The Last Purse

I have just decided I need to change my purse. This is what happens when you fall asleep for most of the afternoon and now I'm still awake at 4am

Now I realise that this is not the most sexy, exciting or controversial topic for a blog post. Even describing it as mundane could be overhyping it somewhat. However to me it is a noteworthy decision.

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

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

£2.83p in various coinage ; A £10 note

Cashpoint card ; Credit card style driving license ; Makro card in old name ; Staples account card for Unison ; Used return rail ticket to Manchester ; Ticket from Joseph musical ;

4 union business cards ; Final Reminder for Council Tax payment, in Red ; Repeat prescription for Hormones and Ventolin ;

Handwritten receipt for my car bought last September ; Receipt from Evans for Skirts and Formal Jerseys ; 2 Paying in counterfoils for cheques deposited ; 3 Computers for School vouchers from Tesco ; Receipt from Argos for an Air Bed ; Strip of Paracetamol tablets.

and finally a Friendship card from Vicky.

I'm not sure what insight this motley list of content gives about my life. Only to demonstrate how much I relied on my purse.

So farewell pink crocidile purse.

Hope not Hate

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

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

I still have Hope.