Becoming Jen (Part 7)

The Sun Always Shines on a TV”

I was by now settling into a sort of pattern. When at home, I would pretty much dress all the time. Caroline became used to this and we carried on with our separate lives. However,I was firmly in the closet with the rest of the world. I didn’t really have any great plans or expectations; I was just taking baby steps as the opportunity came along. I would have still laughed at you back then, if you had said I would eventually transition to be full time.
After my first Tesco’s adventure had passed off without any great disaster, I became a regular at the 24 hour supermarkets! I ventured further afield (Asda at Woolstanton!) and slowly started visiting at a more reasonable hour, until I was eventually going before midnight (under the cloak of darkness, though). I was still self consciously avoiding other customers, or any interaction wherever possible. I had by now, started to improve on my look. I bought another wig, which was curly shoulder length and a darker brown. I liked it but Caz said it made me look like a Primary school teacher (not sure what’s wrong with that) I also needed to tackle the tricky issue of my breasts. Previously I had been stuffing my bra with rolled up tights. This was wholly unsuccessful in achieving a realistic look. I scoured the net for other options. All the artificial breast forms I found were either too expensive, or too small. Being a big gal and built like 2 normal sized people stuffed badly into one body, I needed breasts large enough to compensate. I eventually came up with a cunning plan. I filled, the two cut off legs of a pair of tights with a kilo bag of rice each (Uncle Ben’s Easy Cook Short Grain Rice, for all you fans of pointless detail) When knotted and kneaded around a little, these took on a pleasing shape and weight. When placed inside my bra they actually looked ok. The weight also gave them a respectably believable bobbing motion. Obviously the illusion was shattered if you actually touched them, as they felt like... errr, well, a bag of rice! I wasn’t unduly concerned though as sadly there was no chance of anyone wanting to touch them. These “breasts” came to serve me well, and I wore them for over 4 years (I did occasionally undertakeo a 10,000 mile rice change). One other bonus was that they made perfect pin cushions, if I was sewing (not a common occurrence), which did freak people a bit when I appeared to be stabbing myself! It was also comforting to know that if a natural disaster hit Stoke I had a ready made supply of survival rations. Unless of course the disaster was a flood in which case I would drown under the weight of 2 rice puddings!

Let’s put my breasts aside (back them I could do this literally!) I wasn’t being fulfilled by my nocturnal outings to supermarkets. It was so false a concept, and not the normality I craved. The buzz I'd had from my first adventure also faded. The drug analogy was that I now needed a bigger fix. I used to whinge on to Caroline that I was stuck in a rut and getting nowhere. Eventually one Saturday afternoon she said, “Stop moaning, why don’t you just get yourself out to the shops”. I faltered “I can’t go out in the daylight” she replied “Why not, what’s the worst that can happen. You honestly look ok, you will be fine” Either she was being very kind and encouraging, or she was just fed up with me around the house, who knows, or cares? I started to get that rising tide of confidence that had first led me to step out. I internally agonised “I shouldn’t’ do it...I could do it, couldn’t I...No I can’t...Why not?, I can...No I can’t, what if I get seen?...I can do it if I am careful....I am going to do it”. My mind was made up. My heart racing as I prepared for my adventure. I put on my reliable long denim skirt, a pink roll neck sweater and brown suedette boots. I was green to go! But how to get out of the house without the neighbours spotting? We lived in a terrace, so I got Caz to park the car directly in front of the house, engine running driver’s door open. I was like a very bizarre bank job. I went for it, and pretty soon I was driving away. In the daytime! Oh my good god above! I was convinced that every passing driver and pedestrian was staring at me. In actuality they were probably just fearing for their lives due my erratic driving while in such an heightened and agitated state. I soon calmed down after a bit. I decided to go to Stafford, our county town, about 15 miles away. I thought I would run less chance of bumping into anyone I knew. I pulled onto the multi story car park in the centre of Stafford. For a few exaggerated moments I sat in the car plucking at my courage. I was safe in here. Outside, peril lay ahead, but the rewards to my psyche would be worth it. As the car door thuded shut, there was no going back. I walked through the dimly lit echoey car park. All I could hear was the clip clop of my boots and my thump thump of my heart. The car park was busy on a sat afternoon, so there were plenty of people about. I looked downwards and headed onward, not giving anyone the chance to make eye contact. Out of the car park I was instantly in the brightly lit shopping arcade. I had arrived, as a Diva when the curtain raises! I was "crossing that floor". Why was no one staring at me? I felt like I had that big "Tranny" sign above my head, yet only I could see it. I carried on walking, concentrating so hard not to walk like a man. As I passed people, I did detect some looking at me, but no one said anything. Most people were just wrapped up in their shopping. I got more and more confident, but never relaxed. I kept looking back at people after they had passed me, to see if they were looking back at me and talking. I estimated about 1 in every 10 people looked back or remarked. But so what! I didn’t know them, and what could they do to me anyway? All this sounds quite a stressful experience, but the truth is I was on cloud nine (possibly even ten or eleven!) I was having a ball. I was just like all the other girls out shopping on a Saturday afternoon. With my confidence and mood at an all time high, I had the best afternoon of my life ever. I was doing normal stuff. I went into Boots the Chemist to buy same makeup. I queued up with everyone else, and although I must have looked like a giant at 6 foot 2 plus heels, no one seemed bothered. I got a drink and sandwich and sat on a bench. It was the absolute mundane-ness that was so hugely thrilling. The sun was shining, even in a Staffordshire November. This Diva was in her spotlight! The afternoon was a joyful blur of normality After a couple of hours the pain from my slightly too small boots pierced into my consciousness so I headed back to the car. As I sat there I reflected... I didn’t kid myself that I had passed as a woman, but the real success was that no one shouted at me, or laughed at me, or pointed at me or worse. Most people either did not notice me, or if they did they just didn’t really care, they had their own lives and problems. It was somewhat arrogant of me to think otherwise. I sat there and felt at absolute peace, for almost the first time in my life. For a brief moment I dared to consider that the impossibility of my dream, of living as a woman, could one day come true.... This time I did not sob...I had no need.

Back home, after a quick scout for neighbours, I got back into the sanctuary of my front room. To Caroline’s absolute credit, she listened intently while I rattled on about my afternoon. She seemed genuinely pleased for me. From that moment, even though our marriage was in name only, we got on much better. She was so supportive and encouraging. If she hadn’t pushed me that day, I might never have stepped out. I will always be grateful to her for that.

next time..pride comes before a fall

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Other uses for your Rice 'n' Tights© Breast forms

Pin Cushions
Ear Muffs (thanks to Eddie Izzard)
Extra protection in a head on car crash
Emergency rice based meals (please remove tights first!)
Bird feeders
Ugly paperweights
Travel pillows

Quiz Night (5) The Revenge of The Sixth

"A game of 2 halves". This football cliche was perfect to describe the "Blondes" performance in the phenomenon that is,
The Meakins Cricket Club quiz.

It was the turn of a Lynne from the Sixth Sense to set the quiz. This coupled with one of the Campos recovering from surgery meant that 2 of our rivals were below full strength. We were back to our fighting weight of 3. Vicky and Debs wisely declined to join in my suggestion that we do a group huddle followed by a cry of "Go non Blondes" with arms raised! I did argue that I was the only one with real team spirit, but I expect they were both right in their opinion, that I am on occasions, a complete idiot! The quiz started intriguingly with an odd one out round. The sort of pointless knowledge needed for this was right up our street. We scored well with our knowledge of the names of the cars in "The Wacky Races", and who was an Elf in "Lord of the Rings". We had definitely found our level. We continued to score well until we hit the far to academic subjects of History and Geography
Half Time...mmm... sausage sandwiches and chips
Scores were in: Muppets - 24, The Campos - 32, Sixth Sense - 33, Blondes - 38!
Wow..5 points clear...How could we lose!! (very easily actually)
Second half was 25 questions in a bingo card style, meaning if you got a line first you got a bonus 5 points. We were woeful scoring a measly 12 out of 25. Our tactic of wild guessing and squabbling did not seem to be effective. On marking Campos got the bonus 5 for a line and Sixth scored an impressive 20 points. They were now leading us by 3. We needed to rely on the throw outs for salvation. The throw outs were about recognising Screen Kisses and cartoon rabbits. Surely with our love of kissing (not each other!) and all things Rabbitty (wish I knew the Latin term for this. I can only think of bovine or ursine!.. mmmmmm pork & beef) we would be fine. Of course we weren't. Our ability not to look at the pictures properly meant we lost more points. As the final scores were called out our deepening gloom came to fruition. 4th place Muppets 76; 3rd place Blondes 83; 2nd place Campos 87; 1st place Sixth Sense 90 points
2008 results so far
Sixth Sense 4 wins
3 non Blondes 3 wins
The Campanologists 1 win
The Muppets 0 wins
Question Highlights from tonight
+Odd One Out - Albert Einstein, John F Kennedy, Leonardo da Vinci, Marco Polo ?
+Which pop group consists of David Peacock and Charles Hodges ?
+Who provided the voices for Danger Mouse and Penfold ?
+What are the most Northerly & Southerly capital cities in the world ?
+Which actors famously kissed on the beach in "From Here to Eternity" ?
+Who was the first person to circumnavigate the globe ?
and the real "Head Scratcher"
+If February is the shortest month, which is the longest?

