Well I’m not really, this page is really just sort of an external memory for me, to help me recall this part of my life, as sometimes Helena mode seems like a bit of a dream, was that me? did I really do that? So the notes are for me really, but I guess you can read them if you like and if you get some entertainment from it, all the better. Actually the real reason for that title for this post of I heard a danced up remix of a song by Kelly Clarkson (or was it Pink?) with that line it at the WOC on Saturday and its been stuck in my head every since

Very much living for the weekend at the moment, weekdays and work are just a long grey Meh, not worth writing about, have to get another job, but since I’m greedy and there is a chance of another big bonus this year (a girl needs shoes you know ;)), I’m going to try and hold on for that.

Did get a little something more interesting to do in the week, got accepted as a beta tester for game XXXX

Can’t tell you what XXXX is as I’m under NDA. Actually the game is a bit disappointing, it doesn’t look that great, is quite glitchy and isn’t as innovative as it made itself out to be, but is still in closed beta and much can change. Also got an invitation (well Bob did) to join Facebook from a former work colleague I hadn’t seen for years. Nearly told her about Helena, not sure why, keep getting this urge to tell somebody…

The weekend rolls around again and I (we?) can live a bit. Had a plan for Saturday evening, but in the morning I ambled along to my local cinema to see the latest Harry Potter film, been a bit popular this one, so ducking into an early showing was the best way to avoid the crowds (was still in boy mode, but even he doesn’t like crowds that much). Rather liked it, possibly the best on of the series, definitely turning much darker, away from the jolly japes at boarding school feeling the earlier books/films seemed to have. Then back home and try to make my self beautiful for the evening’s excursions. I’d arranged to go to a restaurant and the Way Out Club (hadn’t been dancing for ages) with Jessica Hart and Jane via Angels, Jessica I’d met in Sparkle, quite a character she is (link to her blog on the left), but Jane was new face, only read her posts before. Dressed in a sort of rock chicky clubbly sparkly sort of outfit, well if I’m going dancing I like a bit of shiny stuff on to glint on the strobes Ummed and erred about the tights, want a bit of mesh to go with my gloves, but fishnets seemed a little exposed (I had turned down the offer a lift, so would have to get to the restaurant on the public transport, Doh!), plain black was, well, a bit plain, so wore both, a little unusual, but I think it worked Wore a bigger pair of boobs than usual too, for fun, well it’s a night out.

Was ready a bit early, and got a text that J & J where running late, they had both been to the Boudoir for a makeover before hand, and as they pointed out later, that place does appear to operate on a bit of it’s own time zone. While waiting took a photo or two, then checked the makeup, and dam, a tiny little bit had flaked off, well just repair that ickle bit and, bugger, totally mess it up, have to wipe off and redo my whole chin :( I knew that was going to happen.

Get to my front door about 8:45 and oh it’s raining, of course its raining, when hasn’t it been raining recently, dash back for the brolly. Didn’t really mind the rain, the brolly gave me something to hide under as going out in a short skirt always make me more nervous than usual, it can attract to closer an inspection, this situation can come up :- Bloke sees girl in mini waking along, looks at the legs, looks at the chest, finally notices the face/hair as she gets closer, realises it isn’t actually a GG and gets angry as he has just been admiring a “bloke”, and takes it out (just verbally so far) on the tranny. But I like short skirts, it’s Saturday night and I’m going dancing so it seems appropriate and to be honest that situation doesn’t really happen very often at all, so just get on with it (hiding under the umbrella, plus its getting dark). Walk to the next bus stop but one from the flat, I prefer this one as it’s a little less used and has one of the next bus arrival estimate LED board things that are useful, if often a bit over optimistic. The bus I want isn’t on the arrival board. 10 minutes later and it still isn’t on the board, bus I want can’t be seen any were, I am stuck in a bus drought, there are probably 5 of the ones I want cruising in formation at the other end of the route :( Decide not to wait and take a different one to Islington. It’s Saturday night and Islington’s Upper Street is buzzing, bus is pretty full too, mostly groups of young people off on a night out, but shields are up and nobody seems to notice me on the top deck. Get off at Angel, look for another bus heading down to the Barbican, but there are non here or on the board, so I’m still in the bus drought. Rain is light, I know it’s only a mile or two to the restaurant, so decide just walk it. It’s down a well lit main road anyway and there aren’t many pedestrians going that way, so should be safe. And it was, apart form a minor containment failure on the larger boobs (they bounce a bit more and my bra wasn’t a perfect fit), finally get there at about 9:30, and had barely even been given a second glance, what was I worried about again?

The restaurant was “The Venezia”, Jessica chose it, but as it happens, I’d actually been here before, it’s one of the ones Miss Jodie Lynn of the Boudoir recommends, as its safe, reasonably priced and just around the corner from the bar they used to hold Trans-mission in (hope they get a new venue, I liked that club). My previous visit was in December last year, part of an escorted trip with the Boudoir and it was actually my first trip to a restaurant (as Helena) and tranny club (as anyone). That experience was a bit marred by the fact another customer took exception to us and had to announce it to the world, he had a bit of a rant, but eventually left, MJL, the other girls and customers in the restaurant let him know what they thought of his attitude.

