post Oxford Blues

Home from my weekend leadership training course at Ruskin College 

If I gained nothing I can now claim with absolute conviction that I have studied at Oxford. Well I need to pad my C V which consists of a couple of poor A levels, my cycling proficiency certificate, oh and I do have a Bsc (bronze swimming certificate).
Joking aside (about time too) I thoroughly enjoyed my course, and met some outstanding and passionate people, students and tutors. I guess the Trade Union movement has a bright future with such people fighting the cause. I found the subject of leadership fascinating. I had never thought of myself as a leader before, but I guess I am at times. I also identified my shortcomings, and perhaps how to diminish them. The only thing missing from the weekend was more time to explore Oxford, as it seemed to be such an idiosyncratic city. The weather was consistently dank all weekend. There was a hanging mist that felt like you were in the constant spray from a big wet shaking dog. This meant that bloggography (relatively dull photography for the sole purpose of blogging) was unfruitful.

After a long middle study Saturday we had a Sunday morning session before setting off home. . I thought the falcon guesthouse  was charming, the only slight quibble was the shower. A rough guess was that it measured about 2 foot by 2 , the problem is that I am pretty much 2 foot wide by 1 foot 10 inches deep (oh and 6 foot 2 tall, but for once height wasn't an issue) on top of this the entrance to the cubicle was even narrower. The result was that even once I had squeezed in, the resulting small expansion in my body through a thorough drenching meant that I filled the cubicle as if it was a mould I had been poured into. Still I was at least a clean sardine.

Follow The Leaders

We had all decided to drive to the college from the guesthouse to enable a quick getaway. I had not google-mapped the route and our previous walking through the heavily pedestrianised city centre had been no training so I followed a fellow student Kath who had a sat nav. Kath was also troubled with an intermittent stalling engine so I thought my following would help if she broke down. The combination of the above factors resulted in the third most frightening experience of my life. Oxford is clearly a sat nav's nemesis. And Kath had to drive with the abandon of a getaway driver in order not to let an idling engine stall. On top of this Kath took the wrong turn and soon we were hurtling though narrow Oxford back streets in the hands of some South Asian computer coder, who probably only knew Oxford from badly dubbed episodes of Morse. Despite technology we did manage to make it to our destination unscathed.

I was a bit sad once the half day was over. I clearly get a bit of a high during events like this, and the thought of returning to an  cold empty house saddened me a little. We took a few pictures of the group for those Bloggers among us, and after some mutual farewells, with pledges to email each other, we made our separate ways. Its amazing how quickly a group of disparate strangers can bond so quickly and strongly. We will meet again as this was the first event of a year long programme, and I for one hopes this happens soon.

I Can See Bleary Now

So I made my way though Oxford to the motorways north 42, 40, 6 and home. On the way I called Vicky and we got into a conversation about cats, or kittens to be more precise. Vicky is still pestering me to take one of her last 4 kittens as company for Gammo Speng. I was weakening, and said that my worry was that I would need another girl cat. I was then entertained to a live kitten sexing session over the phone which passed by a few motorway junctions.
The journey home was going fine until the M6 toll road. Half way along you come to the grandly titled toll plaza. Its a slightly unsettling experience. You are whizzing along at 80 mph, sorry 70, and suddenly the carriageway fans out into an expansive apron of tarmac, with the 8 toll booths ahead, to choose from. Its really off funding you have no lanes to keep to and judging your braking is a little tricky as I found myself slowing to a crawl with the booth some way off. I wound down my window and chucked my £4.50 into the chute and the barrier went up. Like greyhounds out of traps we all jumped on the gas as 8 abreast we manoeuvred to get position as the apron funnelled back into a 3 lane motorway. It is really quite liberating, accelerating as hard as you like in so much open space. It was just as the M6 toll became the plain old M6 that I hit trouble. When I had opened my window at the toll I had let a huge chunk of cold and damp air into the car. As we sped along and this air warmed up it deposited a slap of thick condensation on every window. In just a moment I could see nothing but a grey opaque windscreen, and my blower was not up to the task. I found myself doing 70 along a by now busy road with almost no vision out of the car. This was now my third most terrifying experience rudely pushing that mornings Oxford dash down to no. 4 (see bottom). I managed to find a glove and, used it to temporarily smear a small clear patch on my screen, as I tried to reduce my speed without careering into those other fortunately fully sighted drivers. It wasn't possible to slow much as I had joined the M^ in the middle lane and was surrounded by the intimidating momentum of a phalanx of lorries.  Through luck more than judgement I managed to keep the balancing act of navigating by my mirrors, while frantically glove rubbing with one hand the other gripping my steering wheel for my life's worth (this has been calculated to approximately £630).  I managed to keep in a straight line for just long enough for my inadequate blowers to have effect, and I regained the gift of vision. The rest of the journey was thankfully uneventful and dull.

By the time I got home it was pitch black, and I entered my cold, cold house with a heavy heart. I was warmed up just a bit by Gammo, who had obviously missed me and was on her finest nuzzling form. I didn't feel so much like a leader that evening.

Top 5 scariest episodes so far

5 First time walking downstairs in heels with boobs obscuring my feet.

4 Recreating Ronin through the early morning streets of Oxford.

3 Blind faith motorway driving.

2 First Time out as Jenny in the daylight.

1 Tooms (for X files fans!)

Oxford Reds

On my travels again. I have a weekend in Oxford at Ruskin College on a pilot TUC leadership course. I wonder if pilots ever have pilot courses on pilotry. (actually I don't.)

I was at my hotel, parked, checked in and case contents emptied over my bed for 2pm. I must admit I felt more at home in the Blackpool style, Falcon guest house, than the expensive glass modern Novotel I stayed in during the week. The chippy socialist in me doesn't sit too well with the sheen and servility of London business hotels.  My room is small, functional and chintzy,  dominated by an unnecessarily large mirror. I checked off all the requirements of a guest house room. Loo - large enough and a good flush; bed - springy but solid enough; TV -  requisite 5 terrestrial channels each corresponding to the wrong number; Bedside drawers complete with bible and assorted local leaflets; kettle - with assorted tea/coffee sachets for taking home. 

The course didn't start till 4pm so I set off to explore the centre of Oxford. Oxford is exactly like Stoke in no aspect at all. I would like to have taken in the splendid architecture of the famous Oxford colleges like Christ Church, but I spent most of my time dodging bicycles, that seemed to whistle past from each and every direction. Cars are killing the planet but at least you can hear them before they mow you down. A car will mug you and give you a good kicking like a drunken thug, but the whispering death that is the speeding cyclist is like a samurai assassin swift deadly and silent. After a while I developed a seventh sense (I'm saving my sixth) for the oncoming threat and indulged in some shopping and snapping.

