Pottering About

There has been a Stoke-on-Trent version of Monopoly released in time for Christmas. It's about time too as Stoke is probably the only city where the Monopoly price for property actually reflects the housing market. Actually thinking about it, a credit crunch version of monopoly would be fun. Instead of collecting $200 when you pass go your property value halves.

Anyway if Stoke is worthy of a Monopoly game then its about time I posted a Potted History of The Potteries (see what I did there), so here are a few of the  lesser known and even lesser wanted facts about my home city.

 

 

• Stoke-on-Trent is actually made up of six towns not five as Arnold Bennett would have it
• Stoke is almost exactly halfway between Birmingham and Manchester.
• Stoke has been referred to as the Barcelona of the midlands. Well it has now anyway.
• Stoke-on-Trent is cockney rhyming slang for bent (apparently)
• Stokes national dish is the Oatcake. Oatcakes are delicious especially with cheese and bacon, cheese and sausage in fact anything with cheese.
• The Potteries were once the home of the Sagger Maker’s Bottom Knocker, who worked in the iconic bottle kilns and is the stupidest sounding job ever to appear on What’s My Line.
• Stoke City are the second oldest football league club. Damn that Notts County FC. ...Thinking ?...who would the oldest team have played when they first started ?
• Stoke had the nations first ever drive through Take Away, which was a fish and chip shop, although the chips were rubbish if I remember.
• Stoke had the first ever Vision Express (possibly the dullest fact ever)
• Stoke has its very own Tunnel, although the Meir tunnel is not quite  as impressive as the Channel or Mersey.
• Hanley Forrest Park is thought to be the site of the burial of King Arthur, though only by me.
• The only movie set in Stoke is The Card staring Alec Guiness, although I think Carry On At Your Convenience may well have been too.
• Adam Faith died in a hotel in Stoke

 

Famous Potters:

Sir Stanley Mathews

Robbie once of the 'That

Slash from Guns and Roses 

RF Mitchel who designed the Spitfire

Captain Edward Smith of the Titanic

Nick Hancock offa the telly

Phil "The Power" Taylor

Frank Bough mmmmm 

Anthea Turner offa the telly and papers and stuff

Bruno Brookes offa the radio and Top Of The Pops

er.........Harry ?

Between a Rock and a Wet Place

None More Black

Last Saturday night was unusual for us. Instead of the usual combination of take away Chinese and shouting at judges on talent shows we actually went out. The occasion was a charity bikers do at a local hotel, complete with a band called Chemical Metal. I'm not entirely sure what chemical metal is, but it sounds poisonous and heavy. The name implied that they played a curious mixture of The Chemical Brothers and Iron Maiden covers, but hey I'm all for cross over music!
With my rapidly fading hair colour giving way to greying (ie grey) roots it was time to hit the home hair dye. Against my natural cautiousness Vicky cajoled me into experimenting with black hair. So an hour's dying session later I now sport a colour that I have christened "smell the glove" as a Tribute to Spinal Tap in keeping with general rock theme for the night. After she had dyed my hair and managed to avoid my usual trick of dying everything but my hair, Vicky set about giving me a choppy style rock chick look for the night. In typical makeover style I wasn't allowed to view my hair until it was all finished. I wasn't really prepared for what I would see in the mirror. As I starred at the mirror I struggled to recognise the person looking back at me. The face in the frame did ring some bells. It had a curiously familiar, tired looking, wonky left eye. There was strange puncture wound scar to the right of the jaw. Perhaps it was the result from some long forgotten gun fight. (or it could have been just an abscess) These were only fleeting moments of familiarity though. The face I saw was round, almost moonfaced. The hair was short and jet black but most of all it was big. It had a funky messy style that framed the face. It was exactly the hair that a person would want for a glamish and rocky night out. I loved my look and for a moment fought back a tear so as not to ruin my painstakingly applied OTT eye makeup. It has been so rare that I have looked in a mirror and felt so gloriously womanly. Dolled up in sleeveless fitted top in deep turquoise under black lace that made a half decent stab at enhancing my all too inadequate bust. I added sparkly jeans to fit in with the rock theme. Make up was all eyeliner, mascaras, and deep red lippy the only concession to coordination was eye shadow that matched my top.
I was the designated driver for the night. Actually I'm the designated driver every night. This is mainly due to the fact I haven't drunk alcohol seriously and with conviction since university. My tolerance for alcohol is so poor these days that I have been known to complain of feeling drunk just sitting too close to an open bottle of nail varnish remover! The last time I recall being drunk, was a weekend in Blackpool a whole different gender ago. When, after just a few Biccardi Breezers I was to be found running across a windswept midnight beach, claiming I wanted to be at one with the sea! All in all it is best for this planet that I stuck to the driving not the drinking. As I picked the other girls up, my bubble of glee at my appearance, was pricked when I compared myself to Vicky and Debbie. Veterans of many a night out, they both looked fabulous.