It would be great to have a couple of more teams. So if you are near to Stoke (sorry Brad), free on Wed nights, got 2 friends and like hotdogs, drop me an email

"We Could Be Heroes"

Did the earth just move for you?

Sadly it did not for me. I missed the earthquake at 1 am. I was driving home from Vicky's after a hard session of Heroes series 2. It took nearly 90 mins to watch each 45 min episode because we had to stop every 5 mins to debate (argue) each and every plot point. My head is still spinning from Vick's convoluted theories. I grudgingly have to admit she was right most of the time, and seems to have a unique power to foresee what is coming up. If only she could use this Heroes like power of hers as a force for good in the world, instead of just being able to obsess over geeky TV. I have decided that I must have a Heroes ability somewhere waiting to be discovered. Right now all I have is this odd throat scratching noise (that I share with Billy) and an unusually heightened sense of disappointment. I don't think that makes me a great threat to Sylar!

As for the quake. I was disapointed (see, my super sense works) to miss it. I didn't realise we had experienced one till Vicky phoned me half an hour ago. She claimed things fell off her coffee table, but that could just have easily been down to Vodka!

London Calling

As you see at the bottom, thanks to my brother's generosity I now have a decent Digital Camera. So its pictures away!

07.55 Stoke on Trent – London Euston
8.15 am
I’m off to London today for a meeting. I’m currently sitting on the virgin rail train tapping this out on my PDA. Its probably not a good idea as I this is one of those tilting Pendelino trains and being such a wuss, I will certainly get travel sick.
I got heckled this morning. Waiting to cross the road to the station a white van full of 3 “men” stopped in front off me. One of these waved sarcastically at me, and when they pulled off I heard a couple of whistles and whoops aimed in my direction. If I was more deluded then I may have thought they genuinely fancied me, but as long as there are mirrors in this world I know they didn’t. It didn’t let it bother me. I’ve had it before but it is mercifully very rare these days. Is it bad of me that just for a moment I wished I could hear the crash bang and then woof of that van ploughing into a wall and catching fire (yes it is!). Sitting here as I write has reminded me of some of my early train journeys, which I found to be some of the most tricky of transition hurdles to overcome. On a train you are captive. There is no escape route. There is so often a drunken skunk with a can of lager or overly inquisitive child to contend with. I used to spend the whole journeys avoiding any eye contact for fear of being read*. I’ve just had my ticket checked. It’s probably my imagination but I thought I'd heard a clipped “sir” after he said '' thank you''. I ought to have stopped looking out for these slurs by now, but that is just how I am.
I do like London. It used to confuse me, but we get on better now. It’s a matter of getting up to pace with it. I get off at Euston which is dead handy for Unison’s head offices, which are just opposite the British Library . This area of London is definitely the socialist quarter with a number of union HQs dotted around. I feel at home here. Occasionally we have used the NUT (National Union of Teachers) offices. Don’t know what it is about teachers, but when I’m there I feel like I need to sit up straight and face the front. Enough for now as I'm starting to feel dizzy so I'm going to shut my eyes and put my head between my knees (not easy when your body already fills the gap between the seats).
13.35 London Euston-Stoke on Trent
2pm
On my way home. Meeting was a good old fashioned union / management bun fight, with not too much blood shed. On my way back to the station I passed the famous (in the trans community anyway) Transformations shop. These shops used to advertise in the back of Sunday papers. They purported to be a one stop solution for all your trannying needs (I had promised vix that I wouldn't use the word tranny as sometimes it is used as a pejorative term). The advert used to feature an image, one half a business man the other a glamorous lady. The stores offered a “changeaway experience” where for a few hours you were transformed into the woman of your fantasies. You could be a bride, a glamorous socialite, a tart or even a secretary, all in the palatial surroundings of a smoked glass windowed shop just off the Euston road. Back when I was a closeted and frustrated 18 y/o this seemed the stuff of dreams. I even phoned a few times, just to pretend to book a session. I must admit back then it was nice to talk to anyone without feeling shame, even if they wee trying to flog me stuff. I never did visit back then. About a year or so ago I had some time before a train so I popped in out of curiosity. It actually made me feel quite sad. I found it all fairly seedy. There were a few men browsing the magazines, looking semi shifty, and one t girl who had obviously enjoyed the “changeaway”, but looked so over made up (even by my early standards!) The stuff on sale was sub sex shop fare (not that I would know, Vicky & Debs told me!), such as really short pvc skirts, large shoes with preposterous heels and various breast forms and hormone creams that claimed to give you a voluptuous figure, all for an extortionate price. I'm sure these places serve a purpose and I have probably become a Trans snob, but they do seem to exploit the desperation of a closetted trans woman, who will pay anything to feel a just a little bit like a woman for a few snatched hours.
I had to run the usual Euston station gauntlet. Armed with a salad in hand (well there was lettuce and tomato on my burger) I took up my stance on the station concourse. I needed to ensure a seat on the train. The crucial thing is to be able to respond in an instant. The problem is that they don’t announce which platform until the very last minute. I positioned myself at the high number platform end. Experience told me that platforms 12 to 15 were most likely, but you can never be sure. I scouted the opposition. Lots of them had heavy looking suitcases. Good, that gave me a racing chance. . The concourse was now full. Everyone's neck was craned, so as not to lose sight of the Departure Board. The gamble is that the nearer you stand to the front the more you have to crane. Our prey was the 13.35 to Manchester Picadilli, stopping at Stoke-on-Trent and Milton Keynes. No one dared to take their eyes off the board for fear of missing the 'hole shot' (I watch too much US sport) . Nothing could distract us. Even if a naked Dr House MD appeared pushing a barrow full of free chocolate (hang on a min while I consider that….. ) we wouldn’t flinch. I stared at the words 'Train Being Prepared" for so long that I feared may brain had crashed like this PC sometimes does, and that I had actually missed the words change. Then, the flag went down, the starting pistol cracked, the rabbit passed the trap. "Now Boarding at Platform 14" flashed up. As one we all picked up our suitcases, laptops and handbags. The hunt was on. We all moved as fast as we could without ever appearing to run. We should enter commuters in that 50k walk in the Olympics. Nobody in Britain wants to seem desperate for a seat, but we all know what each other is really thinking. This is of course except for that First Class ticket elite, with their reserved seats, excessive leg room, waiter service and Daily Telegraphs (I am stil a chippy northern socialist at heart, unless, of course anyone offers me a free upgrade). I did make it in time to find a seat. This is Darwinism at its best. For "Survival of the Fittest" read "Comfort for the Swiftest". Anyway the train is tilting and I’m dizzy again, so I will shut my eyes.
Now where was I with that Dr House / Chocolate dream... "My neck hurts!"

"Making myself dizzy" , "Dreaming of a Chocolate House"

Whats in a name ?

As you may have noticed, my blog has changed title. (The website address is still the same) This may yet be temporary. I am not very good at titles. Jenny vs The World had begun to feel corny and didnt reflect the feel of what I had written. I really dont want to convey the thought that in some way the world is wrong and needs to bend to my will Though that may not be a bad idea!) The point of the title was that for much of my life I didn't feel like I quite fitted in with the scheme of things.