Back to the plot, Jessica and Jane are waiting for me (now I’m the one who was late) and passing the time by working there way though a bottle of rosé. Both look great, professional makeup and little black dresses, very elegant and feminine, unlike my rather grungy outfit and hand plastered slap, so I’m a bit out of place, but my company doesn’t seem to mind. We order and chat. It turns out this Jane’s first trip out as Jane, wow that’s a bit of synchronicity and talk about diving in a the deep end, a restaurant and club on the first trip! Beats my 5 minute dash to the offy by a long way, way to go girl. Another aspect of my first visit here was the girls I was with where fairly quiet, and I’m not the most gregarious person in the world, so it was a bit awkward, but this time we have Miss Jessica Hart who is quite a chatterbox (in a good way) and Jane isn’t showing any nerves, so conversation flows much more easily (helped along be a second and a third bottle of wine). Food arrives, not bad, my starter was an er experiment, some sort of hot veggies, olives and cheese concoction that I wasn’t convinced by, but the rest was good, dessert especially, Jane was thinking of here figure and sensibly declined, but Jesscia didn’t want me to feel left out and so forced herself to have one too ; ) We had the same, panacotta with raspberry ice cream and dark chocolate sauce, YUM, what’s the point of being a girl if you can’t enjoy dessert After coffee and the bill, the mini cab the restaurant ordered for us (that’s good service) arrived and whisked us to the Way Out Club.

Ah the WOC, down those stairs to the actually quite small club that could probably do with a little bit of redecoration, Spot a few familiar faces and groups, the katoeys, leering admirers, the young TS’s, the incredibly tall DQ’s, the more mature Trannies, the wildly dressed aesthetes, the girl dancing on the podium without her skirt… The place doesn’t really change, but oh, yes it has a bit, I can see more than 5 feet in front of me, and I smell perfume, cheers for the smoking ban It has (for a non smoker like me anyway) really improved the place The WOC is also a bit humbling, I can kid my self in the mirror and with the camera a bit, but here I realise I’m old, not very pretty, not that thin, have an bizarre dress sense and even in heels, am a bit short. For such an unreal place, it does, in an odd way, actually put you back in touch with reality. It also reminds me of the diversity of the T* scene, hanging around to much on Angels or Roses gives you a considerably narrower view.

We continue to drink (thanks for the champagne Jane), take the pictures and chat for a bit then its hit the dance floor.

Jane goes for it and dances the night away, again quite a change for my first trip here, I was a total wallflower and nervously clutched my drink in a corner the whole night. I think they might have some new lighting gear at the WOC, many more lasers and strobes than I remember from before, I approve, as does the shinny bits on my outfit, that and the fact the DJ seems to have found a few more choonz in her record bag and is mixing them better cause me to loose my self to the dance floor for a very long moment.

The WOC’s sleazy reputation of yore seems to be pretty much history also (what did I just say about it not changing?) , it’s almost safe nowadays (Since I’ve been going there), so anyone worried about going after hearing the rumours, you shouldn’t be. I’ve spoken to a few people who have been around the scene longer than me and often they somewhat miss the atmosphere the place use to have, as it gave the place a bit more of an edge, but I’m not sure I would of really like that. I said almost safe, there are still plenty of the lurking admirers, both Jess and Jane got hit on, much to their amusement, but they seem to ignore me. I’m not actually into male admirers, not my type (not Jess or Jane’s either as far as I know), I prefer being ignored by men, but have to quietly admit, the very occasional bit of attention (and the subsequent opportunity to put them down ) is actually a bit of an ego boost. So why am I left alone? is it this sort of odd SEP field I project to keep people away when I’m out? (it’s been noted by several people I’m very hard to approach), or because I’m a wildly dancing, oddly dressed, spiky looking rock chik not the classic, demure and slightly submissive type, or is it just because I’m old and minging. Yep it’s the later

The cabaret was the WOC’s tibute to Disney, and it was a weird as it sounds. approaching surreal even. I think possibly the performers had more fun than the audience.

Danced for a hour or two afterwards but I was starting to flag and was a bit pissed, I’m Helena ‘Lightweight’ Love, said my good byes to J & J and taxied home.

I heard the other two stayed on to the bitter end, I suspect Jessica was getting a bit tired, but Jane seemed to be running on adrenaline all night and looked like she could of danced till dawn. Read Jane’s post on the night’s activities here, looked like she had fun too and I’m sure this trip will be the first of many.

Got to bed just before 4, and woke again about 8, don’t know why I should have been exhausted but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I also should have been hung-over, wasn’t, perhaps I was still drunk Sunday was meant to be a quite day, reading, playing games, perhaps going to the pictures again. I just had this little bit of work to do at 11:30, just kick off a few jobs and make sure they ran. I called at 11:30 to see if was OK of me to start, no it wasn’t another 45 minutes, which became, 4pm, which because 6pm :( but eventually all worked out, but my afternoon was pretty shot, just read Harry Potter 7 while I waited instead. After that spent some time online, on the phone, read a bit more but the tiredness had started to catch up by then and I had an earlyish night and it’s back to grey weekdays. More weekend please.