When we got to the venue we met up with a load of colleagues from Vicky's workplace. Although I'm now a woman of 4 years standing (actually mostly sitting), I can still be a bit nervous about going out for the night with the girls. My nerves are not really about managing to pass or that I may get some abuse from some drunk waste of testosterone. These are fears that had faded with experience. To be honest , and this blog has to be honest or it is nothing. I can still feel somewhat ill fitting in a large group a girls. It is my insecurities neuroses, and downright social awkwardness that are the problem, rather than anything others do or say. So there I am sitting with a great bunch of girls having a great night with this nagging devil of doubt upon my shoulder constantly whispering ''what do you look like'', ''what do you sound like '', '' why did you say that? That's not what other girls talk like ''. I try desperately to ignore this fiend but I find it difficult and I end up being a bit quiet. Then, the others urge me up to dance and the shoulder demon takes complete control, with its poison of fear surging through me. ''You dance like a bloke... You will look such a fool... Everyone will be whispering, that you are a man... Why draw extra attention by dancing... You will probably fall flat on your face those heels ''. Although I desperately want to get up and shake my thing with my friends, I just end up declining all the urging and sit back, sipping on my diet coke while I watch on, like the eternal understudy to the leading ladies. I have often whinged about other people accepting me as a woman, but In the end the problem is me. I just really don't help myself. Still it was a good night out. The band was really good and played my sort of music that everyone seemed to dig, except for a 12 minute cover of a Rush track that left the dancefloor empty and a little bewildered.The night was in aid of the Andy Taft Charitable Trust http://www.andytaft.org.uk/index.htm.

The Jury's in

As I write this bit, I am sitting at the desk in a well appointed hotel room. Thursday and Friday found me down the smoke overnight. As a newly elected regional convenor for my union, it was my first regional convenors seminar. We were staying in the rather grand, Jurys Inn just off Oxford street . It was designed by the famous architect sir Edward Lutyens, famous for (please insert some of his other famous buildings, or at least bluff some.).
At first, it was a chastening experience. From used to being the big cheese in a small pond (can't beat a mixed metophor), I found myself in a group, all of whom were much more experienced, far better informed and distinctly more articulate than I. So for once in my life I turned my pontificating down a notch or two (it used to go all the way to 11). As I looked round the table it was like being in a room of minor celebrities. Everyone of these people, I had seen at one time or another up, on the conference podia, plying their trade and speaking passionatly. I felt I almost knew some of them, just as when you meet a celebrity on the street you think you know and own a piece of them. Of course I didn't really know them but I was heartened that a few remembered me from my maiden conference speech this year (To think it was actually my maiden speech as a maiden!)
Anyway I soon settled into my company and surroundings. The room we using was called the library. Mainly because it contained a load of books! What with the erudite commentary on such lofty issues as European social directives and tacklinkg child poverty the whole affair had an academic ambience. Coupled with that because each of us was from a different region it was a bit like a low rent United Nations with different languages replaced by all the major dialects of the UK. The best part of the seminar was the dinner event. We had pre dinner drinks and an evangelical speaker on Child Povery at the dinner. Perversly the drinks were in The Chapel and The semon with the dinner was in the Library. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole event and came home enthused about my role in the Union and determined to get much more involved at a national level.

A Stroke Too Far

This morning I went swimming again for the first time in a week. Its not lack of motivation but opportunity that has got in the way. While struggling to find a clear path through the bobbing water treaders I started to think it was time for a new stroke to be invented. After all we've had Crawl, Back, Breast and the poor relation and far too difficult Butterfly for ages. I initially experimented by combining back and breast stroke which ended up with me colliding with everyone in my path. I also toyed with swimming on my side with similarly poor results. However I am not deterred yet and will try more next time, after all 2012 is but a few years away and we have the chance to include a couple of new sports.

Joke of the week : curtousy of Michael, Vicky's cousin who joined us for a curry last night (I had to make do with omelette, on my diet) : How do you turn a duck into a soul singer? Put it in a microwave till it's Bill Whithers

Capybara fact of the week : Capybara's Latin name is, Hydrochaeris hydrochaeris.

Fat Watch latest: Down 2.5 lbs to 25 stone 3.5 pounds

Stock Market latest : Down 500 points to "We're all doomed !"

.....and finally.....