Ruskin College felt just like being back at Liverpool Poly, the ambience a mix of academia and political agitation all wrapped up in a quaintly crumbling exterior. For a few moments I felt 18 again. I was there an hour early so I sat in the refectory waiting for my fellow victims pretending to earnestly read my  copy of Independent newspaper while  trying to regain my student mindset of 20 years ago. I looked at the course agenda. The second session was to be about reflecting on the pre course reading we had been sent. I had looked at this last night. It consisted of 2 research study papers that were in a form of English reserved for recidivist academics. Once I had googled the words I didn't understand from the first sentence I would be away.

 Hegemony:  The processes by which dominant culture maintains its dominant position

Gramscian: theories proposed by Italian political leader Gramsci and theorist who helped establish the Italian Communist party in 1921

Those out of the way I ploughed on. I must admit sentences like "These involve practices of exclusion and demarcation, modes of inclusion and consequences of aspects of inclusion, especially usurpation and displacement, and strategies of transformation and coalition" tested my ever dwindling grey matter.

The first evening session was actually really stimulating with some strong debate and discourse on union democracy and leadership. The group is an interesting and diverse mix Trade Union lay activists and staff. I got a laugh when I claimed that I had only changed my gender to better reflect that our union is over 70% female (well you had to be there I guess!). The evening session finished at 8pm and we made our way back through a bustling noisy Friday nighttime Christmas throng. It was surprising and disappointing to see so many homeless people on such a cold night. I never imagined Oxford to have a big homeless problem. The other thing that struck my eye was a gathering crowd. Pushing my way through there was some sort of avant garde, modern dance, art instillation type thingy! It seemed to consist of white faced dancers staring upwards. All very good but give me Strictly Come Dancing anyday!

Anyway back ensconced in my room and tired of balancing my laptop on my knee I had better get some sleep. I just hope I don't dream of cycling dancers discussing Grascian Hegemony.

The Chunkiest Hobo

Back Northwestwards on the 15.35 from Euston, my favourite of the .35s.

Started the day by eating far too much hotel breakfast buffet for anyone supposed to be on a diet (anyone not dieting too). Did a bit more hotel based photography from the top floor and had a whizz round the British Library Plaza

Had a good conveners meeting today and I actually opened my gob this time. Not sure anything that came out was coherent or even intelligible but at least I contributed which is some progress. Must admit the other conveners from the nine corners of the UK are all really welcoming. They all seem to have been in their roles for years, but in no way make me feel like an complete newbie. It was good to see that we were bucking any unfair national stereotypes. The North East convener was clearly feeling the unnecessary chilly room temperature and not at all like the, depths of winter yet still bare-chested Newcastle FC supporters you see on the telly.  The south east delegates did not appear spoilt, pampered and privaleged. The  South Westerners were oooo aaaarrr and pastie less, the Scottish and Welsh were distinctly unpartisan. Only the West Midlands delegate (me) let the side down by being just a bit dull.

I'm sitting here trying to plan my the rest of my day. It goes as follows: Train, Car, Slimming Club, Home, Eat (only if slimming club reveals weight loss), Feed Gammo, Change & Bath (think its better other way round),Vicky's in time for the Top Gear repeat, Meakins Cricket Club quiz, Late night on line chat to Jo....and sleep. Well its the plan anyhow.

For the remainder of the train trip I am going to immerse myself in a playlist on my laptop's  iTunes , which go under the heading "What was I thinking"

The Gambler, by Kenny Rogers (for Vicky)

Maybe Tomorrow (theme from The Littlest Hobo), by Dave Gurning (who he?, oddly makes me miss Gammo).

England, We'll Fly The Flag, by England World Cup Squad '82. (This was the bizarre B side to Going Home based on the tune from a British Airways ad)

You Can't Stop The Beat, from Hairspray the Musical

Galloping Home, the Black Beauty theme (and featured in I'm Alan Partridge

Rule The World, by the 'That (the strings at the start my me cry for no reason)

Joe 90 theme (nothing to bracket about)

The Prisoner theme, (I am not a number I'm a free woman)

I really must cure my TV theme obsession

and to finish in stark contrast, Serious and Organised, a really good stand up show from Mark Thomas. I could insert "un" and "dis" into the title to describe my life.

That should be timed just to reach Stoke. I really do share too much on this blog. It's one thing to come out as Transgendered, but to admit to a knowledge of world cup songs, maybe just a bit too much!! It would be good to say that the rest of my music collection was much cooler and relevant but I fear that it would not stand up to any muso's  scrutiny.

   

LGBT over and Out

Well conference over, and I'm back safe but unsound.

I really enjoyed my first LGBT conference despite my unfounded reservations about not fitting in. I should have learnt by now that not fitting in is my destiny so I'd better get on with it.

The second day was into the meat of the conference sandwich, with motions to debate and discussion groups to contribute to. I decided to speak on Motion 3 : Gender Reassignment and workplace stress, which just like the movie Snakes on a Plane is self pretty self explanatory.

Lucy moved the motion with a moving and thought provoking speech. My contribution was hastily scribbled in my notebook while waiting for the motion to come up. As I stood at the podium waiting for the microphones to rise a looked over and saw my face in close up on the  huge projection screen. Right then all I could think was "That lipstick really doesn't suit me". When I looked back at my notebook all my scribblings now appeared to now be in some long dead language almost totally unlike English. Luckily as I started to speak sort sort of translation emerged.

The text of my contribution went as so

"Morning Conference, Jenny Harvey, North Staffs Community Health branch.

It's my first time with you all and I have to say I'm loving it <applause, they always do this if you are a first time speaker>. Don't clap the only reason I haven't attended before is down to my laziness. The hormone therapy is great stuff but it doesn't fix everything

The motion mentions the Good Practice Guide produced by the Scottish region. It is important to distribute this as widely as possible.

Just as our employers struggle to understand the needs of Transgendered employees, our Union at times struggles to fully understand Transgendered members needs.

It is in my Union that I love, that even 4 years since I last used that worn out old gender I still got referred to as him at Headquarters and when I stood for a woman's seat on a national committee a senior member of staff told me "Its ok, I've checked it out". I'm not sure other women members had to be checked out.

These are minor niggles compared to what Transitioning employees can have to put up with in the workplace. Coupled to that is the huge amount of stress that an individual has to endure just to get though this period.