Crossing The Floor just came to me while watching BBC Parliament ( I really am that dull!). It occurred to me as an apt title for a couple of reasons. The term is a political one which is used when an MP changes political party or sides of the house. The relationship to my gender is fairly obvious so I guess it isn't the most subtle of metaphores. After my last post it could also refer to that first scarey walk across the floor of Tesco's supermarket.

The concen I imagine for an MP crossing the floor is not just the wider acceptance of the whole electorate but the particular acceptance of their chosen new party. Could a Tory for instance ever really be accepted by the rank and file Labour Party, or will they just be seen as a political cross dresser donning the clothes of a Labour MP for political expediency. Even if I gain a wider acceptance, will that be as a Transperson donning female clothes to fill something missing in their life. When, what I realy crave is a deep down acceptance as a woman. For me the constituency I really need approval from are my fellow women themselves. With my closest friends, I think I do have that, but I do realise that I will never be able to relate to their experience growing up as a girls. I of course wil never mensturate, be pregnant or experience the slow journey to womanhod. The route to my real gender is littered with trial & error, highs & lows strides forward and jerks backward. With better planning I would have had time to stop and enjoy the view, instead of just seeing the obstacles in the way.

I have now "Crossed the Floor". I prefer the view from this side

Becoming Jen (Part 6)

The Harsh Light Of Night.

I had taken my first tentative steps out as Jen. However that was with the protective cloak of darkness. The next target would have to be to get out in the daytime. I wasn't ready just yet though. I'd made some progress by engaging the startled Off Licence shop assistant, and that had been OK. However that was with an adrenaline fuelled surge of confidence, which I wasn't sure I could repeat. I would really need to improve my look if I was to obtain the necessary degree of passingness (think I've made that word up, but I know what I mean).

I needed the next challenge. Now that Caroline was aware of my compulsion, and our marriage was in its death throws I figured that I had nothing to lose by revealing Jenny to her. One evening I announced I was going to get changed and go out. She said nothing. I knew she wasn't happy, but I needed to do something. I got dressed upstairs, my clothes having now moved from the cellar to the spare bedroom. I went for a long denim skirt and a cowl neck stretchy brown top, my 1 pair of walkable shoes. I topped off with my black jacket and an over the shoulder black handbag. For only the second time in my life I attempted makeup, suitable for public consumption. Now my biggest fear then (as it is now) was covering my moustache area. I shaved, then shaved, then shaved again. My tactic seemed to be to plaster on as much foundation as I could muster. This time I more successfully applied mascara without causing temporary blindness. Wig fixed and bra stuffed I went downstairs. Now I knew that Caz was understandably uncomfortable, and at first she couldn't look at me. After some awkward stilted conversation, looking at opposite walls, to her credit and my gratitude, she capitulated. I think she recognised my determination, and the enevebility of the situation. She ended up being supportive in her way. I repeatedly asked her if I looked OK. She repeatedly replied that I would be fine. After risking one more attempt to gain approval and reassurance it was time to go. Carefully peering round the door frame on neighbour alert, I cantered the short distant to the car. By now it was well past midnight. I wanted to do something relatively normal (yeah right!) so my plan was to hit the 24 hour Tescos. I couldnt risk the nearest branch, where I would run the risk of being spotted by someone who knew me, so I chose the 20 min drive to the Uttoxeter branch.

A 24 hour supermarket at the death of night is the natural environment of your common or garden Semi Closeted Trans woman. If you listen carefully you can hear the hushed tones of Sir David Attenborough "Here you can see the lesser spotted T-girl performing the ritual dance of the shopping aisle, dodging and ducking to avoid the being spied by her hunter, the Very Common Drunk Young Male."

The theory is, that in the wee small hours, the shop will be relatively deserted. However I did not count upon biggest of downsides, the lighting. With enough fluorescent lighting for a cricket pitch this is not the place for hamfisted makeup. I took a deep breath and then another....and then another and walked in. Like some sort of Special Forces Operative I reconnoitred my surroundings. 2 women on tills, 1 customer unloading a trolley and some far off signs of shelf stacking. This could be done..I would need to keep aware of my escape route, but I could do it. However, straight away I made a rookie mistake. Forever needing self reassurance I checked my appearance in the thin mirror on the side of the photo booth. My fragile confidence drained like a deplugged bath! (I am clearly suffering from simile fatigue). To my eyes I looked totally unconvincing as a woman. I suffered one of those "What the hell are you doing" moments, that would come to haunt me. I stood frozen with doubt for a moment, but with my 4th deep breath of the night steeled myself, and continued into the store. I wanted to buy something believable. By that I mean that something that would be worth visiting a supermarket at 1 am. People rarely need an emergency meringue case, for instance. For the life of me I couldn't decide, I eventually plumped for buying toilet rolls!! I headed for the till. I had to concentrate on my walk. Unfortunately I ended up walking with a bum clenching totter that along with me holding toilet rolls, gave only one impression. I made it to the till. The assistant looked at me with eyes of knowing, that suggested that I was nothing unusual. She must have been a star Tesco employee, because even at that time she ran through the mantra of, "Do you have a Clubcard? Are you collecting the computers for schools vouchers? and Do you want help with your packing?" I figured that I could cope with one packet of loo rolls, so I gave as feminine a sounding "No Thanks" as I could. I left the store with a spring in my step (difficult while atttempting a feminine wiggle), a patter patter patter in my chest and a barely stiffled smirk of self satisfaction.

Back in the car I started to come down. My heartbeat soothed to a dull thud. I sat for while... I sobbed, not sure if it was through joy, relief or guilt. Looking back now it may well have been the sadness of solitude. It was another important step for me, and I had no one to share it with..Whatever the reason, I just sobbed a bit. This soon passed and I gradually pulled myself together to drive home. The house and street were quiet and Caroline was in bed. I fell asleep fully dressed and fitfully on the sofa. I had the first inklings of previously unbelievable alternative future which was scarey and comforting at the same time.

Next time...definately daylight

Encounters So Far
+ McDonalds Drive Through - giggling "chefs"
+ Bargain Booze - startled but kind assistant
+ Tescos (1am) - knowing checkout girl
..

Aren't You Thingy?

Last night I babysat for Debs. As you can see from the last 2 posts, I was bored!
A drunken (on his part) phone call with Billy at 2 am, in which he reminded me that he once did "Bob a Job" for Darts legend Eric Bristow, got me thinking about the many (by that I mean more than 2) encounters I've had with famous (I have a very wide definition of famous) people

+ I literally bumped (or clanged is his case) into accident prone, half man/half scaffolding, 70s heartthrob, ex 500cc World Motorcycling champion Barry Sheene, at Silverstone

+ I exchanged grumpy gestures , with "They Think Its Over", and "Holding The Baby" , Stoke City supporting ex Teacher Nick Hancock, while waiting for a much delayed train on Platform 1 at Stoke Station

+ I met the phillandering, twice resigning, ex Home Secretary and once Sheffield City Council Socialist David Blunkett and his lovely guide dog Lucy on a windswept Skegness seafront.

+ I once sat behind and then followed "Dead Ringer's" impressionist ( I dig his Tom Baker) John Culshaw all the way from London Euston to Stafford Station car park.

+ I once queued up behind 2nd worst hair cut in football (Carlos Valderama anyone ?), "Silky" skilled, cult favourite Stoke City and Wolves clogger, George Berry in Tean Chip Shop (point of accuracy, he ordered fish in breadcrumbs and large chips)

+ The sadly departed, joke machine, game show master and now spookily appearing in a Prostrate Cancer campaign in cinemas, Bob Monkhouse, once opened the Hydrotherapy Pool at Stallington Hospital, while I was a Kitchen Porter.

+ I washed dishes for Bouffant haired, audience member killing (ok so the poor man died in an acident on his Late Breakfast Show), Cosmic Ordering, TV comeback king Noel Edmonds, while I was working in the kitchens at Alton Towers

Come on any readers out there, you must be able to beat that
"Large Chips Please"

Crank it up to 11

This Is Spinal Tap is on the Telly
"Its a fine line between clever...and stupid"

In Praise of The Fish

I adore Fish. Not the smelly, bone riddled excuse for a food, but the Progressive Rock troubadour of ex Marillion and "Kayleigh" fame. Ive just been listening to his track Lucky

"An '85 veteran face from the gallery.