“Livin’ it up when I’m Fallin’ down”

As Aerosmith might of said if they had my weekend During the rather dull working week, I was trying to figure out what to amuse myself with at the weekend, something different perhaps? not the usual shopping trip, as well I just have to many clothes anyway A bit of junk mail through the post from The Snowboard Asylum, and a thread on Angels got me reminded me, I hadn’t been on my snowboard since I got back from Andorra in February hrrmmm… Yep lets go to Milton Keynes Snowdome (AKA “The Fridge”) on Saturday, just like I did last year and then perhaps slip into something more comfortable in the evening to relax (and nurse my bruises) with a glass of wine and a DVD, yep that’s a plan. Thought about what I was going to wear and remember a comment from a friend that my pictures on Flickr where getting a bit stale, yes, she’s right, there’s only so many of the arm outstretched or sitting on the stars photo’s you can do, so do something different … Well oh why not, let’s do that, have to do it some time To find out what “that” is keep reading, but I needed some props, so on Friday, did a quick trip to M&S for some deserts and to Jessops for a new camera tripod. The tripod is pretty neat, it can sort of grip and bend around stuff and so lets me put my camera almost anywhere, so lots of new opportunities for different shots, pity it’s marketed under the rather unfortunately named “Joby” brand though A glance at the calories on the M&S desserts, yikes! and that’s just one portion in the double packs so for the sake of my waist line, with great reluctance, I binned half of them I HATE wasting food, it’s just wrong, so minor rant, messieurs Marks and Spencer, why do you sell your tarts and cheesecakes (there’s a reason why it had to be these particular items) in double portions? Us sad single people like desert too but the amount of calories in them and the speed they go off makes eating a double portion difficult.

Friday night and a check revealed my board was looking a bit neglected, it had been sitting in its bag for 6 months, but little clean, a quick file down the edges to remove a bit of rust, a wipe with some zardoz to speed up the base and reattaching the bindings (wide goofy stance with semi duck +21 -9 angles FTW) and it was looking happier. Rest of the kit looked OK, packed full robocop gear as I reckon the chance of falling a lot was rather high, so in goes the the helmet, impact shorts (both cross dressing and snowboarding work better with padded pants), back protector, impact gloves and knee pads. If you haven’t ridden a snowboard before, well its not just sliding down a hill on a plank done by people who are to scummy to ski, it’s actually quite a physical sport, requiring fitness, strength and balance, plus it’s slightly counter intuitive. Learning to do it involves, unless you are obscenely talented, a lot of falling over, and pistes are usually not soft and fluffy snow, they are hard packed, it can hurt. It’s OK I guess if you are fit, 19, with your mates and generally feel indestructible, but if you are an old non athletic fart like me, it’s a bit of a slog, hence all the padding and trepidation.

Saturday morning and its up with the lacks, shave, makeup, dress and er actually no, for a change its just grab my snowboard and kit and lug it down to the tube to get to Euston for the MK train. Whilst getting coffee before I board the train I get some verbal from a chav for the way I look. Verbal when I’m not em femme, as I’m apparently a total dork (repeated over and over to his mate) because I have long hair, a beard (I only shave just before dressing) and “I’m carrying a surfboard” mind boggles! But I’ve had verbal in bob mode for the way I look before also, so do the usual, ignore them, get my coffee and board the train. I can’t win with that sort of cretin, but to be honest, I don’t think I want to as it would mean moving (way) down to their level.

Arrive at Milton Keynes, its a weird place, a 70’s/80’s version of the future that never really was, duel carriage ways and roundabouts everywhere, all laid out in a grid system thread with pedestrian walk ways and underpasses, with little islands of square buildings in between. But then its starting to fade, its not so shiny and new anymore and the weeds are growing up through the paving slabs. It’s all a bit alien and I find it slightly bizarre, cold and soulless, but in a very strange way every so slightly appealing (to look at, not to live in), I’m not sure why, perhaps because its got a bit of a Sci-Fi look and a sort of a “Brave New World” distopia feel to it.

It’s a 25 minute walk to the snowdome (must stop calling it that, they don’t like it being called that as another company has trademarked that name) from the station . This normally wouldn’t be a problem, but all my kit is rather heavy, and a year of dieting and exercising by walking and cycling has left me with bugger all upper body strength, so it’s a little bit of a struggle. (note to self: find out which bus to take and perhaps lift some weights?)

Change and hit the slope at 9 for a 2 hour session. Am very nervous as I strap in, haven’t done this since February, I could make a total fool of myself or get thrown off the slope for not meeting the minimum standard, or do do my self an injury or worse. fearfully skate over to the lift and ascend. Still remember how to use the Poma lift, good sign, get to the top, do up the back binding, take a deep breath and launch myself own the hill. And slightly to my own amazement I get down it in 1 piece, not exactly fast or stylishly, but linked turns in control without falling as the runs progress the confidence returns and speed builds up, OK a few minor hand and arse plants occur, but nothing huge and it starts to feel good again. But then the frustrations with the indoor dome return too, it’s just to small, about a 35 metre vertical I’m covering in a few seconds, only one slow lift is running and that is covering the learner slope as well, groups of skiers standing around chin wagging in awkward places, lift stoppages, lessons being ran on the main slope, people clearly not up to standard using it, free style equipment being left on the main slope in a regular recreational sessions and the list goes on. Well I suppose the snow was pretty good though very little ice for a change, it wasn’t that busy and the learners and freestyle equipment gave me something to have to maneuver around, adding a little spice to the runs. It is a frustrating place, not cheap and never quite as good as it could be, but if you want snow in the south of England in July (in fact all year usually), there’s no where else to go.