Everyone's job in an often under resourced public sector has a degree of stress. when you first transition this stress can go off any scale. To have to concentrate on every aspect of your being. To concentrate on your appearance,,, your poise,,, your walk,,, your talk, for every minute, every second of your working day is utterly exhausting.

This stress is only prolonged by delays in getting treatment. Even if you can convince your GP, your Psychiatrist, in my case he informed me he was a fundamental Christian so I guess he thought me a sinner, your Primary Care Trust and finally the Gender Identity Clinic that treatment is appropriate, you have a lengthy wait for an appointment and an expensive and long trek to the opposite end of the country, for a 25 min appointment.

This motion will not end workplace stress, but it will help build on progress to date and I hope continue the fight to push our NHS to give us the timely and respectful treatment we need.

Please support the motion."

Hardly, "I hav e a dream" but it went down ok. Later in the afternoon I attended a discussion group on Transphobia in schools. The government has refused to legislate against discrimination towards transgendered children in education stating that it was so rare and that  children under 16 were excluded from gender reassignment surgery. This totally misses the point. As transgendered people we were all children once (I'm still pretty childish at times) and struggled with our gender identity during school years. I like many buried these feelings. I was bullied for many reasons; my wonky eye (I was called Clarence after the lion), my weight, even my green jeans! I figured wearing a skirt and declaring myself to be a girl may not help the situation and would possible hasten an early demise so I kept Shtumn. Anyway the point is that the hostile environment in schools to anyone of difference is a complete barrier to anyone coming out. It would have made such a difference to my life if support and information had been available I may not have spent so many years thinking I was just a bit mad. It was interesting to note that the group was almost totally made up of male social workers and youth workers.

That night there was a social do with a band who were a cross of Roxy Music, Human League, Queen and Russel Brand. It was a good night and noticeably the only ones who seemed to make an effort over our appearance were our small band of Trans members. Hey, what's point to tereotypes if we don't make an effort to live up to them.

Sunday was poetic justice day. I decided to miss the last hour of conference to make an earlier train home. Being a Sunday in Britain the railway companies decide to give timetables the day off to attend to everlasting track repairs. Instead of a simple 2 hour no change journey we had to travel to Gloucester to  catch a bus to Birmingham to wait an hour for a train to Stoke that was so overcrowded we had to stand shoulder to shoulder between carriages. The train announcer with no hint of irony announced "sit back in comfort for a pleasant journey. The whole shebang took over 4 1/2 hours. Serves me for skipping that last hour.

After managing to pack away my by now trashed room, I took a few more snaps of the bit of Bristol around our hotel. Wish I'd had more time to explore.

Rudolph The Well Guarded Reindeer

Unison LGBT day 2 10.30 am. Lobby of the Marriott Hotel.
Last night was good fun. I met up with Lucy from Southend who I have been cyber chatting to for a year. We had a real good natter and realised we are both Geeky T's. So most of the night was spent swapping transition tales mixed with a sprinkling of telly tattle.

This morning has been made up of a disappointing breakfast (continental, what's that all about.) and a nice mile long (and it did seem a long mile) stroll along Harbourside to this huge hotel where the conference is based. I must admit even on a dull morning, Bristol is a really pleasant city though surprisingly quiet.
The conference proper don't Starrt for a goodly few 'ourrrs yet (look I'm picking up the lingo already (actually that sounded more piratey than west country) so I'm toying with a trip to the shops. I've just noticed someone coming out of the lift that looked just like a guy Chris Bisson once of Coronation Street, but who knows I'm not going to ask him. ...... Laters...

12.45 coffee bar, Marriott Hotel
Got back from my shopping jaunt. It turned out to be more of an adventure than I expected. My main targets in descending order were , Evans natch, Hmv or similar, Claires and Waterstones. (for anyone overseas these may just be random words!) anyway a right turn found me in Cabots Circus shopping mall. This was a brand new looking, flashy, glassy arcade. Not seeing any of my targets, my eyes were drawn too the Christmas decorations (and for once both eyes were drawn in the same direction!) there were some huge wire Reindeers dotted with lights. Liking big things, I drew my camera and snapped away. Just as I was holstering my camera back in my bag, out of somewhere a large black overcoated man appeared. (large and black refer to the overcoat and not the man) with a telltale curly wire trailing from an earpiece and disappearing into his overcoat. "Do you work for House of Fraser" he asked. "Errm no I don't think so'', I replied unhelpfully. "You need permission to take photographs''. ''Do I ??'', as I pulled out my camera and brought up the pictures I had taken. "Look, I just wanted a pic of your stags''. Unimpressed, he said "you can't take photographs here'', and indicated away from the arcade. ''Oh sorry, perhaps a sign would be helpful and maybe some duller Christmas decorations'', and with that Cabots Circus, the security man and me parted ways. I did wonder what they were so worried about. My best guesses in no order are that I may have been an  international terrorist, a rival flashy glassy arcade  developer, or that everyone in Bristol is terminally camera shy.

Anyway I now found myself heading leftwards and lo I stumbled upon another oversized decoration in the form of a huge pyramid of baubles. So I was torn, I should really just walk away but the devil made this my quest. So I scoured the scene for possible securitas. There was one possible candidate the far side of a square, so unsuccessfully secreting myself behind a lamppost I waited for him to turn away and snapped my prey and quickly stowed away the incriminating camera.

  
The conference starts with a stutter rather than a bang. I'm used to the motion fests of the national conferences, but this is much more civilised with the first day taken up with meetings and caucuses, interspersed with networking and mingling. The meat and heat of debate starts tomorrow. I killed a few minutes bantering with some of the service provider stands selling insurance, breakdown cover, financial advice and credit cards. I asked how many of them had merged or been nationalised since the credit crumpet had landed, but from their expressions I guess that was really only funny in my head. Anyway, I have 3 meetings ahead of me, the Trans Caucus, West Midlands regional meeting and the Healthcare group meeting, so I was kept out of any further shopping expeditions

10pm All done and dusted and back in my Hotel cabin

The meetings went well. In the Trans caucus I was banging on about still getting called by my old pronoun. I even related the story of Gammo my cat to illustrate how hard it is to change the way peoples brains work. When I had Gammo off Vicky she told me it was a boy cat, so it naturally became he. On closer inspection, when one morning I awoke and found him sitting on my face, I noticed that he was in fact a she. The thing is, even with my trans super powers I struggle to call her she. If I can't get the bloody cat's gender right how can I moan when people get mine wrong. I guess the problem its it hurts me, much more than Gammo. I was less annoying at the other meetings and mainly kept quiet. The conference day was finished with a reception at the civic centre with speeches by the mayor, the council leader and minister for state Dawn Primarolo who brought the house down.

