Handbags & Glad Rags……….


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I always feel a bit rotten about writing a new post when I have so many posts from others to catch up on. I still don’t have a clue where the time goes or how, so many new posts appear on my to read list without me noticing.

Forgive me readers for I have sinned it’s been a month since my last post and therefore a month since I last read. What jogged me back into the world of bloggery was a Happy anniversary notice from WordPress. A whole year, gone. Wow!!

I think my last post was about my last appointment at the GIC, well expecting another six to eight week wait I was surprised to get a letter telling me of a further two appointments a week later. The appointments were both for the 28th March, one with a Psychiatrist (I think, but forgot to ask) and a Nurse.

I’m still having problems getting the hang of make up and as much as I liked my hair I couldn’t get the hang of styling it like my hairdresser, (I can run wires into nearly impossible places, contort myself to fit sensors into places designed for goblins and I can do these things left or right handed. But can I wield a hair dryer and hair brush simultaneously? Can I hell!!), and my next hair appointment wasn’t until the day after the GIC appointments. Bugger!

To compound things, I had to go away for work and wouldn’t be back until the night before and the first appointment was at nine o’clock with an hours drive in rush hour. Yippee!
Now, I normally take my make up with me when working away, but getting the enthusiasm to practice make up after a twelve hour plus day is usually non existent, so I wasn’t holding out much hope.

Seven thirty on the Friday arrived and I awoke to the realisation that I had thirty minutes to perform a miracle. The miracle wasn’t going to happen, so I settled for shower, double shave and an attempt at a blow dry.
I kept the breast forms and hip pads but omitted the waist cincher and tucking. Jeans, three inch heeled ankle boots and green fluffy baggy jumper to hide my stomach.
Despite the double shave by the time I got to Sheffield the five o’clock shadow had decided to join me on my day out. Oh Joy!

The appointment was another assessment, this time with a psychiatrist (I think) going over the same ground as the two previous appointments. It seemed to go well, and I still had the feeling that an extended assessment wasn’t going to be required.
I then found out that the second appointment with nurse had been cancelled, but could I come back on Monday? Yes. I said.
(Sheffield GIC has a policy of one failure to show equals finished, two consecutive cancellations or an unspecified number of non consecutive cancellations equals finished. So I say yes to everything then arrange work and domestic round that. I haven’t come this far to get bumped now) Oh and they’re still looking at the possibility of me going fulltime by the end of June, although no mention as to whether this would be the start of my Real Life Experience or not.

Driving home I realised I had to go to my hairdressers to sort out what I wanted doing and also to the beauty salon to sort out an appointment for a make up lesson. As there’s a carpark in between them both I didn’t think it was worth going home to get changed first.
Six foot nine in my heels, no make up and my stubble revelling in the spring Derbyshire air………….
I was not going pass, no really I wasn’t. But the thing that struck me was not how self conscious I felt (a bit, but not much surprisingly), but the fact that I didn’t actually care. I felt comfortable, I felt happy and I felt like me.
I went to both salons and didn’t just dive in and out again, I stood and chatted as other clients came and went. And the more I did, the more comfortable I felt. So much so, in fact that I decided I would stop and have a coffee in the cafe next to the car park.
Conchita Wurst may have been a laughing stock to many at Eurovision, but dammit you can be Trans, have stubble and still feel comfortable in public!! And let’s face it at six foot nine I’m not going to fool anyone anyway 🙂
The other great revelation of that day was handbags. I love them, how the hell have I survived without one all these years? (I do still think man bags are wrong on so many levels, but each to their own 🙂 ). Everything in one place, no scrabbling through loads of different pockets, it’s brilliant. My wallet looked wrong in there so I have had to buy a purse, which is also brilliant, far more practical than a wallet.

Monday’s appointment was at half past ten, but I had still decided to go without makeup. I have a new hair do, solid copper with blond highlights and cut into a style that I can manage.
Final assessment appointment. Height, weight, blood pressure, various medical questions and a multiple guess psych questionnaire on paper then ninety questions online. Again I felt really positive about not getting an extended assessment.
Maximum six week wait now for the outcome of the panel and my next appointment, which hopefully will be to start on the hormones.