At least I got a kiss this week

Things I Never Learnt At School

Round at Vicky’s the other day, a minor but painful injury got me thinking how ill prepared I still am, for this life I've chosen.

Whilst playing with her half Crocodile, half Tasmanian devil, half Tigger, in dog form, Spartacus ( I guess that makes him a dog and a half!). This Hound of the Disaster-Villes managed to jump up and kick me in a very specific place. Now suffice to say that my cry explained it all. “Ouucchh my bloody bollocks!!” Now it is some years since I have had to refer to these particular unfortunate parts of my anatomy, but I don’t have any other term that would have done justice to the moment of anguish. Thankfully, only Vicky was present but if this had happened in public I imagine it would have been the quickest most sure fire way to out myself.

There is nothing in life that can prepare you for such an incident. I struggle to think of which lesson in schooling would deal with correct term to use for post transition canine inflicted testicular trauma. Mind you it would still be more use than leaning logarithms. I have also attended a few first aid and CPR training sessions with n'er a hint of dog/gonad related advice. The truth is, when you transition you are on your own. The NHS is there of course, but it's mainly concerned with the finer points of hormones and surgery. The practicalities of surviving transition are mainly down to trial and much error. There is no book of etiquette to avoid embarrassment, no Sat Nav for the journey ahead, no Haynes Manual to help with the repairs. There really must be a market out there for a Transitioning for Dummies book. Now of course this old world wide internet thingy is chock full of mainly conflicting advice and opinion. There is also the odd support group dotted around the nation (some odder than usual), but for many of us, transitioning is a complete leap into the dark. Ironically it’s often the light rather than the dark that is the problem, particularly when you are starting off with dodgy makeup. Oh for the joy of transition in an arctic winter of near permanent darkness. Well, I'm 4 years PT (Post Transition) right now and still trial-ing and error-ing and I think still learning

Lessons learnt since Transition

1. There is no appropriate female alternative "ouch my bloody bollocks".
2. Talking loudly to your friend in the next toilet cubicle is unadvisable when you have not practiced your speech therapy drills.
3. Speech therapists are geniuses but not miracle workers.
4. Never carry a tub of low fat cottage cheese in your handbag for obviousmessy reasons.
5. Likewise never carry a bottle of perfume with a loose stopper in your bag for nice smelling but ultimately expensive reasons.
6. Tights are rubbish!
7. Size 10 is a stupid size for a foot.
8. The sexiness of of a pair of heels is directly proportionate to their un-wear-ability.
9. Colour coordination is a triumph of luck over judgement.
10. Black is only really slimming if worn in the dark
11. The largest rodent in the world is the Capybara.
12. A NHS that puts you on a Cervical Screening target list while still deciding whether to fund Gender Reassignment Surgery is clearly mad.
13. The faster you want NHS treatment, the longer it takes.
14. The most terrifying term in the English language is Genital Electrolysis
15. You can excuse all manner of moody behaviour on hormone therapy.
16. For every hormone induced inch gained on the bust, 2 go south to the belly.
17. Becoming a woman does not cure an inherent un-domesticity.
18. The Capybara comes from South America
19. Hair styled perfectly in the morning lasts only as far as the front doorstep
20. The Capybara exhibits coprophagy (it eats it's own poo)
21. Becoming a woman does not cure an inherent geekiness.
22. Quick drying nail varnish is a lie.
23. Liquid Eyeliner is an evil conspiracy concocted by eye surgeons
24. And finally, there are other aspects to life than gender.

All that said and done, the main thing I've learnt since transition is that having that becoming a woman is liberating, satisfying, comforting, exhilerating and just downright fabulous.

....Fat Watch latest......

This weeks strict regime of dieting and swimming has produced an amazing loss of 1 lb, plummeting my weight to 26 stone 6 pounds. This is a loss of 0.27% of my total body weight. I could have done better by removing my nail varnish and shaving my legs!!

Something Snapped

Actually 2 things snapped today, but I needed a better (snappier, if you like) title.

The first thing that went ping was my tenuous grip on my status within the workplace. Stick with me because its all a bit complicated and in no small measure   quite dull. Now our staff side, Trade Union arrangements are a little unusual. My Union branch covers 3 NHS trusts and I work for one of them. I am full time released, and my employer pays my salary to do Union work. We have an agreement that means I also represent the staff in the other 2 trusts. As a quid pro quo arrangement other reps from other unions who work for these other trusts are allowed to represent within my employer...Still with me ?... Anyway costs aside this arrangement has always worked well. Now since my employer engaged a consultant to look into HR matters, there is now a proposal to end this agreement. This means that I personally would not be able to represent my members from the other 2 Trusts and there are about 1200 of them. Now this has caused me a huge headache, because within these other 2 Trusts we have only a handful of reps whereas within my employer we have a good number of experienced reps.....I know this is hard work, but think of me writing this dirge....So, I have had to consider moving my employment to one of the other NHS Trusts.