A ghost from the civil war in the family.

He stood his ground on the picket line

'Till all he was left with.

Were his father's cough. And his mother's eyes.

That would hold a tear for the very first time.

When the government they took his job away.

Now fist in hand he'll stand in line.

Declare his name and mark his time.

To some the only proof that they're alive"

As John Lennon clearly didn't say, "Give Prog a Chance".

Its time to dig out my "Coal not Dole" Badge

Blogging and Me

More Introspection..
I have to admit I am getting worryingly obsessed with this blogging mullarky. Every waking moment I seem to be thinking about things I can post or include on my blog. When you are a narcissistic as I appear to have become, its easy to think that readers will be interested in anything I post, however mundane. The other day I posted a highly detailed account of a quite disturbing dream Id had. When I looked at it onn my blog, I thought what a lot of absolute nonsense to inflict on the net! So I very quickly deleted it! I’m sure this obsession will quieten at some time. Right now a day without Blogging is like a day without chocolate . Both make me feel instantly happier! But I guess only one is fattening!
I have tried to rationalise why I get pleasure and comfort from putting my life up on the internet. It certainly does have a liberating feel. A colleague at work said I seemed to come more alive on line. In real life I obviously find it hard to articulate my feelings. That is not a good quality. What is it about me that I have never told my brother that I love him, but I can sit on my own and tap it out to be read by all and sundry. I aim to be fully honest and so far have divulged events that may undermine the carefully crafted face I show to the world.
I have had some great feedback since I started. I hope it gives a glimpse into what it is like to be Transgendered. Although the world is now much more accepting of people like me, I still believe there is still very little real understanding. I include myself in this as I still can’t fully understand why my mind doesn’t match my genetic body.

Rejected ideas for this blog so far
+ A comprehensive list of all my shoes
+ An indepth analysis of the lyrics of Buck Fizz
+ My recipe ideas – basically lots of different sandwiches
+ My fiscal strategy for the nation –including Tax relief for Trans people who need 2 seperate wardrobes
+ Fun with Physics!
+ Exercise the Jenny way – You too can have a body like mine

Quiz Night (4) The Campanologists Strike Back

Well, this week we were tragically down to 2 non Blondes .Vicky selflessly commited herself to her work, instead of joining in our weekly humiliation (If last week is anything to go by) . This week it was the turn of Norma from The Muppets to set the quiz. Instead of the gimicks and random categories that usually make up our quiz, this was 72 question of Hard Core General Knowledge! For us it started badly and then got gradually worse. There was controversy from the off. "What North American port has the name meaning White House?" "North AMERICAN?" came the cry from at least 1 one us. She confirmed that was the question. Debs said "Its Cassablanca" I typically poo pooed this saying its not in America. Of course I was later shown to be wrong! (or the question was wrong, either way no point!). The first half continued in the same vein. We strugggled with other querstions like "Harpaxo is a phobia of what?". The break came as a relief.Good for me, it was hotdogs on the menu (On a Red Day, for fans of Slimming World. So the dogs were sans bread! ok it was just sausages then) We turned our minds to the throwouts. One sheet was criptic clues to British Town names (eg "Ma's feeling better?" or "The director's order for the striking cast?" - The first correct answers posted on a comment wins absolutely nothing!) The other sheet involved guessing nursery rhymes from the last lines. I was confident, Debs being a classroom assistant she was bound to know the nursery rhymes! Turns out kids don't learn nursery rhymes much these days (I think they are better with Rap Lyrics), but fortunately Debs was really good at the cryptic town names. Scores were read out for first half. Muppets 22, 3 non Blondes 27, Sixth Sense 34 and The Campos. 37. We were done for!!. No way back from that... The second half questions seemed even tougher. A question came up on "Which animal has the longest tail?" Where was Vix with her QI book of Animal Facts when we needed her. The temptation in the mobile phone age to cheat and call her was palpable. But 3 non Blondes have nothing if not our intergrity (Plus we would have been caught!!)The quiz ended with the lovely question "Mesothelioma is better known as what condition? (Better known by who!! Not even Dr Gregory House would know that! mmmm I wish Dr House made house calls!!) ..We had marked Six's answers and thought we had made up ground. The final scores are in..Look away now if you dont want to know! In 4th place The Mupps with 58, 3rd The Blondes with 59, 2nd The Sixes with 61 and the clear winners (after 4 weeks of 2nd places) The Camps with 69. Though we were disappointed, we were genuinely pleased for the Camps as they have been so unlucky recently (And it still leaves us joint top!)

Next week we will be back to full strength...so probably last again!

Sixth Sense 3 wins

3 non Blondes 3 wins

The Campanologists 1 win

The Muppetts 0 win

A G M

My Annual General Madness!!

Tuesday night was the Annual General meeting of our Unison branch. Rightly so, we all have to be democratically elected every 12 months. However this doesn't help my general state of neurotic pessimism . Leading up to Christmas I got myself in all sorts of a tis! (This may have been coupled with my hormone induced anxiety (Dont know how long I can keep blaming hormones!!)) I had convinced myself that everyone was thoroughly fed up with me. Sometimes at branch meeting I get carried away. I have an annoying habit of thinking I can explain everything to death. So when my views are challenged, as they should be, I can in the words of Father Ted’s housekeeper “Go on, Go on Go on!! I remember one meeting in November ,I went on like this, and made a total twonk of myself. I am always on a bit of a high at these meetings, but afterwards I can suffer a bit of a downer and that November I ended up sitting outside my house in my car getting more and more angry and upset with myself. Anyway I resolved to get a grip. I guess I must have done so because last nigh the branch re-elected me for 12 months.

Anyway, thanks to my branch for the support. I am proud to belong to the best Branch, in the best Region, of the best Union in Great Britain

Becoming Jen (Part 5)

Taking stock...Taking Steps

I’ve fairly raced through an account 30 years of gender confusion. So where was I up to.