Sitting tapping away I have realised that I haven't eaten since my disappointing breakfast. I've taken my slap off so I'm not going to venture out. I will just have to stick it out till morning as the only things I can find to eat are 2 sachets of hot chocolate powder.

In S**t Shape for Bristol Fashion

My LGBT Conference diary

I've arrived via a soggy Stoke Station in Bristol ahead of Unison's LGBT conference starting tomorrow. My hotel is very new, and titled the "Ibis Waterside", although it is more like "Ibis  Multi Storey Carparkside". Curiously there is a giant boule just outside the hotel, although as there are no other boules around it must have been a very poor throw.All said the hotel is very nice but just a touch nouveaux for a Northern lass like myself.

My hotel betwee 2 cranes (not picured, any water!)

My room is like a cabin on the USS Enterprise NCC-10701-D (certainly not the NCC-1071-A of the woeful The Final Frontier! *geek alert*). It is a triangular shape with a a curved podule at one apex containing the shower room. Disappointingly the curved door to said room failed to open automatically with a shhhhhhhtt.

I've not really explored outside much mainly due to the miserable drenched and dank weather. I have made a quick sortie to the Marx & Sparks for some supplies(wouldn't a Marxist and Spencer shop be fab. The clothes may be drab but I'm sure the prices would be resanable). I am going to have a diet battle for the next few days, so I stocked up on salad and pineapple. I also bought some tights. Since a drab Summer turned to a cold Autumn, I have been on a Holy Grail quest for a well fitting pair of tights. I seem to be a shape that is almost completely incompatible with hosiery of any kind. Either they are too tight on the top of my thunderthighs that they tear, too short to the gusset to sit on my waist or just too short in the legs ending with a gusset around my mid thigh and leaving me with an ungainly waddle. So I am test driving a pair of Barely Black M&S (S&M tights are another matter altogether) firm support tights.

I hope later on to meet up with an internet pal Lucy, who is on down for the conference (or is it up, I'm never quite sure) so I going to see if I can cobble together a decent outfit from the unnecessarily large pile of clothes I stuffed into my case. I've just been distracted by my old Physics teacher. No, hes not in my room, that would be plain weird , but he is on the telly. His name is David Edwards and is famous for wining both Mastermind and £million on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, and even more impressively he was on a pub quiz team that beat mine a few years ago at the Master Potter pub in Cheadle. He is appearing on Eggheads but sadly not winning, perhaps competing against me finally wore out his brain.

.....more tomorrow

Doctorin' The House

Down London again. I've been going to the capital so often I'm starting to slang rhyme. ''Cor blimey ! Its time to Mickey on my Kermit''  (work it out for no prizes at all)

Today is Tuesday so it must be the unison annual leadership seminar. As everything this year I have no idea what,s to come so I travel with hope and expectation.
I go through my usual routine of rushing and subsequently delaying my departure. If ever a homily was more apt to a person than ''more haste less speed'' is to me. So my carefully planned 2 hours turned into a mad dash to make the train after the one I wanted.

The seminar was in the extremely grand home of the British Medical Association, called the BMA house. However bad the credit crumpet is, its comforting that the doctor's seem to be managing ok.  Must admit as I registered my eye was taken with another event entitle Anthrax Seminar. It could either be the deadly sheep disease or the 90s thrash metal group, either way it sounded slightly more exciting than a union leadership seminar, but duty and coffee called so I headed for our meeting.

The seminar had 2 keynote speaker's , our very own and brilliant leader David Prentis, and the political editor of the mirror and frequent news 24 pundit Kevin McGuire. The main theme was around our Unions agenda in the light of the current political and economic environment and the upcoming general election. It is clear politics in UK is reaching a watershed. After years of the stampede for the middle ground and the votes of those wretched Daily Mail readers (although I do like their Sunday Supplements and free DVDs, even my political principles take a back seat when faced with a free Time Bandits DVD!) we have finally reached the stage where the country is crying out for a progressive radical agenda. This can be supported by the election of a new US president with possibly more left wing policies than our own government. Well we can all hope, I suppose but the danger is that Public Sector spending could be squeezed out by tax cuts.

After it was over we were all due to have dinner (or lunch as we are down south), but I am determined to stick to my bloody diet so I opted out, and not wanting to sit at a table with no food sat in the corridor outside watching everyone eat heartily and network thoroughly. I made a couple of phone calls and after I got an attack of my shyness and social awkwardness and found myself feeling like a bit of an outsider so I didn't  join a table for a coffee and get to know you all chat. Its completely stupid on my part as everyone I meet at these events is so welcoming. I really have to get to grips with myself someday. Anyway I made my way back to Euston and managed to hold back the creeping tears of self pity and self frustration. A Marks and Sparks salad filled the hole in both my tummy and my mood.

I am now packing as tomorrow I'm off for 4 days to Bristol for Unison's LGBT  conference which is not a Lettuce, Garlic, Bacon & Tomato sandwich (though that would be nice) but Unison's Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender conference. I've never attended this before but I feel as one of the few visible T people in our Union I have a duty to get involved.

Fat Index latest. Like the stock market I plummeted and bounced. Last week I was down 5 llb to 24 stone 8 1/2 llbs but this week bounced up 1 1/2 lbs to 24 stone 10lbs. I hope in stock market terms its a Dead Cat Bounce (sorry Gammo)

Capybara fact of the week (or last 2 weeks): They are allergic to Stilton

Bounemouth Over and Out

*Warning this post may contain politics*

Well conference is finally over, and I for one feel exhausted and a little sad. Our annual gathering of the clan is such a great opportunity to meet so many good people and friends from all over the country, and for me speaking for the first time it is a conference I shall remember if not for the fact that my dodgy knee is now permanently locked into a squashed seating position.

The last day of conference turned out to be the most tense and exciting (I entirely understand that to all you non Trade Union muggles this is a version of exciting alien to you) I was hoping to speak on Motion 6, Making LGBT equality a reality. However it just missed out on making the agenda. It was a shame that conference missed out on my searing indictment of the treatment of Trans People ( not to be confused with Pan's People, ToTP fans!), with some biting political satire, steamy tales of sexual encounters and a song to finish (or it might just have been me droning on for 3 minutes, we will never know) The reason for my motion being timed out was the by then infamous Motion 63. All week there were huddles in corners over Motion 63, while some attempted to get it prioritised and others it wouldn't. Motion 63 called for a year long review of Unison's affiliation to the Labour Party. Now I am certainly no fan of the current "Tory Light" New Labour government, but the labour party was built by the trade unions and its not time to desert it, but reclaim it. It is after all still our party. Anyway it made for a thrilling last session, where the Union's big hitters slugged it out from the Rostrum. In the end it went to a card vote and the National Executive Council won the day day by 60,000 votes. The upshot was that the motion I wanted to speak upon was timed out.