So I come to today. Well, it was Open Trust Board Meeting today, which as it suggests is the premier meeting with all the Trust's directors, open to the public and as the Staff side lead, I have a seat at this meeting. So when the meeting was over and the public (well 2 people) had left, I asked rather pompously if I could address the board. This is where my grip on appropriate behaviour finally gave out. I then launched into a grandiose diatribe as to how I was being forced to consider leaving my employer of 20 years. This was complete with a quivering lip as I espoused how I love the Trust in which I had been able to complete my transition, and how I worried for the future of it's industrial relations. To some mildly stunned faces I then turned on my heels and exited stage left. Looking back now I have no real idea why I behaved like such self indulgent melodramatic diva. Its little wonder I didn't start with "I have a dream" and end with "All we have to fear is fear itself". For the love of all things holy, this is after all just a middle size NHS Trust and I'm just an over size Trade Unionist. Anyway sitting here tapping away I now feel such complete twit. Still done is done.

The second snap was an altogether more practical matter. To try and get some perspective back and to have a go at shifting a couple more ounces I went swimming. By now I am pretty relaxed about this swimming lark and by and large I think I have passed ok with little fuss. This evening the pool was very full, but I found a narrow clear patch in which to plough up and down. As I splashed away I noticed that I was getting a few strange looks, but  soon dismissed it as my neuroses. The next thing I noticed was that the left strap on my costume kept sliding off my shoulder, but again dismissed it from my mind. Good Grief sometimes I am slow on the uptake. What had happened was that the strap on my costume has snapped at the back and was flapping about and thereby exposing more that any girl wants to in a public pool! I guess the constant struggle my costume has with the laws of physics exerted by my body, finally took its toll and the inevitable happened. The sudden realisation stopped me in my tracks (or wake more like). I held station treading water, clasping my cossie across my left breast, looking across the crowded pool thinking how on earth could I make my way out with a shred respectability left intact. I considered just treading water for the next 2 hours until everyone had left. However I found a solution. I managed to tie the loose strap round the back of my neck to the last remaining fully functioning strap. This left my costume in a sort of half Halter neck asymmetrical design. Its sounds odd, but it worked. In fact it worked so well that not only did it cover what needed covering but I was a actually able to resume swimming for a bit. I am now left with the dilemma. Do I attempts my usual ham fisted sewing and reattach the strap or do I cut the other strap and then tie around the back of my neck in full Halter glory.

Passing Pebbles, Dropping Stones

This week I bought a dress. Not the most earth shattering scoop of the year, but for me it was quite an achievement. Somehow dresses and me have never quite seen eye to eye. Its all a matter of shape and my shape is completely at odds with the requirements of  wearing a frock. Its not that I don't like dresses, I am after all a T girl of some 30 years standing, but now my dressing habits are mostly driven by necessity and practicality I wont buy anything that I can't be seen out in. Back in the day as a closeted T-something (not really sure what I was) I would buy any old rubbish that looked girly and fitted. The worst was a blue sequined long affair that even Margo from the Good Life (sorry Alan and the rest of the US, for the peculiarly British cultural references) would have turned down!

Anyway, where was I. Well what with all the dieting and swimming stuff, I have lost a bit of weight under my bust that means I now have a more dress compatible shape, and last Sunday, shopping in Telford, I found a long black and white dress that actually fitted me, looked ok, and could even be appropriate for work. So, there you are, I am now looking and waiting for the right occasion to go out befrocked. Somehow this, like the swimming has become another mile-pebble (not quite big enough to be a mile stone!). This pic left is the dress in question (Durrrh!). It needs to be noted that my hair is fresh from the Chlorine flavoured swimming pool, and if you look closely I have the telltale nose bridge redness from my goggles.