I was 34, married and so far back in the closet I would have to dig my way out ( not sure this metaphor makes any sense. Anyway at that, time Jenny only really existed in the depths of a chat room night. I was still dressing in secret as a way of managing my condition. I was under no illusions about ever living as a woman. I wanted to make a success of marriage and built like a prop row forward, how could I possibly ever step out. Being quite pragmatic about these points, I endeavoured to make the best of my lot. No one would ever have suspected my secret. I was the second scruffiest man I knew. I cared not a jot about my appearance. I was overweight (lets not mince words I was, and still am fat). I owned 1 pair of shoes (God how that has changed) and hardly any clothes. Back then I would have been absolutely last on anyone’s list of a possible Transperson. I guess my gender unhappiness led to an overall low self esteem. I had amassed my own collection of clothes and shoes, hidden in the cellar. Caroline never went down there. As I mentioned before, I had no idea about fashion. I recently dug them all out, and couldn’t imagine me wearing any of them now, mind you it would be fun to wear the brown pvc miniskirt to work!! When I say fun I mean for me and no-one else!
Purging – Just a mention of this common behavioural pattern amongst closeted Transpeople (weren’t Transpeople a Top of The Pops dance group of the 70s!) is purging. At various points in life the feelings of guilt and shame get too much. On several occasions I decided never again. I would stop dressing ant get on with life and try to be a proper man. Hence I would chuck out all my stash of clothes. This could never last though and pretty soon I would always return to my dressing.
How did I move on from my stagnant state of affairs. Well sadly my marriage was falling apart. This was not directly due to my gender issues, as Caroline had no idea. However I have to reflect that my unhappiness about living as a man would obviously have had an effect. I was genuinely sad that it failed. Although much happier as myself now, I had really happy times being married and I miss that companionship, that I’m afraid I will never experience again. I do not blame Caroline for the breakdown. There are two sides to every marriage and I certainly played my part in it’s demise. Anyway by now we were pretty much going our own ways and staying together for practical purposes. I got sloppy about hiding my secret. One night Caroline was on the PC and I hadn’t closed down the chat room properly. My T-girl pal Joanne’s name popped up. Obviously surprised, Caroline apparently kept a conversation going by pretending to be me (Jenny). When I next chatted to Joanne she told me that she thought Caroline had rumbled me. Oh My Absolute God!!! I felt like every drop of blood in me had drained to my feet! I went straight to Caroline and said “So you now know about me”. She was quiet and understandably upset. She wasn’t upset about the effect it would have on our already dead marriage, but the realisation that I had lied and deceived all through our time together. She had every right to be upset. I unreservedly apologised to her then and do so again.
I made a decision!! Almost a first for me. My marriage was broken and she knew about me. I didn’t have much to lose. I decided to buy a wig and see what I could make of myself if I put some effort in. At this same time we had moved to new stand alone offices. After hours I would be alone and could try things out. I ordered a wig from Contrast Wigs online. It was a brown medium length bob and only cost me 30 quid!. I would come to use this for the next few years (Its the one in the pic under the “Welcome To My Blog”.) until it fell apart! So one Friday evening about 8pm I was in my office getting ready properly for the first time. I had bought some sensible clothes. Long black plain skirt, dark coloured blouse, a stuffed bra, medium heel court shoes and a black plain jacket. I dressed, then tried my makeup. I had not ever taken makeup seriously. I smeared some foundation and lipstick. I tried mascara, but kept poking my eye, so I gave that up. Reflecting back I must have looked a mess, but I was oddly impressed with my efforts at the time. I then went for the wig. Took about 5 attempts to get it to fit, then looked in the mirror. I nearly sobbed with joy at what I saw. For the first time in my life I looked like a woman! By no means perfect or even passable (see Transwottsit? for passing) but in my eyes the image was definitely female.
Buoyed by a surge in confidence and the fact it was dark I decided to go for a drive. For the next hour I drove around the city as Jen. I even went to McDonald’s drive through. Not for the food (yeh right!!) but to see what reaction I got. I do remember noticing someone giggling at me, but it really didn’t bother me. After all at least I wasn’t working at McDonalds! I then felt I needed a stiffer test. Caroline had requested I brought some fags home so I decided to buy them as Jenny. I stopped outside the Bucknall branch of Bargain Booze (fine name for a wine merchant!) waited till all customers had left, took the deepest of breaths and tottered in. The poor assistant didn’t notice me at first, as she was engrossed in a magazine or something. I stood there and asked for 20 Benson’s. She looked up and I still remember the startled look in her eyes. I towered over her. The fluorescent light of the shop did my makeup no favours. She was a star however and never passed a comment. She was polite and said thanks Luv when I handed my money. Whoever that person was I thank you. A bad reaction could have scared me off forever. I got back to the car. What an absolute buzz. All you men out there, kick the alcohol and drugs. There is no better high that walking outside in a skirt and heels for the first time (It doesn't last though. Nowadays my legs are cold and my feet hurt)!! I drove back to the office and changed back to drab. Jenny was no longer virtual, she lived!!!

A Short Message

The following short message come curteousy of the last few drops of testosterone left in me.
"City, top of the league...City, City, top of the league"
valid at least until Sat 23rd Feb
(note to self: Its the AGM in 1 hour. Stop getting distracted!)

Life Begins at 40.....Ok I'm waiting

It's here. I am now officially Middle Aged.
Checked myself over this morning. Don't actually feel any different. Perhaps just a little wiser.

Had a wild Birthday eve. We were tempted to go for a night of hard core clubbing followed by some hard core loving from Stoke's Finest (an oxymoron if I ever saw one)! but with Debs away we settled for a night in, dogsitting her ball of uncoordinated energy, boxer dog Marley. Me and Vicky celebrated my passing to a new age with a heady mix of telly, curry and knock off Baileys! Yes I actually had a drink, and typically after 2 glasses I claimed I was drunk and my legs felt wobbly. Despite us both being knackered by 10, I insisted we stay awake till midnight so I could open my presents. I have been totally spoilt with lovely presents from Debbie and Samantha. (much thanks xxx) There were 2 highlights though. Terrific undeserved genorousity from my brother and tickets from Vicky to see "Joseph" at the Regent in Stoke. I was so chuffed. Me and Vix are really tragic Musical geeks. Sadly for everyone else I will be now singing "Any Dream Will Do" at every opportunity for the next 2 months.

" I closed my eyes...Drew back the curtain" see I'm off already

Becoming Jen (Part 4)

Virtualy Angels
To Claire and Joanne

I cannot underplay the importance the internet has played in my story.
I stumbled upon the UK Angels web site about 6 years ago. It was an all embracing one stop Transgender site, with Chatroom, Forum, Webring, News, Advice and Shopping links.
I was amazed and then comforted by the size of the on line Transgender Community. These were people just like me, all be it more convincing as women, and there were literally thousands and thousands of them, from all walks of life and all the nooks and crannies of the world. A massive underground hidden movement, all bound together with their need to express an alternative gender. I was one of them. For the first time I had found a place in the world that I could belong to. For a while I just hovered around these sites like a curious bee, looking through a Florist’s window. I spent weeks just gazing at some of the gorgeous girls and reading their stories. Being married my hovering was restricted to after hours, while Caroline was fast asleep. When asked what I was doing I would mumble (by that I mean lie) about playing online war games. More deceit, which however necessary still leaves a scar of regret in the recesses of my memories. I still had a hurdle to overcome to properly feel part of this community, and that was my utter lack of confidence and self esteem. Although I had been dressing since I was 10, I had not developed any style or skill with my appearance. I bought clothes without any real thought about how they would look on me, and often it was just anything that would fit. I had never seriously experimented with make up, and would have no idea where to get a wig. I looked a mess. The idea of leaving the house was restricted to a quick dash around the block in the darkest of night with a headscarf for disguise. Some of these girls on the net were living and socialising just as real girls in the city! They were absolulutely fabulous creatures. They were at once wonderful and intimidating. How could I ever aspire to be part of this movement? One night, after a few months of being a passive bystander, tired and frustrated by my lack of progress, from somewhere, the courage that had eluded me for so long enveloped me, and I decided to join the Chatroom. This would be the first time I had let anyone through my ritualised defences to see me as a female, be it a virtual one. Joining a Chatroom as a woman may seem such a small step looking back, but it was a huge turning point for me at the time. I cannot emphasise how nervous and excited I was.

The first thing you have to decide when joining a Chatroom is your female name. Being an indecisive creature at heart I struggled with this for the next hour. Early options were Debbie or Michelle, in the end I settled for Jenny, for no other reason was that it was phonetically similar to my given name. I am comfortable with my name now and think it suits me, but sometimes I wish I had given it more thoughtful deliberation, particularly when it comes to the Geoff/Jen confusion (See post to come). I entered my profile “Jenny Harvey, T-Girl, 34 from Stoke-on-Trent, Stuck in the closet”(see Transwottsit? post) I clicked enter... Jenny was born!...I was immediately confronted with a list of names down one side and rapidly scrolling comments down the other. The names were expectedly mainly female, but there were a few male names, some of which had admirer attached. The protocol seemed to be to enter “Hi” into the room. I was immediately met with half a dozen, “Hi”s, “Hiya”s and “Welcome” Jenny. I was in...What should I say? I had absolutely no idea, not a sausage! The conversation in the room was fast and multithreaded. There appeared to be almost private correspondence between some girls, others were joining in more general chat. The topics ranged from dressing and nights out, to films and cars! There were plenty of bitchy comments and some terms and abbreviations I didn’t really grasp. There were also lots and lots of “babe”s and “Hon”s and “xxxxxx”s. If anyone left the room there would be long drawn out goodbyes. I found the whole thing bewildering. For that first night my input did not progress beyond “Hi”. After half an hour I was automatically kicked out by the software due to my non participation. Although the experience was somewhat bittersweet, like that first spluttering cigarette, I was hooked and would definitely be back. Over the next few weeks I managed to get slightly more involved, actually joining in with the conversations where I could, but I still felt a bit of an outsider. That was until Claire came into the room...