After two hours (plus a cheeky few extra minutes I felt entitled to because of the lift problems, they are notoriously lax at checking the time so you can get away with it) I come back in. Board did good and I don’t think I embarrassed my self that badly. Bob gets his fun but as a concession to the tranny side I was boarding while wearing nail varnish and the aforementioned padded pants, also my board is a unisex one and it colour coordinates with the rest of my kit

Since its £31 for two hours I try to get as many runs in a possible, this means no breaks, no rests. So afterwards, I’m usually pretty tired, but this time, since I hadn’t done it for 6 months, I’m shattered. Trudge into the nearest pub (a Wetherspoons, Urrrggg!) for a sedative, carbs and protein, so it’s a burger and a pint (or 2) then sod the diet. Enjoy my beer and stare into space a mildly contented manor for a bit on the adrenaline come down;) head back to the station, kit seems to have double or trebled in weight, so it is now definitely a struggle now, but you see there is this big shopping centre and a market between the snowdome and the station, and well I just had go in it didn’t I. Most towns give there shopping centres some grandiose name that sort of implies some sort of heritage or history, in MK it’s just called “The Centre” which kind of sums up the place really. I had always imagine it as a place where people in silver jump suits get out of egg shaped cars and go and buy their protein pills, but its really just a regular shopping mall. But it does reflect its local environment, it’s very bland and is built on a grid system of course I didn’t need any more clothes, but well you see there was this shrug (told you they would come back) on a market stall and a little white denim mini in the New Look sale that demanded otherwise

Finally get back to the station, very tired, grab another coffee and jump on the next train, Oh good it’s a fast one, flop into a seat, and even after my 2nd extra shot skinny extra large Cappuccino of the day, within a few minutes I nod off. There’s something about the motion of a fast moving train, that if I’m a bit tired, it just sends me to sleep, but it has to be fast one (something like the Euro star knocks me out completely), I can’t sleep on a stopping train. Wake as the train is rolling through Camden, about a mile from Euston. Tube, then walk home, the snowboard bag feels like lead and it’s chucking it down. Back at the flat run a bath and soak for a bit then defuzz. Boy’s had his fun, now it’s the girl’s turn

It’s too late and raining, but I wasn’t planning on going out anyway, this time I decided to stay at home and take some pics to satisfy my all consuming tranny vanity and it a change to the usual casuals, the aim was for a few “glamour” pics in my undies! I haven’t (honest) done this sort of thing before, I’m not the sort of tranny lingerie fetishist and what I wear is usually just practical stuff to add or keep in the various bits, but I had collected a few nicer bits along the way, a slightly oversize bra to cover the forms, a stretchy corset like thing, some lacy (but still quite large and opaque) pants, stay ups, sheer fingerless gloves and a pair of basic black heels (£22 Baratts sales, go up to size 10, real leather not plastic, good value). When I got it all on I was actually fairly well covered up, but still it felt, well, a bit odd, not really sexy at all, more a bit embarrassing really. But I had it all on, and had overdone the slap, got the cakes and the camera was charged, so on with the show…

AS I mentioned before, I had some deserts, from M&S , a strawberry tart and some chocolate cheesecake to be exact, these where to go in a “Tart” picture and a “Cheesecake” picture (I’m a literalist, sue me;)). I didn’t get any usable pics with the cheesecake, so I just ate it instead, (and the tart :)). Oh how I suffer for my art, all those (delicious) calories, they will just have to be burnt off a later date, but the skirt I bought earlier that day, is a size 10, and it fitted, so I’m not doing to badly. But I did open some wine (to help relax me) and a pic with a glass came out OK. I also had (still have, oh, pops to kitchen) some pretzels, and though about trying to “fancy a nibble” picture but by then I just couldn’t be arsed. Taking the pics solo is quite hard work using the camera’s 10 second timer and dashing back to an uncomfortable pose and hoping for a good pic. Most of the pics weren’t, plus you don’t get a good focus because the target of the pics isn’t there when you actually do the focusing. Bit more respect is now due to the girls who do manage to get the really good glamour pics I see on Flickr, I know how difficult it is now. I retouched (colour balance, lightening, saturation control, contrast increase, red eye removal, noise reduction, sharpening and painting out a few wrinkles and folds) on the pics a bit more than usual and reduced them to a smaller size to try and hide the poor focus. On the two standing shots I painted out some of the background to (my ugly skirting boards). Yeah I know retouching is really cheating, but I don’t think I’ve done any more than you would get done to a celeb in a magazine. They are not as good as I hoped, but my body isn’t the right shape and the technical aspects aren’t good, but it was an interesting experiment and well, that reclining pose has been gathering comments on Flickr faster than any other picture I’ve ever put up before…
(so there’s the proof if you needed it, underwear shots for teh win!)

After all that I just wanted to put on some clothes and get back to “normality”, so it’s on with a long black cowl neck sweater (easier to get than a polo neck over a made up face) and a shortish (mid thigh) pleated “tweedy” skirt along with my favourite pair of clumpy boots and its back to me again Actually it felt better, being more covered up felt more “sexy” than just the underwear the sweater was tight fitting, the skirt a bit floaty over the stay ups, all hinting at what could be beneath, instead of the actual slightly disappointing reality. I made a half hearted stab at a pic in this outfit, but nowt worked, I didn’t like my camera at this point. So instead I just went for a walk in the twilight (it had stopped raining for a bit) around my local neighborhood. Sashaying along for about half an hour before grabbing a takeaway was rather fun, but I was a little merry at this point after the wine and beer. Ate food (oh dear more calories) while polishing off the wine and watching Doctor Who (DVD still), posted the pics and retired for the night, the girl and boy side both had a good day.