So, in the last month, I have (hopefully) finished my assessment, outside of work I pretty much dress all the time now (granted mainly jeans and tops), my underwear is exclusively female now, I paint my toe nails (what a rebel!) And my make up is improving, although not to a level I would go out in public yet.
So many little things, that overall have made such a big difference.
I really feel I’m moving now, but best of all I’m beginning to feel like me, and that is making me happy at last.


Then And Now………..


I had some pictures to put on, but I didn’t think it appropriate to add them to the last post when I had finished writing it.

There is a picture of Him a picture taken from my makeover of last year and there are a couple of pictures from today, a sort of compare and contrast type of thing.

My work picture is just that its Him taken for work, the makeover picture achieved what it was supposed to, it proved to me that I could go out in public without a bag on my head and not scare animals and small children. The pictures from today are different, they are natural, they are flawed but they are natural. They were taken on a camera phone, the makeup at my request was put on lightly with no bright colours to appear more natural, and thus a hint of shadow is visible, as is the stubble on my chest which decided to make an appearence less than one hour after shaving!!!. The tape of my breastforms needs to be stronger and the bra containing them is now too large after losing more weight. Gravity wins again 🙂

My hair is my own designed by a professional, blow dried by an idiot (Me) and finished off by Nature. (It might not have been Force 8 but it looks like it was)staff (7)Him

Rachael 2Makeover

IMAG0030Today – Natural (Flawed)IMAG0026Today Again



Alea Iacta Est……….


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For once I had two  titles for a post, the one  “Alea iacta est……” or the “King is Dead, Long Live the Queen”

I chose the former to show I’m not being flippant, and taking the whole transition very seriously. 🙂

For those that don’t know, and, to save Googling, “Alea Iacta Est” (The Die is cast) is attributed to Julius Caeser prior to crossing the River Rubicon to attack Rome, though I believe the actual quote is “Iacta Alea Est” (Roll The Dice) History Lesson over.

My day… Started as a bag of nerves, as expected, not at the prospect of being Rachael in public, but as to whether I am sufficiently Transgender to avoid extended assessment. So nervous in fact that I bought a packet of cigarettes, (I know, Stupid doesn’t begin to cover it)

When I got back home my Wife was just leaving for work, so I could avoid the possible discomfort of getting ready while She was in the house. This, unfortunately only gave me forty minutes to shower, shave, blow dry my hair, (For the first ever time) dress and get to the Salon

I got to the Salon at 08:55, now I have watched YouTube on how to get in and out of a car in a skirt. Easy. Legs together, swing round and stand up. I whole heartedly recommend that you undo your seatbelt first before trying this manoeuver on your first time out, dressed with no makeup on a busy shopping street.

I believe I kept my dignity, or rather I didn’t actually luck round to see if I had lost it. And I did actually find the whole thing funny.

The makeup session was brilliant, no stress or hassle, just incredibly relaxing, and Kelly my beautician constantly building my confidence. She offered to walk me to my car afterwards but I felt so good that I walked on my own as Rachael in public, without a hint of self conciousness. (I have been so lucky so far, that the law of averages says I’m going to crash and my confidence will bomb, but until then….)

I then drove to Sheffield to clinic, not once looking to round to see if I had been read, while stopped at traffic lights or roundabouts. I found a place to park and then had to walk through the hospital grounds to the Gender clinic. I felt like I was walking femininely, although in reality I probably wasn’t. But at that point I didn’t care because I felt so confident.

I sat in the waiting area for a good twenty minutes with no trace of self consciousness, and when I was called as Rachael, (I had to sign in as Roy) another boost. (I believe it would be fair to say that by this point I could do anything, If they asked me to walk through Sheffield City Centre in a Burlesque costume I think I would have)

The therapist, straight away picked up on the confidence, And I explained that after the last appointment I was so angry thinking that I had been manipulated into moving forward faster than I was comfortable with, that I had been determined to be feminine and not androgynously female, that I actually realised I did want to be feminine and in doing so broke down some more of my self imposed restrictions. I told her I had informed my work colleagues and how supportive they were being. At which point she told me they provide assistance with this as it’s usually the most difficult part. A bit late to be telling me this I thought and yes it was difficult, but it worked out OK.