I always have a touch of withdrawal when conference is over. For that one week we take over a town and nearly everyone you bump into, you know they share your values and beliefs. I genuinely know I am amongst friends. After I had spoken at the rostrum, people would stop me with a cheery "liked your speech" etc. Suddenly strangers knew my name. Home again I am already missing much from my week away. I miss the camaraderie. I miss those passionate speakers. Those Conference superstars, who in day jobs are just average hard working trade unionists, but give them a podium and 3,000 speakers hold an audience with every bit as much attention as the greatest politicians. There are those speakers, who as soon as they rise to to rostrum an expectant murmmer fills to hall. The most infamous is Glenn. A greying firebrand branch sec from London, who has the flat vowels and strident delivery of a preacher, peppered with a spiky humour and well targetted argument. I may not share all of his politics, but I will always listen. There are other, sometimes once only speakers who can take your breath away with their personal stories. This year we had a debate on Gun and Knife crime and a couple of speakers held the hall in spellbound tears as they related personal stories of grief. I miss the quirky customs of our conferences. The endless detailed questioning of Cletus, the phlegmatic chair of the Standing Orders Committee, who after a week of the usual intense cross examination and criticism rises on the last session to shamelessly murder a version of a popular song. This year he had the whole room in hysterics with this version of Amy Winehouse's "Rehab", complete with a chorus "They tried to make me go to Bromley, I said no, no, no". Well it means more to us I guess. The thing I miss most of all though, is just the people of my Union.

I'm back home now and back to reality. What a shame.

The Bourne' Oration

Well Today was my turn to step up to the plate. I was due to speak on the first motion of the day. Motion 19 Violence and Aggression against public sector workers.( Apparently it is a bad thing!!) Anyway I desperately didn't want to strike out, but should I attempt a safe bunt or slog for the home run (strained analogy alert!)

The motion was similar to the one I spoke on in Manchester earlier this year at our Health Conference. This was an altogether bigger affair with twice as many delegates. So last night found me awake till the early hours refining, honing, and eventually ripping up and starting again, my speech. My biggest worry was timing. I had 3 minutes to fill, but must not go over as I would get the red light and be cut short. I needed to rehearse with an audience. So over the speaker phone to Vicky I went through my paces. With a couple of alterations at her suggestion I eventually settled on my script which was scrawled across 8 sheets of tatty note paper.

Waking up in the morning I started fretting about my appearance. To most delegates speaking I'm sure it's not that important. For me however, it was always going to be an issue. I may be the only transgendered woman speaking all week. I wanted to give the best impression I could. I settled on my full black linen skirt with a pattern of white circles round the hem (it is nicer than it sounds) and a new white top with a lace panel round the neckline(ditto). However I ran into a bra paradox. I had two bras with me. My favourite black one which made the most of my boobs, and a white one which was a bit large for me. The black one was clearly a fashion disaster cliche, worn under a white top. The white one just didn't cut the mustard in boob shapeage. The solution: wear both. The black one for shape and the white over the top for camouflage. So for this day I was to be Jenny Two Bras.

I got to my seat in the hall early. My motion was to be first up, but prior to that would be opening addresses and some complicated standing orders wrangling. After what seemed like an age while I silently went through my lines as conference proceeded, it was the turn for Motion 19. Thanks to some helpful colleagues from our region, I was scheduled to speak third up. If you are far down the queue there is a danger that someone will call for the vote and your chance to speak is lost. The chair of conference nodded and smiled at me and up I went. I stood for a few seconds as the rostrum rose to the right height for the microphones. I looked up and all I could see were swathes of faces peering back at me, sweeping right up to the far back of the room. There were so many people to see that they almost merged into a glutenous wodge of trade unionism. Once into my stride my speech was over so quickly. It seemed to go down well, though its difficult to tell as generally everyone gets good applause. The positive was that I didn't stumble over my words, knock down the podium or tread on the back of my skirt thereby pulling it down in front of 3000 people, which had been amongst my anxieties.

I have to admit I got a buzz from speaking and now find it hard to see what I was so anxious about. I shall probably start to annoy everyone by speaking on almost everything I can.

The Bourne' Ability (you fed up with this theme yet?)

Hola from B'mouth. Well today was the first day of the Local Government Conference. It was very similar to our Healthcare conference but just a tad more shouty. I have by now pretty seamlessly slid into conference mode. There are certain developed abilities that I have gained from years of conferencing that now come into their own.

1) The 30 yard stare. This is necessary to run the gauntlet at the entrance to the conference. There is always a phalanx of various, and normally socialist pressure groups, trying to get you to sign a petition, attend a fringe meeting or just buy a copy of Socialist Worker. The thing is if you stopped for everyone and picked up all their flyers, newspapers etc, not only would you be late, but you would have to carry a bushels worth of paper (Don't really know how big a bushel is but I'm hoping its a lot). I do admire the determination and passion of these activists. I swear if I got to the conference at 5am in the rain they would be standing there waiting to pounce.

2) Buns of Steel. Conference seating is by far the most uncomfortable on the known planet. Diogenes, the Greek philosopher reputedly lived in a barrel. As uncomfortable as that would have been I still would bet against him lasting a whole conference day in those seats. Funnily enough after a day in cramped seats with no leg room I am left with a Dodgy Knee! (My god that's a poor joke, even by this blog's "Standards"). Years of these conferences have pretty much destroyed all of my nerve ending in the cheekular area, meaning I can now sit for hours in numbness.

3) The Automatic Applause Reflex. As if on autopilot after only a few motions debated my hands automatically clap every speaker. It is not uncommon for me to end up applauding both sides of a debate, without realising it. This is essentially a bit stupid! i sometimes think that if I am not concentrating I would applaud almost anything. For instance, Motion 1 - Conference calls for the shooting of puppies, and the abolition of cake could find me applauding while 3,000 people stare at me! Mind you I think this lack of concentration and attention must have been how Bush was elected.