Claire and I slowly started to chat together. She was lovely and could tell I was new to this. She seemed to chat on line so naturally and she started to make me feel accepted. We talked and talked about all things girly. She had a great knowledge of fashion. We would talk all through the night till we were the only ones left in the room. Much of our talk was fanciful about what we would do if we were real girls. We tended to steer away from our mundane male lives. All I really knew about Claire was that she worked as a builder and lived in Portsmouth. Even so I started to regard her as a close friend. We exchanged phone numbers so we could text as well, but to this day we have never spoken. One night Claire out of the blue suggested we both go out dressed for a night time walk and text each other while we were doing so. It would be like we were real girl pals. I did not have the courage to do so with Caroline in the next room so to my shame I pretended. Claire may well have been pretending too, but that didn’t really matter. My life up to then had been filled with pretence and I never thought being a girl would ever be a reality. During the next few months Claire and I became chartroom stars. Other girls would join in our conversations and we developed a circle of virtual friends. I mention a few men came into the room. These called themselves “Admirers” and would sometimes chat us up. I even developed into a bit of a flirt.. Although Claire and I were good friends, in some ways we were very different. Claire was much more into the fantasy of dressing. For me the longing was to just live normally as a woman, so I was always more keen to talk about real life. A new girl Joanne joined the room. We didn’t click immediately due to my petty jealousy. She initially chatted to Claire a lot, and I got a bit pathetically envious. Claire was my virtual T-Girl pal not hers. Anyway after a few nights of pointlessly ignoring her I grew up a bit and started to include her. Pretty soon I realised we were kindred spirits. A few years younger than me and from Leeds, married with a young son but very much like me in her gender unhappiness. Joanne and I became very close, talking about our real lives and we found we had lots of interests in common. She was also very funny. We too exchanged phone number, but Joanne was keen to actually talk. So we started phoning each other at night, voices hushed with our respective wives next door.
This virtual phase of my life continued for 18 months or more. Much of the time I recall being absolutely knackered from chatting till 4 or 5 in the morning. Both Claire and Joanne will always be very important to me even though we may never meet. None of us visit that Chatroom any more, and we only send the odd text between us now. Nevertheless, they both helped get me through some of my hardest times, which were not always connected with my with my gender unhappiness. Without their friendship, kindness and encouragement in the UK Angels Chatroom, I would certainly still be walled up behind those well constructed closet defences. For that they will always be in my memories.

...Phew, that was a long one. Next stop, Jenny sees the light of day!....

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Cut out and Keep (Copy & Paste) Guide to Transgender Chatrooms

1) Profile : If you have a Pic and some info, you are more likely to be engaged in conversations.

2) Shorthand : TV = Transvestite, TS =Transsexual, T-Girl=Transgendered

3) Other Visitors : Admirers - Men attracted to Transgendered woman ; GG/RG-Genetic or Real Girls ; Trolls - A malevolent presence, usually with a hatred of any person of difference, mercifully rare.

4) Age - Whether we are 18 or 80 we are all called Girls , which now I'm 40 is a bonus!

5) Text Speak : Everyone seems to use txt abbr. ie lol, brb,imho and more. It is very irritating!

6) Moderators : Members of the chatroom, who suppervise and possibly remove anyone being abusive (see Trolls)

7) Sexual Terms : The better rooms wont allow certain terms. Often got around with use of "*%$&!"s etc

8) Terms of endearment : Everyone is called "babe" apparently!

9) Time : For gawds sake get to bed when its 4 in the morning and you have to be at work at 7am. From personal experience!

Final Note : If you are new and nervous, jump in. This is a supportive and welcoming community. You will always find someone with experiences just like yours. It could be a step to change your life.

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Turning 40

Deep breathe in..I will be 40 on Sunday...Slowly breathe out... There I've said it.

Ive not quite got my head round the thought of being 40. That is definately a grown up age. Am I grown up? Do I behave like a responsible mature adult? Should I by now be buying The Daily Mail (This will never happen, while I am still able to form a thought! (unless they give away a good free DVD)), worrying about the price of property, harking back to a golden era (The 80s!!!), bemoaning how easy it is for the "Youth of Today",and saying things like "why can't they write a proper tune! like those nice New Romantics", "What sort of name is 50 Cents",and "Wot is it wit all this txt speak! lol"? The stark reality is that I am now as closer to my parent's generation, than to that of someone leaving University.
In a desperate bid to still feel vaguely attached to a youthful age I am currently scouring application forms and surveys where I can tick a box labled Age : 20 - 39. I can do this for 3 days only!
I never thought my actual chronological age would bother me, but clearly it does. It is surely no coincidence that I started blogging 2 weeks before my 40th. There is a danger that instead of becomming more responsible post 40, I will have contra reaction and start to behave more erratically. I may even consider a tattoo, although it may well just say "Best before Feb 2007"
All joking aside, turning 40 has made me reflect. My main regret is that I took so long to get to grips with who I really am, and I will never get that time back. I must endeavour to make sure the 2nd half of my life, living as I always wanted to be, are the most fulfilled and cherished years of my life.
Posted by Jenny Harvey (Still in her 30s)

Quiz Night (3) The St Valentine's Day Masacre

Last nights quiz was a new low point for the once magnificent 3 non Blondes quiz team, and that includes the by now infanous Christmas debacle.

Back to full strength we started the quiz with a completely misplaced confidence. The theme of the quiz was Valentines Day. It became clear very quickly that not only did we know very little about matters of the heart, but there was precious little love flowing through our team. It started with me winding Vicky up by critisising her handwriting and moved on to an almost full on spat over which King Henry VIII wife died my which method. By now Vicky and me were by now staring in totally opposite directions like strangers on a train, desperate not to make eye contact! To call the atmosphere frosty would be an understatment equivalent of saying that the band Venom play pleasant upbeat rock music (This reference is for one person only... you know who you are !) Debbie did manage the difficult task of balancing a dignified approach to our tiff whilst desperately trying to recall the 4 members of the Bananasplits. By the time the scores were read out at half time, we were already 10 points off the pace. With the onset of food at the break, a truce had broken out in the hostilities and we were now merrily arguing the toss over our outstanding unanswered questions. The second half was much more successful. We held our own on the general knowledge and beat the other teams on the throwout sheet. Alas the cause was already lost. The results were in..In 4th place 3 non blondes. We had gone from heroes to below zeros! 3rd place for The Muppetts, 2nd went to the Campanologists (Not for the first time!) and our arch enemies Sixth Sense were victorious! However we were not last after all..We had a secret weapon. I forgot to mention that Vicky's daughter Beth and Debbie's son Sam had joined us due to it being half term. We managed to provoke them into forming their own team so "The Chav Kids" were born. Now dont get me wrong they both did really well due to Beth's knowledge of Henry VIII wives and Sam's obsession with James Bond films. However they did score less than us so technically we weren't in last place! I always new there had to be a use for kids!

Point of note...Due to our disastorous showing coinciding with Debbie and Vicky quaffing a bottle of wine before we left home. I am now insisting that, just like Footballers abstaining from sex the night before a match, our team must abstain from alcohol for at least 24 hours prior to a quiz meet. Now myself being the only non drinker in the team, I dont think my suggestion went down well with my team mates already naffed off with my supercillious atitude that night.

Well to bastardise the end of Gone With The Wind "Tomorrow is another quiz"

Sixth Sense 3 wins
3 non Blondes 3 wins
The Campanologists 0 wins, (but loads of 2nds)
The Muppetts 0 wins

Becoming Jen (Part 3)

Pretty Poly ?

I continued to cope with my gender uncertainty with the strategy of closet dressing and intermittent self-loathing, which often manifested itself in purging my secret wardrobe from time to time. By the time I went away to Liverpool Polytechnic (I miss Polys, now they are all "universities") I was much more confident about buying my own clothes, so my wardrobe was in a state of constant flux rising and falling between the shoppings sprees and purges. I can't really say that I was a success as a student, managing only 2 years of a Physics degree (I still insist to Vicky that I was breifly a Physicist, because I owned a lab coat and had a pencil behind my ear!). Indeed, my attendance was so patchy, I once turned up to my Quantum Physics exam, and was asked who I was. I still maintain my 16% earned in that exam through a mix of bluffing and guesswork is one of my greatest achievements.
"Anyway Jen focus, this is not a Physics Post".
I was still very much in the closet. I had never spoken to a soul about my confused unhappiness. I did make a very good friend in Simon at Poly (see post Past Friends, New Me, below), and once very nearly opened up to him. However as usual I bottled things up and just tried to get a move on with life. During my second year I lived in the front bedroom of a house. I remember sometimes when I was dressed I would stand at the window hoping that someone would look up and at that distance think I was a girl. I also recall a screening of "Ther Rocky Horror Picture Show" where all my friends went dressed in stockings and heels. I funnily enough, couldnt bring myself to join in. It would have felt too close to home to me. I never liked looking tarty then as I wanted to be a plain boring normal girl. It is a paradox that someone like me who has spent so long dressing up, would run a mile from any fancy dress parties.