“Are you full-time?” she asked and I replied that out of consideration for my colleagues, I was going to do it gradually so they could get used to me as things changed.

“So, do you think you will be ready to go full-time by the end of the year?”

The first time I heard the following words were as they came out of my mouth, I had no indication to what they would be.

“I was actually thinking of two to three months”

We both stopped. I knew I meant it and I wasn’t just saying it to try to avoid an extended assessment.

She then asked about work again and I said that I was working closely with Senior management and my own managers to work to a timescale, whatever that would be, so there should be no issues with that either.

It wasn’t until I left that I realised that the rest of the session was talking about how I WILL deal with things at home, work socially and not WOULD (Theoretically). This makes more sense to me when she said that she would make an appointment for me to see a clinician regarding hormone therapy, again six to eight weeks. I had assumed by what I had been told that I would have two or three assessment appointments (unless it was to be extended) I would then have to wait to see if I had been approved for treatment.

I guess unofficially I have been approved, I’m trying not to get too excited because as I say I have been incredibly lucky so far and the law of averages Sods Law etc means that if this goes wrong now it’s really going to hurt. But I am allowing myself to smile.

I sat in my car afterwards for a few minutes and realised that my post of last night was right. He no longer exists. Only I exist now, and my sadness of last night has been replaced today with feelings of freedom and serenity.

The King Is Dead, Long Live The Queen.



And They’re Off………………..


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As My appointment draws ever closer, my brain, body and time itself all seem to merging into one confusing mess. I used the term “Surreal Normality” yesterday to describe the hair appointment experience, and I have the same feelings today, it’s almost as if my two personalities are starting to line up for the final conflict.

Mentally I am ready, I now no longer regard myself as Roy, he sits there quietly waiting for the end, clinging to the hope that, in his mind, this madness will end. It won’t. As I said, seeing me yesterday with new hair, that was just wrong with my appearance. The hair was right. It was everything else that was wrong. Seeing my partial reflection in the rear view mirror, seeing Me, seeing the woman. He wasn’t there. Buying the mirror, my mirror, the very item I despise because He was always looking out at me. He doesn’t look out of this one. He’s not there.

He still clings to the hope that His clothes will be his salvation. As long as he makes me wear them he still retains some control. Tomorrow will see the end of that control and he knows it.

After tomorrow, the choice of clothing will be mine. Be it male or female or whether it’s for me or out of consideration for the people still not quite used to who I am. But the choice will be mine, NOT His.

Time. I have a perception of time moving incredibly slowly, yet each time I look at the clock I have lost another hour. Is he clinging on to every second, knowing that today is His last day?.

I keep reading other people’s experiences, and their big moments, and wondered why I hadn’t had the big moment. Everything seemed so normal to me ,as if this is how it should be, no drama, no fanfare, just a quiet resignation that another step forward had been taken.

I think tomorrow is my big moment. Regardless of the outcome at the Clinic, I realise that my mental transition is complete, and the physical transition is beginning.

My emotions, rather than being of excitement or nerves  are filled with a sadness.

Sadness at the thought, that He will be gone. I have no regrets or hesitation as to my pathway or choices, but without Him, would I have had the strength to get this far? He has, after all, been the dominant part of my life for the 36 years of this journey. I look back now and ask myself, did he suppress me or did he protect me? And in all honesty I can’t answer that. And I don’t think I would really want to know the answer.

I believe that somewhere in the Bible there is a passage about dying in order to live. Maybe Romans or Acts, but not being of the overly religious persuasion I would probably misquote it or use it in entirely the wrong context. But the line I have in my head is;

“In order to Live, we must first Die”, on the face of it quite a morbid line, but for me, regardless of His contribution to this Journey, He has to go. In order for Rachael to live Roy has to die, and any death is sad.