Sunday, well that so far has just been making sure I’ve removed all traces of slap (I use Maybelline “unstoppable” mascara and it definitely does what it says on the tin, which is a good thing, most of the time), laundry and lunch with my parents (hence the total makeup removal panic). Wanted to see the latest Harry Potter film, as I figured all the little darlings would of seen it by now and be reading the new book instead. I was wrong, local cinema was sold out, but I’ve got the book now so I might have an afternoon pottering about anyway

Previous weekend was family duty, a trip up north to have a barbie at my brother place in Peterborough with the family to celebrate my parents ruby wedding anniversary, plus my sister in laws birthday, my mothers birthday, my fathers birthday (oh and mine I guess), plus my sister got her degree (2:1). It saves time just to celebrate them all in one hit Highlights include a drive up with my other brother and sister in law who argue a to much, navigating to a half remembered shopping centre in Peterborough I hadn’t been to in 10 years and finding it’s now an urban war-zone (don’t go to the Ortons), chasing after my 2 year old nephew around Salisbury’s while his parents chose wine, being the only single person at the barbie with lots of baby talk going on (my sister is now 10 months pregnant as well), eating too much food, drinking a bit too much, talking to cats

more playing with my nephew (diggers, nee nahs and helicopters :), finding the present I posted to my sister in law didn’t arrive, falling asleep, driving home enduring a screaming fit from my usually adorable nephew and a sat nav that tried to take us down a footpath. For a do with my family that’s probably a good one, but it was a bit much ;)

Sunday following was laundry and domestic stuff. So no Helena time that weekend. My family and folks don’t know about that side of me, and although I get the occasional urge to tell them, just to prove I’m not quite as sad as they think I am, but then I remember the often told advice, “You can’t untell people”. I don’t think they would really react positively to be honest, a life time of grief isn’t worth the moment I savor the look on their faces.

So this weekend rolls around, and the girl wants out. All the groovy people where off to The Big Night Out in Milton Keynes on Friday and I really wanted to go with them (even with my very limited amount of grooviness) , but this week was my turn on the support rota at work, where I’m on call overnight. so couldn’t really go clubbing to the early hours could I. Didn’t really want to be on support, it’s just something that has come up, I barely know the systems I’m supposed to to look after, but unless I change job, there no getting out it now. Still it’s more money and only 1 week in 4 or 5, but still, rather I didn’t have to Hope you all had fun at BNO.

But I don’t have to be on call on Saturday daytime, so a big day out on my tod will have to do. The mobile hasn’t rang and the system are behaving themselves, so it’s up with the larks on Saturday morning, dress in black shrugy thing I got in Manchester and a new pair matching of combats I got midweek and it’s out he door by about 9:30.

Wander through the local park, it’s still early, and pretty deserted.

Actually I like going out on weekend mornings, less people (esp teens and twenty’s), people (mostly) aren’t boozed up, less traffic, noise and pollution, it’s just generally more pleasant. I’ve bcome a morning person! Top up Oyster in the tube station, top up caffeine levels in Starbucks and get on the bus.

“She gave a little flirt, gave herself a little cuddle
But there’s no place here for the mini-skirt waddle
Capital punishment, she’s last year’s model
They call her Natasha when she looks like Elsie
I don’t want to go to Chelsea “

Well Mr Costello, I did, even though I look like Elsie, so it’s the long trek west on the bus. Got bored and started taking pics (bus was pretty empty for a change)

Ride to the end of route, Battersea bridge. The first place I wanted to visit was actually south of the river (I’ve had my shots, so I should be OK ), so wander over the Thames to Battersea park.

I wanted to visit the Peace Pagoda (which I thought was called the Peach Pagoda for many years), I’m not the religious type, but it’s just a lovely place, peace is the right word for it. Enjoy a few long moments.

Battersea Park is actually one of my favourite parks in London, especially when it’s hot (not been a big problem this years so far ). as it gets a breeze off the river and there are these fountains you can get a lot of cool spray off.

Well that’s the spirituality sorted and and karmic flow restored, right back to pointless selfish consumerism head back over the river to Chelsea, past space ship buildings and a curiously blue Thames with an ice cream.

Next destination is Warr’s Harley Davidson. I used to ride motorbikes (like 50% of all trannies, I’m a motorcycle riding IT nerd ), mostly big Japanese sports tourers, before I moved to London. These where great, the speedometers where in warp factors not MPH , but they, er. how shall I say this, put me in touch with own mortality, so if I got on a bike again I would want something much slower, like a Harley ;). So every now and then I get the urge to wander into motorbike showrooms and dream. I would like a bike again, even just as a weekend toy, but unfortunatly, even though I can afford one, I just can’t afford a garage to store it in during the week (if I left one outside my flat it would get nicked), that’s the London life for you Warr’s is nice and full of shinny pretty things. Sales person spots me and encourages me to have a look around and sit on the bikes, he must know about Trannies and motorcycles

I do like the V-rod/street-rod new Harley’s, OK this may offend the purists for whom it’s big air cooled 45 degree push rod V twin or nothing, but since when have I been pure Get my bike fix for another few weeks and bus it back to the clothes shops on the Kings Road.