I left Poly after 2 years with only a large debt and disappointed parents to show for my "efforts". I had to find work so I started what was to become my NHS career as a Kitchen Porter at the now closed Stallington Hospital for people with a Learning Disability. I ended up living in the nurses home partly due me paying for board to my parent with a check that bounced. the Nurses home back then was mostly deserted so I had much more opportunity to hone my dressing. I started to feel a bit more comfortable with myself. I developed a good balance between work and after work, dressing as soon as I was in the safety of my room. I even started wearing a nightie to bed. My only fear was of a fire and I would end up running out screaming wearing my nightie. The nursing home closed so I moved on to sharing houses. Firstly with my friend Pete, we shared a cottage on the hospital grounds. My dressing was then confined to when he was out. Luckily he was a hit with the girls and went on loads of dates. I was managing to function quite well socially by then and had built up a good circle of friends. I became closer to my female friends and felt much more comfortable in their company. It was at this time I met Vicky, who has beceme my closest friend. Of course, none of then suspected a thing. . I moved on to sharing a terraced house with a couple of friends. I lived in the downstarirs front room, so if you opened the front door, there was my bed. Sharing with 2 people meant dressing became well nigh impossible. This caused me to feel very low at times, but I carried on dreaming. I was at this time I met Caroline who I eventually married!

I have to admit I loved the company, security, intimacy and sharing of being married, and I genuinely loved my wife Caroline. She of course had no idea of my inner confusions. For the first couple of years my secret dressing faded to almost nothing. I wanted to make a real effort to have a successful marriage. I was of course still haunted by those persistent thoughts and dreams of living as a woman. At that time however, I was nothing if not a logical and pragmatic being (not sure I still am). How could I ever step outside as a woman? I felt such a big lumbering scruffy lump. I never seriously entertained the idea that my dreams could become a future reality. I hoped my marriage would last forever. I tried my hardest to be a success as a married man and to do my duty to my wife. I still maintain that our marriage was good at times, and those are still some of my happiest years, and I hope hers, even though I had my gender frustration. For that period I felt almost normal, and that I had a place and purpose in the world.
...That continued for about 8 years until I discovered the UK Angels internet site....Things were going to get interesting!

My Fair Jenny

"The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly on The Plain"
I imagined my sessions with a Speech Therapist would have me reciting lines from My Fair Lady in some sort of high pitched but plummy voice. Yet again my expectations were to be proved to be totally wrong

Today was the third visit to my Speech Therapist. I have been refered through the Gender Identity Clinic at Charring Cross. My voice is currently the biggest hurdle I have to overcome in my ongoing battle with the world for the acceptance of me as a woman. Unfortunately I was not blessed with a remotely female sounding natural voice. I have lost count of the number of phone calls where I have thad to explain I am Jenny and not Jerry or Kenny as they perceive from my voice. Indeed I recoil when I listen back to the slurry, lazy, booming voice that was given to me. However, through this therapy I do hope to end up sounding more pleasingly feminine. Although this may be still end up sounding closer to Lilly Savage than a post Higgins Eliza Doolittle.
My Speech Therapist is fantastic and fascinating lady called Kate. She has already given me more confidence than anyone I have come across in my NHS treatment. Female sounding speech is not about just about raising the pitch. it is a subtle mix of pitch, softness and intonation. I think I am begining to grasp the principles, although my intonation at times goes up and down with all the subltlety and control of a builder's jeans waistband! It is clear I need to work harder and practice more often. So if you see me in the car reciting out loud, or practising my soft attack H words I haven't yet gone mad...Unless of course I have!

Note to friends and colleagues - If you hear my voice dropping give me a well directed kick, it may well still have the desired pitch raising effect!

Past Friends, New Me (The Friends Reunited quandry)

"Hi do you remember me. I'm Jenny Harvey?"
... "Who?"

One of the trickiest things I had to tackle after transitioning is making contact with past friends. I have done this twice so far.

Simon from University.

Me and Simon were great friends for a couple of years at Liverpool Polytechnic over 20 years ago. We were pretty much inseperable, sharing a similar absurd sense of humour. Simon constantly made me laugh. I guess our relationship would have been perceived at the time as blokey, although I did seem to spend lots of time getting him out of scrapes, which tended to revolve around drinking and a lack of bus-fare home. This did make me feel more like his mother at times. It goes without saying that Simon did not have an inkling that his scruffy friend had any gender confusion.. I always regretted losing touch.
Around this time last year, out of nowhere I found myself thinking about Simon. As I am prone to many random thoughts, while desperately trying to concentrate on some work matter, these musings rarely amount to much. This time however it coincided with my attempts to find an address over the internet. I shoved his name and birthplace into thhe website and lo, an address appeared. Now I had no real idea whether this my my Simon, so I decided to put pen to paper, or more accurately finger to keyboard. Of course my worry was how to broach the subject of my gender. It so easy to come across as "Hey look at what I've done!" I wanted to contact Simon because he had been such a good friend. On the other hand the subject would have to be brought up sooner rather than later. Also there is no guarantee an old friend will be comfortable with my new gender. I was pretty sure Simon would be ok with the concept of Transgenderism. However, being a woman now would mean any future friendship would have a different dynamic than when we were both men. Anyway to cut a long story shortish! I wrote a short letter that went along the lines of "Hi, Are you the Simon from Liverpool Polytechnic in '88. If so its your old friend, if not then please ignore this letter" I signed the letter Geoff. Sooner not later but not now! I did include my new Jenny themed email address, though of course he would have thought it was my wife's email address.
A couple of weeks later my inbox flashed up a message from simon.thingy@somewhere.co.uk (illustrative purposes only). I wont use full names or any details on this blog unless I have ok'd it with them. Mind you, if there is a person called S. Thingy signed up to an ISP called Somewhere , then I am an idiot and appologise to them. There was a lovely email from Simon, glad that I had made contact. Of course he asked what I had been up to these last 20 year! Mmmmm had anything changed with me....what could I think of. As usual I whimped out of a head on attack and instead replied cryptically that I was a little different now, and the clue was in my email address. Guess on reflection that is not really very cryptic! All my dithering and worry was of course for nothing. Simon and me exchanged emails and he was just as I remember him funny, and still a friend.

Darren from Primary School

Darren and I were really really good pals through Primary into Secondary school. I recently joined the phenomeom that is Facebook, and one bored evening in a desperate attempt to increase my pitifully small rosta of friends I started to randomly enter names of school friends. I had no real expectations of results, but when Darren's name found a match with an accompanying picture I knew it was my Darren from all those years ago. Darren and I were great friends for years. I have fond memories of long hot summers with long hot bicycle rides, footy kickabouts on Gorsty Hill and sneaked X rated movies on his dad's videoplayer (They had one before anyone else. I looked up his profile and sent him a gentle poke (A Facebook term used to get someones attention). I deduced from Darren's profile that he hadn't been on facebook for a while, so I wasn't overly disappointed when he didn't reciprocate my poke straight away. A couple of weeks later a small blue message appeared on my Facebook profile, "You have been poked by Darren Thingy" I dont think he's related to Simon Thingy!) I was chuffed that he had replied. Yet again I had worried that a past friend would not be keen to make contact with the new me. I really have to have more faith in people. Darren sent me a lovely email and said that although he was surprised, he wasnt shocked. I look forward to keeping in touch and hearing more about his past 20 plus years.