And so at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning I will be at the starting gate.

Sheffield, 11 O’clock And they’re off……….



Pre-Monday Mini Update……..


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I had my hair done today.
Done in an everyday run of the mill high street salon. The morning was, to say the least, surreal. Not in a surreal way, but in the normality of the whole thing. (Can there be such a concept as Surreal Normality? I guess there can.)
There were no hushed tones with the stylist asking me about my transition, and no embarrassment with my answers. I noticed the odd look from other clients in the mirror, and by odd I mean one or two, rather than strange. They appeared to more in interest than shock, disgust etc, etc. And there was the odd double take from the occasional passer by.
Anyway my hair has been cut and styled in a similar style to my profile pic, but with less hair at the moment, and I’m going for the same colour but in stages to allow people to get used to it.
I had to walk to nearby cash machine and didn’t get any of the expected strange looks. I then had to go to the local boots to purchase some last minute bits for Monday, and also some hair care products. (Apparently super saver shampoo, followed by non brushing and letting gale force winds naturally dry it, is not the way women look after their hair!!! Who’d have guessed?)
So at the the moment I have a (Style name unknown), with copper highlights / streaks.
I love it, and I know it will look right on Monday because it looked so completely wrong with his clothes and no make-up today.
And just to cancel out my last post, I caught a glimpse of  myself in the rear view mirror , at least I saw a good part of hair with enough of my face to see that I can do this. And that made me very happy. And that happiness could not be dented by the noncommittal bordering on negative reaction I got when I returned home.
And I treated myself to an illuminated make-up mirror, not for Monday but for me.
Anyway next installment Monday, hopefully with some new pictures 🙂

And Then I saw My Face……………


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Today has been a both a good and a bad day, the good does outweigh the bad, but still…..

Having the need to be Rachael on Monday and not having suitable makeup application skills, I have as you know arranged to have my makeup done. Going into the beauticians, I had at least the moral support of my Step Daughter. Today, however I was on my own and if I was to stand any chance of getting a hair appointment it had to be done today.

Feeling more than a little nervous I approached the Salon of choice, and walked straight past.

I then turned round and headed….

Straight past again!

After mentally slapping myself a few times I went in.

Nervously I stood there and waited to be seen. I was, and I asked the question, “Is it possible to get an appointment for Saturday?”

“Of Course, what would you like doing?”

“Erm, well the thing is, and this might be a bit strange….”

The woman at this point seemed to adopt a knowing look, (or maybe I imagined it) “Whats strange?” she asked

“Well I’m Transgender and I need my hair in a more feminine style… for Monday”

Her first question threw me completely, instead of what are you looking for etc it was “What’s your name?” meaning Rachael. I told her and then started to breath again.

We then spent the 10 to 15 minutes discussing the practicalities of a hair style for someone who isn’t on Real Life Experience yet but who is (I’m not going to use the word out) openly starting to be themselves. I showed her the photo I use for profile and said I quite like this, but that I didn’t want to go completely to that style and colour yet out of consideration for my colleagues, who I would like to get used to small but significant changes a bit at a time. So that’s the way it’s going, in an ongoing over a few months sort of project.

Then feeling decidedly lifted by the experience I decided it was time to sort out my clothes for Monday, so home I trotted and assembled my minute wardrobe on the bed and decided on the skirt I swore I would never own a black top with lace sleeves, black opaque tights (My leg hair is out of control) and brown 1″ heeled knee boots

Thus decided I then set about with the slightly less pleasant aspects of my appearance.

Breast forms, hip pads and the dreaded tucking. I then dressed with more care than I ever have before (My attitude to this point has been, It’s not work, so can I get away with jeans trainers and a t-shirt)

I don’t have a full length mirror so I angled a bathroom mirror down, Wow! With the hip pads and a waist cincher I actually have a figure, from the side with the breast forms I actually thought I might be able to get away this.

And then I saw my face…….