Now I have passed another pebble this week (I have just realised how painful that sounds! I really must give up eating stones) I actually had my hair done in a proper hair salon. Yes I know I have been sans wig for a couple of years now, but I have always had my hair done round at my friend Debbie's. I must admit going to the hairdressers felt a bit like cheating on Debs, but I was on the spur of the moment during a free afternoon (sounds like an excuse every cheating husband would use). I have ended up with my hair in a layered bob. On the subject of Bob I have just realised where the phrase Bob Mode comes from. Now those you you who frequent the Transgender forums will have come across this term for dressing and appearing in male mode. It was watching Blackadder Goes Forth   and there was the episode where a girl poses as a man to join the British Army (also in Blackadder II) and she goes under the name "Bob". Anyway back to the hairdressers. I felt completely out of my depth and every question posed by the hairdresser was met with a "whatever you think best". I really after this time should have a better idea about my Barnett. I fact I was so compliant and subservient that I ended up buying very expensive salon endorsed shampoo and conditioner to sort out my apparently greasy roots but dry ends (even my follicles have identity confusion!). To be honest I would have probably bought or signed up to anything at that moment, so its a good job they don't do replacement windows or timeshare.

I have recently posted some pretty dreadful photos on here recently what with swimsuits, multiple chins and wonky eyes. So to balance thing up a bit here is a pic of my new hair do taken from that most flattering of angles, above my head and with skin blemish disguising flash . As you can see, the camera most definitely does lie. I have also decided I am going to post my weigh in results from my Slimming Club in the hope that exposure to the World Wide Wottsit will give me every incentive to carry on and also another excuse for a table . My target for the Gender Thingy Surgery is around 16 stone, so I have a way to go, but considering when I weighed in the same time last year at an eye-watering 29 stone 10 pounds (I was almost disappointed not to make the big 30!), I know I can do it hopefully this decade!

DATE	WEIGHT stones - lbs	CHANGE llbs
17/9/08 ( proper way round USA)	26 - 7.5 lbs	-----
24/9/08	26 - 1	-6.5
03/10/08	25 - 11.5	-3.5

Of Cats And Men

Well another week over and another week less to live. I am normally a cup half full type person, but right now that cup is half full , but of sour milk!

The first souring agent is work. I've had one of those weeks. The other day I managed to lumber myself with representing members at 2 separate disciplinary hearings on the same day, separated by 1/2 hour and 12 miles, both with the possibility of dismissal. The final score was, Jenny 1-1 Management, which I guess was about right. Still, my head was spinning by the end. I am now sitting looking at the paperwork for another hearing I'm in the middle of which consists of 500 pages of documentation! Gord knows how I am going to get through it. I am notorious for being cack handed with paperwork and it's guaranteed that by the end of the hearing the hole of the lower East side of Stoke-on-Trent will be liberally papered with incomprehensible management casework.

The rest of the week was hardly much better as I went head to head (or Manno-a-Tranno) with my latest nemesis. He is an example of a new phenomenon of in the NHS, a "Turnaround" management consultant. He seems hell bent in making my working life less workable and wrecking all our hard work, forging good industrial relations. Well I held my own (well no one else was going to offer), and I left the battle of wits (witless in my case, more like), battered but not bowed.

The second souring factor is my almost totally futile assault on the dating world. The initial surge of email contacts (well about 20) has dries to a trickle but to be honest none of the offers and proposals were all that tempting. I am now composing my Posts on Windows Live Writer software, which means I can do crazy things like insert a table! So here goes with a statistical analysis of my dating prospects so far

INITIAL CONTACT or OFFER	FREQUENCY	CHANCES OF MY RESPONSE
"Do You Do Cyber ? "(apparently people do still use the word Cyber!)	10%	100/1
"I Like Your Profile / Smile / Cat"	22%	7/1 oooh close
"Can I be your slave"	4%	33/1 well might get some housework done
"My Wife Encourages Me To Meet T-Girls"	4%%	1000/1 Does she really?
My mobile is 077..... blah blah blah	9%	50/1
Do you have a cam ?(presumed to be web cam and not a cam belt)	7%	100/1 if its a web cam 10/1 for cam belt (I do like a petrol head)
Hi, I'm a bald, 50 y/o, bus driver. Can accommodate when mother is out	14%	33/1 well least he is mobile
unfunny_usename69 has sent you a quick flirt (followed by a clip art rose or some such)	30%	50/1 Put some effort in boys!
Hi, I'm Hugh Jackman / Laurie / Grant (delete as applicable)	0%	Done it already!

As you can see a tempting array of offers. Anyway enough about the men

So What about the Cats.

Save The Mildred Five Campaign Update - Despite my pleas for clemency the 5 kittens are still due to be parted. To be fair to Vicky she does have a big enough menagerie and so far I have resisted her urges to take one as a pal for Gammo. This means there are still 3 up for grabs to a good home

As you can see here, the 3 as yet homeless kitties hold the down the one who ruined their previous attempts at recreating Bohemian Rhapsody (see previous). Either that or the middle kitty is really long and twisty.

I think it will be easier to find homes if they had names rather than just "kitties", so any suggestions would be welcome.