4) Conferencespeak Fluency. I can now use words like Motions, Composites, Standing Orders, Ammendments; Abreviations like SCG, NEC, SOG, SOC, (If you are on the SOC and the NEC, are you a SCONE?) and phrases like "What branch are you from" and "What you doing for lunch?" with hardly a pause for irony. I have now started prefacing every statment with "I'm Jenny Harvey from North Staff Community Health Branch", which is embarrasing when ordering chips! I can now also decipher a 3000 word motion that probably just means in effect "Conference believes cake is good", or something. I can even understand the odd Rule Change (and we do have some odd rules).

5) Freebie Detection. I can after years of attending the exhibition stands now spot a good freebie stand at 40 paces, even when its surrounded by inferior kind. I can also now manage repeat visits to said good freebie stand without appearing to be a scrounger. Best freebie ever: huge colour changing mugs at an HR in the NHS Conference.

The Bourne' Idiocy

Well I'm down in sunnyish Bournemouth, trying to avoid opening the Pandora's Box that is my suitcase. I'm knackered from the journey. The problem is in these years A.J (Anno Jennifer) the weight of my suitcases have increased in direct proportion to my hormone induced decrease in upper body strength. Oh, for the days when 2 pairs of trousers, 3 shirts and 1 pair of shoes could serve me the whole week and more. On second thoughts perhaps not, but being a conference gal is definitely tougher work. I have managed to pack most of the contents of my house, including such essentials as this unportable 17'' lappy, DVDs to watch, heavy mp3 speakers, iron, hairdryer, straighteners, digital camera, graphics tablet. All very good and obviously necessary, but I have forgot my bleeding mobile phone! Thankfully Vicky has saved the day and is sending said phone down with another delegate on Monday.

Anyway the case won't unpack itself

Lobby That

Another day another lobby of parliament (ok my second at least) This time it was a TUC (Trades Union Congress) organised lobby campaigning for decent public sector pay rises. There was a bus going from Stoke so it was a really early start for the 3 of us from our branch. I got up at 5am (which apparently is a real time of the day!!) in order so I got there in time for a good seat on the bus. This turned out not to be a problem as only 5 people turned up.

We got down to the rally point at the Central Methodist Hall an hour early, so we sat outside on the grass basking and baking in the sun. London in the sun always has the cliched feel of a film set. I half expected to see a floppy haired Hugh Grant stuttering a declaration of love, or an 80's Bob Hoskings' gangster shouting from his boat on the Thames. All of a sudden we we descended upon by the world's media (ok, Unison's video unit and photographer's from the Press Association). The video guy wanted us to stand behind our placards and act like we were discussing this vital issue while he panned his camera down on us. This is the first time I have ever taken direction, so I relied on a method acting approach and imagined I was a trade union activist, and then remember I actually was! The Press Association snappers then took photographs from as many unflattering angles as possible. I was in 2 minds whether I should smile for the camera, or affect a serious, studied and concerned expression befitting our campaign. In the end I just looked a bit spooked! I did learn one thing from this experience and that is Placards can be quite slimming. They are very useful for hiding ones stomach behind, so from now on I am going to make them a wardrobe staple. I could have a range of colours and slogans to suit the outfit and occasion.

I then indulged myself in some political sparring with a lady from the Socialist Worker mob, who always tag on to any Trade Union event. Although I have a good deal in common with much of their politics, they always seem to lose credibility of argument by going a step too far. Apparently according to this particular Trot, the poor public sector pay was due to the war in Iraq, American imperialism, and the fact that there was soon going to be something called a National Government, which apparently means no more general elections. Some of these views are oddly similar to some of the New World Order paranoia spouted by right wing American matitia survivalist idiots. Strange bedfellows indeed!. Anyway the good natured bantering ended on a sour note when she refered to me as he! Thanks Sister!!

The rally was well attended with even standing room at a premium. After some rousing speeches by various General Secretaries we left for the House of Commons to meet our MPs. Parliament had instigated a fiendish new security measure since our last lobby. Instead of a pink sticker with Visitor and the date scrawled in pen we now had a Yellow scrawled sticker! I'm sure that would fox even the most experienced of terrorist forgers.

The exciting Committe Room 21
Our meeting was in Committee Room 21. I had hoped we could have been in the prosaically named Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, which is more thrillingly acronymed (should be a word! but apparently is not) to COBRA whenever there is a national emergency. Committee Room 21 was tucked away up so many flights of stairs that I feared we would be sitting next to the Big Ben bells. The meeting went well, and we appeared to have support from the attending Labour MPs, who were just as scathing about the government as ourselves. One of our local MPs Mark Fisher was particularly honest and passionate, bemoaning how all the good feeling from the '97 election had been squandered by a government so keen to appeal to big business and the free market, that it had alienated many of its core voters. Looking out of the window across the Thames I spied a hospital development swathed in NHS tarpaulins, as if it was a gift wrapped present for some huge global corporation. Anyway it felt good to be exercising our democratic muscles. Lobby over, and on the long trip home I fell asleep dreaming of storming the Chamber of Parliament, behind a placards declaring Freedom for Stoke, while being pursued by a camera weilding Harold Shand!

Lobby Fodder

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

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

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

(Photo: Control Bae Demonstration)

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

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

(Photo above : I really need some taller colleagues)

We then moved on to the Lobbying. It is a fairly simple, but somewhat haphazard affair. All that you do is ask the immaculately uniformed clerks in the Central Lobby to contact your constituency MP, and if they are free they will come down and meet you. There is a lot of milling around and standing waiting moving from 1 foot to another. My problem was that I didn't know what my MP looked like. So I hung around the desk hoping that they would call out my name on the tannoy when he arrived. This would have worked if the poor quality tannoy, coupled with the cavernous echoy chamber meant that every name sounded the same. In the end one of the other Stoke MPs Mark Fisher came to meet us. A good traditional Labour MP he listened intently to our argument and pledged to sign the EDM

The day over, looking back it had been productive, and good to be participating in democracy. Our political system may have its faults, but I must admit I'm impressed by how accessible our parliament is. I'm not sure this is the case everywhere.

Conference Over and Out

Wednesday

The last day of Conference is always more subdued. Definitely a case of After the Lord Mayor's Show, from the tension of the previous day. I did hear 2 disturbing things earlier though. First, apparently the fire alarm went off in the hotel at 6am, but I heard nothing in my room. That can only mean to me that the hotel is quite prepared to sacrifice the poor 1st floorers, while evacuating those with the more lofty social standing of the higher floors. Secondly Vicky phoned me the night before with a tale of near death at the hands of an Emu! The story went, that while visiting Knowsley Safari Park an Emu went eye to eye with her and actually touched her nose with its "fearsome" beak. While of course Vic is never melodramatic she did use the phrase "It could have taken my face off".
The very dangerous Emu - Avoid eye contact at all cost

Anyway the rest of the day failed to live up to such excitement. There was some important debate, but without any controversy. Even the government minister Ivan Lewis got away fairly unscathed. Unfortunately at a focus group I did end up with the mic and preceded my question with my very poor NHS Agenda for Change joke!