Wandering down the Kings Road is fun, hum a little tune and get into a bit of strut while the sun starts to poke it’s head though the clouds, and the sales are on, so I look a few shops, but well, I’m just not in the zone and don’t buy. I seem to have to many clothes (so many it’s getting difficult to store them all), things I like the look of are either silly money (this is Chelsea) or are just things I already have, but it nice just to be a girl about town and browse. Get a few bit’s in Boots (I have a habit of throwing away my pencil sharpener along with shavings after doing my eye liners, so I need to get a new one), milkshake in Coffee Republic (Rolo flavour YUM) and sarnie in Paul’s. I thought about doing the lady who lunch’s bit with a salad and glass of white in a pavement cafe, but wimped out, maybe another day, anyone want to join me?

There’s a little farmers market on, wander around grabbing all the samples (I adore free food :)), buy a Nata for later.

Check my slap after all this food, hrmm lips need a bit of touch up and oh no, a chunk of foundation has come off my nose. Struggle to do emergency repairs sitting on a concrete block outside a shoe shop in a pedestrianised bit in the blustery wind, must of looked even more daft than usual. Carry on around down the Kings road, Sloane square and on to Sloane Street. We are now in very silly money land.

Phone rings, work! bugger, wasn’t expecting that (And I don’t really like talking to them in public that much, presenting as girl, but having to use boy voice (not that my girl voice is very good, but you know what I mean)), get garbled message, but it doesn’t appear they actually want me to do anything. Carry on, but then it rings again and they say they do want me to run some tests, bugger, finally figure out what they where actually ringing about, all been of a bit of miss communication and inform them I don’t need to do tests as this weekend was just a rehearsal for a go live on a system mine isn’t connected to yet, next that’s next fortnight when we go live and I have to do my bit. Phew. Stroll down Sloane street to the really really expensive (Prada, Gucci, etc) shops, been here before, still don’t have the nerve to go in them, even there a one or two nice things I can see (but can’t afford). Reckon if I did go in they would spot my fake Prada bag and lynch me anyway Catch my heel on a rough paving slab, carry on another 10 metres or so and realise my left boot sounds funny, have a look, the bottom bit of one of my heels has come off dash back and find the missing bit, luckily it just clicks back into place.

Do go in Harvey Nicks though, oh sale and “Bargain Bins”. Find a lovely Stellar McCartney bag in of them, and oh look the price has been slashed, it’s now under £300! Slight reality adjustment, bargain bins I usually look at have bags <=£10, another day maybe, I just cannot justify spending that much on bag however nice. I mean it’s just a bag, I could get an Xbox 360 or something for that money, something that’s 1,000,000 times more complex and has had vast amounts of technology and RnD poured into it, not just a few bits of material sown together (Stellar McCartney, so not even leather). I just don’t really get designer stuff. Will keep my eye out for knock offs though. Get sprayed with nice smellies in the cosmetic concessions area and take the rather small and crowded lift up to the 5th floor which has the food. More free samples and this being a posh person store, there’s free chocolate and wine samples, which is nice. Fell dressed up and confident enough to get my drink in the bar this time (see April 7th 2007 post), so get a window seat in the bar, think about ordering the cheap Merlot, but then have an oh what the hell moment and order a Caipirinha.

It’s not bad, but for the money (about £11 and they add a service charge on top) with should of been spectacular, I think it needed a bit more sugar and a more vigourous muddle (just like me really :)).

Grab another bus over to Piccadilly Circus, It’s mid afternoon, suns up and the Tourists are out in force.

Wandered up through the West End and Covent Garden, more clothes shops with sales, ones I can afford even (H&M, Esprit, Zara), but again nothing grabs, there’s even nothing I have to have in MAC. The tourist throng is in full effect, it’s getting hard to move in Covent Garden, am hot and tired now, time to head home, stop at Tesco’s for wine and food, and then up through Neal street to my last shop, Forbidden Planet, and here I find something I want, the latest Neal Asher Novel “Hilldigers”, signed too

I’m such a geek, a whole day wandering through clothes shops during the sales and not a stitch bought and come home with a Sci-Fi book instead. That must be at least 6 points on my TV licence.

Bus home, and it’s totally packed, but London public transport etiquette rule number 1: Do not look at or pay any attention what so ever to any other passenger, is in full effect and I’m totally ignored. Actually get off a bit early, to escape the crush and for well to see just one more shop, cop-copine a little boutique fairly near I live that always has some really cool severe yet casual urban type stuff in mostly monochrome in the window (sort of posh versions of the combats I’m wearing). I’d never been in before because slightly scared I would be totally out of place (me the NewLook clad T-Girl), and the fact the prices where not displayed (If you have to ask how much something costs, then you generally can’t afford it). But again slightly disappointed, there was a sale on and things where reduced a point a could do if I really had to have it, but a dress I had spotted in the window a month or two ago I really liked wasn’t there. So definitely no new clothes today.

It’s to hot now and I think I need a cold one, not wine, so grab for a couple of tins of beer from the offy on the way (reverting back to bloke mode a bit here) and walk back through the park again. It’s about 6 now and I want to flop into my arm chair and watch Doctor Who (DVD, I’m a bit behind) with my cold drink, turn the corner on to my street, and Oh shit, see my land lady in front of my building Quick about turn, I’m not out to her and to be honest don’t really want to be today (unsure of the reaction). It’s unlike my her to be around at this time on a Saturday, so decide to wait it out, find a quiet bench in the park, touch up my slap and read my book (see, good buy after all) a bit. Half an hour passes, go back for another look, no her cars still there read a couple more chapters and damm she’s still there. Mull options, wipe off slap as best as can, remove shrug, boobs and wig and go in sort of androgynous? (am wearing lowish heels though), no that’s last resort, instead head back to a cafe/bakery that’s quite near by and open till late, buy a Cappuccino and read a few more chapters. Have another look about quarter to 8, and hooray, she’s gone, panic over. Up to my flat, flop into chair, put in DVD and relax. Beer is now warm though

Around midnight I deslap and crawl into bed. Been a long day, hot day, but actually quite pleasant one.

