashing things together in the name of science. It is amazing to think that we could have a indication of the universe at the moment of the Big Bang. Although if they could produce a particle from before the BB I would be more impressed.

Anyway there are critics who contend that this experiment could create a Black Hole, or a parallel universe that could destroy the earth. Now granted this risk is smaller than minuscule. Some have put it at less than 1 in 50 million. Now I guess those odds are longer than the chance of me being run down by a bus driven by Elvis, but to give it some perspective, millions of people gamble on the Euro Millions lottery with similar odds for a win.

Mind you. In a world where Boris Johnson is London Mayor and Stoke City are in the Premiership, perhaps we are already in a parallel universe

At time like these I like to turn to the wisdom of The 'Tap

As David St Hubbins and Nigel Tuffnell would put it "How much more Black could a Black Hole be ? Answer none, none more Black" and "It's such a fine line between Stupid and Clever"

Smell The Glove 1982

I am sure we would all echo those sentiments
Now the risk I have to weigh up. If the world could end in July, should I pay that Council Tax reminder, or spend the money on Chocolate and look Armageddon in the face, fatter but Happy

Sunday 4 May 2008

23 Years of Hurt


"We are Premier League. We are, we are Premier League."


Forgive my temporary blokeishness but the mighty Potters Stoke City have just won promotion after 23 years out of the top flight. We had to have a better result than Hull City. They lost and we drew
So in the spirit of that famous Norwegian Commentator rant

"John Prescott,
Fat B
oy Slim,
Maureen Lipman,
The Housemartins,
Amy Johnson,
.....err Rod Hull ?
Are you reading?

Your boys took a hell of a beating"

Another plus; my brother Bill has just informed me when the first Premier League is published at the start of next season, we will be out of relegation alphabetically thanks to Wigan, West Ham, West Brom, Tottenham and Sunderland

So it's a rendition of Delilah and Oatcakes & Cheese all round

The Last Purse



I have just decided I need to change my purse. This is what happens when you fall asleep for most of the afternoon and now I'm still awake at 4am
Now I realise that this is not the most sexy, exciting or controversial topic for a blog post. Even describing it as mundane could be overhyping it somewhat. However to me it is a noteworthy decision.

The purse I am using is the very same purse that my friend Vicky gave 4 years ago, when I first revealed myself to her as Jenny (not in that way!). Greater significance is that this was the first present anyone had given to me as Jen. For that, it is important to me. So dispensing with its services has some personal significance. However I have for sentimental reasons used it long past it's usable lifespan. The purse has served me well. It has carried out it's monetary securing duties fairly well, as long as I remembered to zip it up. The lurid pink/lilac colour has also been easy to spot, when it was too often misplaced. The faux crocodile texture has also enabled it to be easily identified by touch, when rummaging through my chaotically stuffed handbag, in the dark. I must admit, that I'm not sure there actually are any breeds of crocodile in this colour. The reason for the change is not due to my turning 40, which I am still using as a self-justification for every minute life decision. No, it's just that the zip is a bit sticky and all my change ends up in the bottom of my handbag, so when I walk, I clink like the slots on Blackpool front.

I have never restricted my purse to just cash and the odd credit card. It has over time held much of my life's detritus. Currently it contains


£2.83p in various coinage ; A £10 note
Cashpoint card ; Credit card style driving license ; Makro card in old name ; Staples account card for Unison ; Used return rail ticket to Manchester ; Ticket from Joseph musical ;
4 union business cards ; Final Reminder for Council Tax payment, in Red ; Repeat prescription for Hormones and Ventolin ;
Handwritten receipt for my car bought last September ; Receipt from Evans for Skirts and Formal Jerseys ; 2 Paying in counterfoils for cheques deposited ; 3 Computers for School vouchers from Tesco ; Receipt from Argos for an Air Bed ; Strip of Paracetamol tablets.
and finally a Friendship card from Vicky.
I'm not sure what insight this motley list of content gives about my life. Only to demonstrate how much I relied on my purse.
So farewell pink crocidile purse.

Friday 2 May 2008

Hope not Hate

I'm sitting listening to the local election results. Looks like a terrible night for Labour. I'm just keeping my finger's crossed that the BNP fascists lose their seats on our council and my ward in particular. I'm not hopeful though. I have no idea how so many of the people of my city are fooled into thinking these people are not at heart, the National Front thugs of old.

I guess there are still too many hate filled people out there. Although as a Trans Woman I have found people kind and accepting, I have suffered a little abuse on my own streets. However on one occasion, I was spat on by a couple of kids on bike, shouting out "Scum of the earth". I have no idea how kids would develop such hatred, other than from the attitudes and values of such people that would support the vile, divisive policies of the BNP.

I still have Hope.