There are 2 friends from my working life that I would love to make a reaquaitance. Peter Bamford and Tony Bowyer. Just like Simon and Darren I was really good friends with both for a discrete period of my life, and have now lost contact. Pete was probably 12 years ago and Tony perhaps 8. I do know where Tony is working and ought to make contact. From the experiences above, I shouldn't fear a bad reaction so I have no excuse.

The last past friend I would love to see again is Andrew Ellis. Andrew lived in the Post Office at Tean and we were best mates from mid Secondary school age untill 18 when I went to university. We used to do everything together from going to our first pop concert ( Tears for Fears at Hanley Victoria Halls) to an obsessional interest in Dungeons & Dragons. Rather spookily well after we became pals we discovered that we were related (2nd cousins once removed, whatever that means)

It is only now, that I am more confident and settled in my identity that I feel able to revisit these old relationships. When I first transitioned I always worried that my old friends would reject me. I have definately learnt that my friends were friends with me because of our respective personalities, and this is not necessarily dependant upon my gender.

Vicky's Birthday - The Madness of Queen Vic

The week end started with Vicky's seemingly 2 day long birthday. The "celebrations" started Friday night round at Debs. The 3 of us were accompanied by Vicky's daughter Beth, Debbies' son Sam and Beth's friend Abigail, all are aged 10 or 11.Oh and of course the whirlwind that is Debbie's, slobber on legs Boxer dog Marley. The kids are all great individually, but like a vodka bottle, petrol and a soaked rag, they can be a volatile mix. The night had a low key start. Debs sat kneeling in front of the soaps, transfixed like a cat watching a goldfish. Vicky sat in her pre alcohol state "lifting" the whole mood with her views on turning 34. I sat with Beth and Abs on the 2nd slowest laptop in Stoke, trying to induct the kids into the dark world of the Blog. By the time the Soaps had finished Vicky had moved into her Trans Alcohol state, and with almost relish we moved to the kitchen for a game of Cranium, or Curriculum as Sam called it (Kids are clearly under too much pressure with these SATS, we never used that word at 11).
Now playing a board game is akin to adding a lit cigarette lighter to the bottle/petrol/soaked rag mix. After some heated negotiations over teams i.e which kid is stuck with which "adult" we ended up with the following 3 teams "Team Blog" consisting of Beth and I, "The Trumpeters" (the meaning sadly became obvious) Abigail and Vicky and "Gangster Marls" Sam and Deb. The game was a mix of, Charades, Pictonary, Rapidough, Trivial Pursuit, bad humming and arguing over whos turn to read the question! with only one brief walk out. The whole thing seemed to last an eternity, and by nearly midnight we had all grown tired and irritated (well when I say all, I mean the adults!). It must be noted for the records that Beth and I were leading. After a disharmonious version of "Happy Birthday to Vicky", the kids retired to butcher some songs on Singstar, while the 3 of us indulged ourselves in some group navel gazing, in turn out-trumping each other with the pitifulness of our lives! My God, if this is what we're like at a 34th birthday, whats it going to be like at my 40th next week. (Please remember I am still technically in my 30s). By now, well entrenched into her alcohol phase, I foolishly suggested that Vicky could not fit into the chest freezer (this I knew this was only going to have one outcome!). Me and Debs joined the kids in the lounge, Vicky mumbled unconvinccingly about going to the loo. For the next few minutes we listened to the rustling, crunching noise from frozen peas, et al being removed from the freezer. After a while Debs, who appeared oblivious to Vicky's doomed endeavour, said with utter conviction that she couldn't find Vicky and that she was starting to panic. The rest of us, particularly Beth and I, steadfastly refused to be drawn into Vicky's madness, prefering instead to let her eventually give up, from wherever it was she was hiding (Beth totally has her mum's card mark). Anyway, after a failed attempt to hide in the freezer, a short lived and obviously cold spell squeezed in the fridge Vicky had settled for balancing on tiptoes in the tiny pantry, trying in her words to "Act as if she was the salt!". Vicky was clearly pleased with herself at this feat, Debbie was just releived that she had found her and Beth just breifly looked up, well used to not encouraging her mum's behaviour. Afterwards everyone bar me (for obvious reasons) attempted to do handstands with mixed but mercifully uninjured results. We left around 3am.
We had to make an an irritating diversion to an all night petrol station for fags (I am always reminded of Eddie Izzard's description of a line of murderers queueing up for a Twix) Of course me and Vicky couldn't end things there, so we spent another hour coming down to melancholic Elvis tracks. I finally went home at 4am. I am now realising it was a mistake to give Vick a the "Qi Book of Animal Ignorance"as part of her present. I am no doubt going to be persistently regaled with zoological trivia over the next few days.
.....Worryingly there were still 20 hours of Vicky's Birthday left

Close But No Mascarra

It was our Regional Council yesterday.
As I blogged earlier I was up for election to a Assistant Convenor post. Despite my typical attempts to appear calm, relaxed and even a little diffident, I was a bag of nerves. I really wanted the role. Not only do I feel I could do a really good job, but it would feel like a really big boost for my acceptance as a woman. I'm sure if I really think about it, I am accepted, its just my usual neurosies and lack of confidence how I present myself. I have mentioned before how I often feel a sort of illegitimacy. Anyway I just lost out in the election by 400 votes out of a possible 65,000. I guess thats less than 1%. I felt disappointed but ok about it. However after the meeting before the afternoon session I found myself hunched in the ladies loo tears rolling down my face, getting more and more frustrated with myself. I'm not even 100% sure what was wrong with me. Some of it may have been pathetic crocodile tears for losing. Some of it was because loads of people had been really nice comming up to me and being supportivee (I do struggle to cope with compliments). Some of it was definately my own issues of identity. I have been refered to as he twice in the last couple of days and even got called Geoff again. I have really got to find a better way of dealing with this. I have been full time Jenny for nearly 3 years and noone intends to call me he. However the programming of the brain is a difficult thing to overcome. It is clear to me that although everyone tries really hard, deep deep down in their minds, the neurons are saying Jenny is male. It is this fact that I have to come to terms with. Ironically, if someone deliberately refers to me in the wrong gender it doesnt really bother me so much. I can rationalise that these are just close minded bigots. Anyway I tried in vain to fix my rapidly disintergrating makeup. My mascarra had combined with tears to create zebra like stripes. I managed to make some running repairs and returned to the hall. I saw a couple of the Unsion regional officers and I had a good whinge to Pete and Opinder about my travials. They were both great, listening to my outpourings. I felt loads better after that, and pulled myself together for the afternoon session. Being such a gibbering idiot I had not had anything to eat all day. By the time we had driven home at 6pm I felt really wobbly and light headed so against my better beleifs I sought remedy with an emergency McDonalds. Seemed to do the trick, and a good natter with Vicky on the phone where we exchanged our neurosies, reminded me to get things in perspective.
...I have decided to stand again for the post again in April at the AGM
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Quiz Night (2) Debbie Does Meakins

"The Sweetie smell of success"

Yay !!! We are back on top of the now infamous Meakins Cricket Club quiz. Debbie's quiz was a triumph. We managed to scrape a victory at the last gasp. At the end of the questions we were locked tight with The Campanologists on 53 points. It was down to the throw out sheets. An eerie hush settled over the room. The pregnant silence of anticipation (*overmelodramitic allert*) was only broken by cry "Could I have the throwout score ofr The Campanologists. "33" rang out the reply. Vicky and me exchanged knowing glances of self satisfication. At last our year of eating chocolates and sweets bore fruit as we outscored everyone by identifying various brands of confectionary through cryptic clues. We scored 35.
It would only be fair to point out that we were aided by Sixth Sense being down to 1 member. I guess they were more accurately down to their 2nd Sense. I thoroughly expect them to be back on top next week. I also think the Campanologists are due a win after 2 close second places

Debs was on fine, school mistressly form as our quizmaster. By the end of the night she was gleefully putting down any heckling as if we were her class of 4 year olds. I am afraid that Vicky will be insufferable now, since she pointed out that we finished a distant third without her and have now won the last 3 times she has been on the team. At least next week Debs will be back to referee our bickering.

3 non Blondes 3 wins
Sixth Sense 2 wins
Campanologists 0 wins
The Muppets 0 wins

Now, in the words of Samuel Peepys "Time to bed". I learnt that tonight!___________________________________