It had ups and downs, a few (but not too many) “that’s a man” type comments and funny looks, the land lady thing, the heat, the tourist crowds and the inability to find clothes on the negative side. But on the plus it was a bit of an adventure, people where mostly accepting, even got asked for directions, sales people (esp Warr’s, Esprit & Harvey Nicholas) where nice to me, got a couple of smiles, it didn’t rain for a change, saw some sights, got a good book, had some nice food and generally was a (bit of a geeky) Chelsea girl for a day

This Sunday, well that’s been just a lazy one, but I can’t handle to much excitement for one weekend

The weekend was approaching (this is a bit of a retro post). Sunday 1st of July was actually my birthday, but I really didn’t feel like it, I would be 39 and my life was still, well, haven’t you have supposed to have got one by now? Plus Sparkle had drained me quite a bit, that and a few lateish nights and I wasn’t my best. I had put off my parents from visiting me and my brother had suggested having a drink on Friday I tentatively agreed, but wasn’t really feeling up for it. But one thing I supposed I had started to get a bit of a handle on over the last year and a bit is my T something or other, still not entirely clear about it, but it does seem to help and it is actually improving my quality of life (but not my bank balance) . Among the positive aspects of T* is I’ve actually met some really nice people through it, and when one of them called and said why not come down and visit at the weekend, it cheered me right up. Because I knew I would have to get cleaned up and find stuff to wear on Friday, I made excuses to my my brother, I know canceling on my family isn’t the greatest thing in the world and they were trying to be nice, but well its also several of there birthday’s around this time of year anyway and my parent’s ruby wedding anniversary next weekend, and so a big family gathering and party has been planned, and all along I’ve been saying all along I’ll just roll my birthday into that one big family do.

Get back from work a little late on Friday (wander around the shops first), have a beer or to in front of the PC, do my nails and well sort of doze off in my armchair wake up at 1:00 realising I haven’t got ready for Saturday, find all the clothes I need and pack some stuff and crawl in to bed proper around 2. With the alarm set for 5:30. It takes me so long to get ready plus there’s at least two hours of traveling to do so I need to get up at the crack of dawn just to get there in time. Dress and makeup and am ready around 9, 9:30, actually go a bit androgynous, jeans, blouse/shirt and a waist coat and a baker boy hat, sort of boy dressed girl dressed as a boy if you see what I mean. Actually I was just wimping out and wanted to wear something a bit inconspicuous (but for a 6′ unconvincing tranny that’s a bit of a oxymoron). The shirt and waist coat where meant to go with a pair of tiny denim shorts from Top Shops Kate Moss collection, but its was really to cold and wet to wear them (what is it with the weather at the moment?), plus I didn’t really have the nerve to wear them in public anyway (packed them just in case, along with the boy clothes for Sunday). Get text saying don’t turn up till after 12:30, oh, oh well, check trains, next suitable one leaves at 11:15 ish. Amuse myself until it’s time to go to the station by taking some pics.

Tube ride to the station is uneventful, think I spot another TG in the tube, not sure though, where any of you on the Piccadilly line on Saturday morning?. Get to the station, buy ticket, still have half an hour so wander out to find some late breakfast, thinking isn’t London great, so accepting so… then I get the “ironic” wolf whistle oh well. Go into a branch of Pret and get stuff for breakfast and lunch, bloke behind the counter says “and will that be all, Sir”, then looks at me again and quickly corrects himself with a “Miss” . Actually then he becomes a bit chatty while he’s making my coffee, he’s a bit camp with a slightly odd sounding “French” accent and after he corrected himself, is quite OK really. Train rolls in and get a table to myself.

Pass the time on the journey doing my nails again, reading the paper, texting and messing about with the camera.

And we are there. Hello Alette, yet again And she wants to buy me a present so we totter off to the town centre, well I do, wearing heels and still have a bit of “Sparkle Foot” . This affliction seems to be going around, up and down the land mild mannered IT guys returned to work on Monday or Tuesday last week after having a “quiet” weekend where they “didn’t do much” with blisters on there feet and limping a bit. Look around the shops, Oh Newlook are doing wide sized shoes, nice, but not up to size 9 or 10, curses. A perfect girly present of Pink Dazzle Dust and Dark Red Lip liner from Boots and Bangles from Evans (who’s jewelry is slightly larger and so fits my stupidly big hands) is selected Big Huge Thanks Hun. But that’s not all, Alette wants us to bake a cake! So the master baker and her not so glamorous and extremely clumsy tranny assistant get to work.

Baking for trannies, a guide :-

1. Choose suitable cake from big recipe book, like Victoria sponge. Go to local supermarket in rain, by ingredients, flour, sugar, margarine, eggs, baking powder, and creme fraiche, ricotta, jam and fresh strawberries for the filling. Also buy wine, but not to many lemons. Do not misplace your purse and ignore strange looks from bemused Saturday shoppers.
2. Vigorously zest one lemon.
   
3. Weigh out equal measures of floor, sugar and marge. It it a bit wrong and have to add a bit extra. Spill flour everywhere.
4. Put measure out ingredients into bowl with egg and blitz mercilessly.
   