Looking back I had really enjoyed myself even with all my speech stress. It may sound cheesy but I do love my Union. I always meet interesting people from all over the country, and a few made a point of coming over to me, congratulating me on my maiden speech. They really are the most kind, passionate, diverse, inclusive, and friendly bunch of comrades you could ever find.

I had a bit of a tiff with the hotel reception on checking out. When I said I was from room 168, the receptionist looked at the computer and said "Mr Harvey?", I snapped back "I Don't think I look like a Mister!" I got a grudging apology explaining it was just an error.

Conference Day 2

Tuesday

Well I did it. I made my maiden speech to Health Conference. I managed it without falling over the rostrum, forgetting all my words or any other real disasters. Pictured below is the stage for my speech.

It was one of those rare conference days, that was full of tension and excitement. Often at Health Conference everyone is in agreement throughout. Motions are like Turkeys voting against Christmas! or I could imagine "Motion 1 - Conference believes cake is great" and we all vote Yes. However today we had an emergency debate on a three year pay offer. It was a passionate and highly charged debate, with some fantastic speeches. In the end it went to a card vote which was won by 12,000 votes out of nearly 500,000, which is about 2.5 %, in favour of balloting our membership. Anyway after all this excitement, it was the turn of the motion I was due to speak on. I prepared thoroughly by only finishing my speech at 4 am. videoing a run through on my digital camera, and then going to pieces at lunchtime, with me as usual perched in the loos trying desperately not to let tears spread my mascara all over my face.

Sitting in my room now I'm not totally sure what I was in such a tiz about. It wasn't the speaking to such a huge number of people, but I think it was about how would appear on the big screen and how my bloody voice would sound. I imagined that when I heard my voice boom over the mic that I would fall apart. It was the usual gender insecurity stuff! Thing is it went really well, and now I can't wait to speak again! My motion was about Violence and Aggression in the NHS (by the way we are against it!!). I tried to include a joke, but I guess violence just isn't funny. The devil in me wanted to say something outrageous, just to test if anyone was listening. I thought about suggesting that to combat the assaults, we start to arm our nurses! Thankfully sense got the better of me.

Anyway tomorrow is the last day and then back to reality. Whatever that is.

Manchester Tarts

Sunday 16.45 pm

I have just arrived in Manchester for our conference. The hotel (The Palace Hotel, once an Insurance Company building) is massive and posher than the usual B&B s we are used to. The room is lovely, mind you I always end up spreading my belongings all over the place!

I am still recovering from last night. Me and Vicky actually went out on a Saturday night. We spent the night at a club called Pink. It was really small so should be called a Clubette! I even managed to get on down (or up) to the dancefloor! With my special blend of swaying and shuffling. Vicky managed to pull an apparently not gay, bus driver and even got asked out by the fabulous drag queen DJ. She is becoming more like Grace from Will & ..... by the day. She is definitely a hit with the Gay community! All I got was a proposition by a neighbour of mine, who seemed oblivious to my negative body language and my rude attempts at totally ignoring him! I didn't recognise him, but he knew which house number I lived at. Very worrying all round! Still it was a great night, with the campest cheesiest music and they even played The Fizz!!

Anyway better have a bath and get ready for tonight's meeting. As a Regional Delegate I am sure there is stuff I should be doing, but at the moment I have no idea what!....

10.30 pm

Just got back from our pre conference Regional meeting. These are usually relatively dull afairs for anyone who isn't a conference bore like me. However, tonights had a surreal air. For some unknown reason, instead of the usual venue of some faceless city hotel, we were in a casino. The first problem was that many of our delegates struggled to find the casino. So I found myself stood outside the casino, asking everyone passing if they were a Unison member. I think I managed to pull in a few more customers for the casino. I felt like a siren luring unwary punters to their doom on the rocks of the roulette tables!.. or something. The second hurdle was then to actually get past reception. Due to complicated gaming rules, anyone not on the delegates list, had to become a member. To do this apparently they had to show a driving license, give a swab for DNA testing, take an immigration citizenship test, pledge allegence to Alex Fergusson and sign away donation rights to at least 3 major organs. Still everyone got in, the meeting went ok and we all stuffed ourselves on a buffet subsidised by Manchesters finest gamblers.

Tomorrow is the 1st day proper of conference. I need to start thinking about my maiden conference speech, which is due for Tuesday afternoon. I am pretty nervous about the whole thing, so in my usual fashion I will bury my head in my pillow, hoping it will all go away.

Becoming Jen (Part 14)

Glasgow Calling

June 2005. I had a week long conference coming up in Glasgow. It was Unisons National Delegates Conference which must be one of the biggest in the country with 3000 delegates and visitors. I decided that because my colleagues within the branch now knew about my better side then it may be possible for me to be Jenny at the conference. I can’t imagine a more progressive and inclusive event than a Trade Union Conference. I also thought it might give me an indication of what it would be like to work as a woman. The problem was, that I was registered as Xxxxx Harvey and my photo ID was as such. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to totally commit to every day. I would be in a strange city (no more strange than stoke though!), and I needed a get out clause. I contacted the Conference Office and asked them if it was possible to have a 2 sided ID badge. On one side was Xxxxx Harvey, the other Jenny Harvey, with accompanying photographs (so long as I didn’t get the photos mixed up!). This would give me the option day to day in which version would attend. I did plan to be Jenny all week, but just needed an escape clause (always the worrier). This was the first time our conference office had ever had such a request, but could not see any problems. I would have to sort out my new duplex badge when I got there.

I then needed to talk to my colleagues at the West Midland Region. The next time I was down Birmingham way I did this. I used my tried, trusted and unsubtle method of shoving a picture of me as Jenny under their noses and saying, ‘this is the real me !’ They were naturally surprised, but were all really positive. It was then that I encountered the Toilet Question!

It was by far the most asked question when I first came out. Everyone is obsessed with loos. Now of course I never consider it an issue now, but back then it was. At that time I had only taken a couple of tentative steps into the mystical realm of the Ladies Loo. In general I would either use a garage disabled toilet or just hold it in. That didn’t seem right anymore. It felt like a failure on my part. When dressed I was, to me a woman and felt I should start using the correct toilet. I also knew there was no legal or any other reason why I shouldn’t. My first venture was Tescos of course. I did wait until it was quiet and hurried straight in and straight to the cubicle. As I sat there I heard some other women at the sinks and drying their hands. I waited to they were gone before I came out. I must admit I was impressed how clean and fragrant it was compared to the wee splattered gents! It did feel good to stand at the sink and touch up my makeup and fluff my wig into shape. It was another defiantly female experience. From that moment I have always used the Ladies when dressed as such, with no real problems other than the odd look. Oh of course I now have to queue, because there are never enough Ladies Cubicles!

Anyway, by the time I was talking to my region I had been a Ladies user (what!) for a few months. One of the Regional delegates to conference, after I had told her about me, came back over and asked which toilet I would be using at conference “Just in case anyone complained”. I of course answered snappily  “The Ladies” and then  left it at that. Thinking later that day I got more miffed. I must have been the only person attending that conference that had been asked such a question. What toilet could I use dressed and attending as a woman. I have never made an issue of it, but I guess this was slightly discriminatory and I didn’t expect that of my Union.

The day to go arrived. I was nervous as could be. Of my 3 fellow delegates only one had seen me as Jenny. I just hoped they would be comfortable with me. Of course they were and made me feel welcome, and never got my name wrong all week! The second nervous flashpoint could be the train journey. I hadn’t used the train as Jen. When seated I would be captive, and at the prey of the dressed Trans girl’s mortal enemies. Drunk blokes and over curious kids, for both of whom the train carriage is a captive hunting ground. Luckily for me there was neither, however we faced a bigger challenge. The train was absolutely packed. Not just normally packed but stuffed like 2 tins of sardines squashed into 1! On top of that all the sardines had luggage. I on top of that had luggage for 2! I immediately regretted my cautious inclusion of a second male packed suitcase for that just in case day! There were cases all over the place. The forlorn sign stating “Please do not leave luggage in the passageway” almost seemed to sigh in resignation. We managed the obstacle course, with plenty of “excuse me” s and “pardon me”s and eventually “Can You Just for gods sake, Move Over”s, and settled into our reserved seats, spending the whole journey staring at the case perched on my knees.

Anyway, we got there pretty much unscathed and hotel was really nice. That first evening was to be our Regional pre conference meeting, at a bigger and posher hotel. Another nerve-wracking event for me. I knew loads of people from the region, but only a handful knew about the new improved me, (now with extra sparkle). I was going to have to walk into a large hotel conference room with over 100 people. I hadn’t really considered this properly. I couldn’t bottle it now and go in male mode after taking all this trouble. I laid all my clothes out on the bed, and chose what I thought the most subtle and feminine summer evening outfit. Hanging my clothes in the wardrobe, gave me a warm feeling to see just girls clothes. My male stuff stayed firmly in its case. A long beige linen skirt, white sleeveless top, and brown strappy flat sandals. I decided upon a plan. We would get there early, get a good seat out of the way, and I could slowly introduce myself to everyone.

Of course me and plans go together like sausages and custard (mmmm come to think of it). It was my fault of course. I relied on my legendary sense of direction to find the hotel. This of course meant we got lost, had to jump in a taxi and were consequently 15 minutes late. I walked in to a quiet hushed room with only the regional secretary speaking. The only spare seats were at the front. I made my way through, what I thought was a wave of murmurs, sat down and stared straight ahead. Not daring to turn around to see 200 eyes staring back at me. When the meeting finished it was buffet time and the hush turned to hubbub. Of course when I looked around everyone was not paying me sole attention. My insecurities meant that I did become a little self absorbed and presumed that everyone would only be concerned with me and my change (am I any different now). To be honest I think they all had much more pressing concerns.

A few of my closer friends came over with big smiles and lashings of “Can’t believe its you”s. “Why didn’t you tell me”s and “You look really good”s. I must admit the rest of the evening went really well, especially as I like talking about myself and I had plenty of eager listeners. I also got loads of makeup advice and cemented some friendships further.

The next day was the first of conference proper. I put my best flat walking shoes on, with a denim knee length skirt and a black t shirt. We soon joined the marching throng of delegates, all with matching purple lanyards with hanging ID passes. I turned mine blank side out, as I only had the Xxxxx name badge at that time. At conference desk the next they had no trouble sorting me out with my unique one person double identity pass. I was officially Unison's first 2 name 2 gendered delegate!

Now my plan was to get through the conference as quietly as I could, without drawing too much attention. Of course it was sausage/custard time again! I had chosen my first conference as the one when Transgendered members were the main issue! Let me explain. Most Unions have dedicated Self Organised Groups (SOG). Unison had a L&G SOG (Lesbian & Gay). Now most of the other Unions had moved to LGBT (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender) Groups. However the year before this change had been defeated at our conference. I wont get into the why’s and wherefores, rights and wrongs of this, but suffice to say, it was disappointing. So this year, my first Jenny year, there was a concerted effort and campaign to bring about the change. Hence everywhere I looked there were delegates sporting T shirts with the slogan “YES to LGBT”. There was no way that I was going to get through the week unnoticed. So girding my loins (not sure exactly what that entails, but it sounds fun) I joined the campaign, and found myself featured in conference newsletters and joining in campaigning huddles. Everywhere I went at conference someone would come over and engage me in LGBT talk. I can’t protest, because despite all my natural tendencies, I really enjoyed the attention. This went on for the next 2 days, and to be honest I missed much of the conference debate, but have never been so involved.

When Thursday came it was rule change time. Rule changes are usually for the Union Geeks (that includes me). They need a 2 Thirds majority to get through. This was what we needed for the change to LGBT. After the last years failure, and all the campaigning we were confident, but nervous. It would send a very poor message to our Transgendered members if it failed. In the end it got through with an overwhelming majority, thanks in part to a couple of heart rending speeches from a couple of transitioned Transgendered members. I was impressed by their bravery standing and speaking on such personal issues to such a large gathering. There was a big party for the newly formed LGBT group, and despite all the urges I declined. Being a woman didn’t come naturally back then and the effort of concentration took its toll. I was exhausted.

The conference ended on the Friday. As we trundled through the lakes back south I felt satisfied and sad. I was delighted that I had got through the week totally as Jen. I now knew in my heart I could cope with the discipline and routine of getting ready as a woman every morning. I had also discovered I could go about my days with my head held high and not in the shadows. The sadness was that it was over, and next week I would be back to the tired drab old working me. I was dreading it. I could not sustain this double life for much longer.