   Remember baking powder. Add that and re blitz ingredients until all sort of mixed together in smooth yellow paste (that tastes really nice).
5. Spoon “half” the mixture into a cake tin. Half turns out to be about a third.
   
6. Bake for approximately 25 minutes at 180 degree’s centigrade.
7. While the first “half” is baking create the filling. Use the creme fraiche and slowly add the other ingredients to taste. Find adding the other ingredients makes it taste worse. Keep adding and finding it gets worse and worse. Try wiping it. Doesn’t work. Decide its really not very nice. Try feeding some of the mixture to the cat. Cat doesn’t like it either
8. Don’t open wine just yet.
   
   Instead totter to local supermarket again, in the pouring rain, to get double cream to use instead of nasty filling mix. Buy low fat double cream like stuff and sugar sprinkles in front of still bemused Saturday Shoppers. Be advised by the master baker that sugar sprinkles are definitely not going on her part of the cake
9. Remove nicely baked first half from oven when done, i.e. the middle of the sponge cake is spongy, not gooey or floppy.
   
   Admire cake in its embryonic form.
   
   and then carefully remove it from the tin.
10. Spoon other 2/3s of the cake mixture into cake tin and bake in a similar fashion to the first “half”.
    
11. Hygienically clean utensils.
    
12. While the 2 halves are cooling open wine, fix makeup, slice strawberries and whip low fat cream like stuff (which actually tastes rather good)
13. When cool liberally apply jam and whipped cream to the bottom half of the cake and as many strawberries as you can fit in.
    
14. Add top layer, dust with icing sugar and decorate with remaining strawberries. Add candles and light.
    
15. Blow out candles.
    
16. Cut really big slices of cake for every one.
    
17. Scoff the lot.
    

Actually after the cake was finished we held off eating it for a bit to wait for Alette’s other guest for the weekend to arrive, and at about 6ish a slightly bedraggled (still chucking it down it was) Claire Tall arrives. Tall’s not here real surname, just the Roses nickname, but it does describe her well, I’m 6′ plus have 3″ heels on and felt a bit amazonian wandering around town, but now Claire is here, I’m just a short arse in comparison. Claire’s in flat’s too. Plus she is in need of a cup of tea, so one more quick totter to the supermarket to get milk is in order. Bemusement and the odd look are still in evidence from the shoppers but they do have the good manners to keep their mouth’s shut. After tea we have some wine and the cake. Does Cabernet Shiraz go with Victoria sponge? Do you think I care? Hrrmmm cake & wine But then I break a glass, Doh! Am given plastic replacement for safety reasons.

Plan for the evening is to have a drink or two and then dine at Pomegranate, we have been there before and had a fabulous meal, but we are unsure if it will meet Claires high standards. Since its still chucking down, and we don’t want to force someone to drive (well the other two, I can’t drive anyway) we call a taxi. First port of call is a little pub , “First in, Last out” its an odd name, ut it turns out to be a fairly traditional looking pub, with a fairly traditional looking clientele. Alette is GG of course and Claire transitioned quite a few years ago and even with the height is totally female in bearing and appearance, its just the dodgy looking one in the blonde wig and plastered on makeup who might cause a raised eyebrow, but the pub seems fine, but I’m not sure if its my imagination or not, but we (well me) do seem to get some space formed around us. An old boy’s dog make its self at home at our feet though as we have our drinks. The “Please refrain from smoking at the bar” sign doesn’t look like its going to be required much longer though. We move on to Revolver, a vodka bar opposite the restaurant for one more drink before dinning. Claire has somewhat of a scary reputation on Roses forums, espesically when it comes to politics (which seem somewhat right of Marget Thatcher), but as we chat, I’m finding out, forum personalities are often not quite the same as real ones and she is much more pleasant in RL than her online persona would suggest.

Over to the restaurant at 8:15 and we are in luck. The food is as good as before. Company isn’t bad either

The menu is very heavy on the sea food, but I seem to developing a taste for it. My Sardine Brushetta starter is really a fancy version Sardines on Toast, a dish I don’t think I’ve eaten since the 1970’s, it tastes quite delicious don’t know why I haven’t had for ages. Food is great and meets with Claire’s and Alette approval too, more wine is drunk and I’m starting to get a bit plastered, after the meal none of want to walk, plus its still raining, so another quick taxi ride back to Alette’s place in is order for more cake and coffee, then retire to bed. In separate beds you pervs. Don’t sleep to well, even though I’m tired and a bit pissed, its always the way in bed’s I’m not used to. Mr Charles, one of Alette’s cats keeps me company for a bit.

In the morning, its back to bob, I don’t have the necessary(stuff and energy) with me to stay as Helena, and so its the slightly odd situation of reintroducing myself to Claire as a bloke, but she’s cool with it. I’m informed I snore, loudly Sorry Its a family trait, I’ve never been sure I had it or not, I guess I take after my farther a bit more than I thought I did. A post breakfast walk around the beautiful local park and then I have to bid my farewells and it’s back to London on the train. Oh yeah and its my birthday, 39, oh well, not 40 yet I suppose. I wanted to do my some much needed laundry when I get back, but I’m still in a bit of a daze, instead I wander around a bit, mess with some pictures from the camera, have a beer or two, order a pizza and fall asleep in my armchair, again.

Footnote
Was removed by request, but I still need a kick.