Ooops Forgot The Title………


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This post has been inspired in part by the following blogs

Hannah’s Thinking Again and  SO VERY DEEP (IN THE CLOSET)

If you haven’t read these blogs I highly recommend that you do.

The first part  is just a link to a very well written piece  on myths and misconceptions about Transgender Women.


Written By Natalie Reed in November 2012

Maybe not everyone will agree with it, but it’s worth a read

My next bit may fall into a bit of rant (Don’t think I’ve had one for a while), I think it may certainly be a bit controversial, but I feel I have to say something.

During the past week I visited a Transgender chat room, forum site. I don’t normally bother, but I recently, despite the support I have, I have felt the need to try to reach out to others in a similar situation as myself. I know this was stupid, and I’ll get to why I know in a while.

Anyway, there I was lurking and waiting for someone to say Hi, (I find it difficult to take the first step). I got the first Hi and started a private chat, now I don’t know whether I was chatting to a Transsexual, a Transvestite or a Cross Dresser and to be honest I don’t care, we are all in a similar situation and can in some way offer help and support.

So, there I was discussing my own situation with regards to the GIC and how I felt that I was being made to work to their timetable or risk being on an extended assessment.

I made the following comment, one that I may have used in one of my posts “I will play their games and I will jump through their hoops”

I got such a bollocking. “It’s not a game, it’s really serious” etc but the best one “If you can’t take it seriously, do you think you should really be getting help, are you actually ready?”

I cut off the conversation without a reply.

The reason it annoyed me so much was that in the past year, nowhere have I seen a document that decrees how you should approach accepting/being Transgender. I have spent over thirty years feeling like a freak, depressed, being in denial, and now I know who I am I feel comfortable using humour. I use the terms game playing and hoop jumping as a way of saying that I know what I want and I’ll do whatever it takes.

The flip side of this attitude, is that, in order to escape “androgyny” as requested for my next appointment, and having said I would not go down the skirt/dress route of attire, I found myself looking at the aforementioned articles. Not only looking at, but I bought a skirt, because, while struggling to find something to wear, I was hit by a revelation.

I Want To Be Feminine!!!

I ran from the concept because of my height and although I’m a woman, I was still worried about presenting as a freakish caricature of femininity. I now realise, that thinking in that way, I am still keeping myself in a closet, or more like a publicly viewable cage and to a point being kept in my place by a set of archaic gender norms.

I’m not prepared to do that. I don’t want to look like Lily Savage or Ru Paul (No offence meant to any Drag Artists), but I do want to be able to wear a skirt and heels if I choose, I want to be able to wear shorts in Summer. In short I want to feel free to be myself inside and outside.

I said earlier. that I had stopped frequenting chat rooms and forums as much recently. And the reason is because of the type of attitude that resulted in my “reprimand”. I haven’t been out as Rachael yet not because I’m scared or I’m not ready mentally, it’s just that an appropriate occasion with an appropriate companion hasn’t arisen. But in some quarters this can be seen as…. well it appears to be looked down on.

The best way I can appropriate this attitude, And I am generalizing here, but I have seen this showing through in some forum postings

John Cleese & The Two Ronnies – Class

Now mentally I want you to substitute the terms Upper Class, Middle Class and Working Class for the terms Transsexual, Transvestite and Cross Dresser respectively.

Again this is not my opinion, just an observation of a quite destructive attitude that I have seen on various “Trans” sites, and hence I want no part of a community that contains any trace of snobbery or bigotry in a community that already suffers a disproportionate amount of prejudice from society in general.

I’m not saying I want to disassociate myself from the Transgender community, just from participating in the online community.

The other reason, I am having an issue with the online community, is that while the internet has been great for Transgender People, with an ease of access to so much information that can help with the transition process, there are also people, as there are in the CIS world (Another Term I dislike – We want to be equal yet we differentiate. Why?) Who have been there done it and bought the T-Shirt and who are always right.

Now I though at my age I could judge quite well, when I moved to Spain I had a similar thing with the expat community telling me how to deal with the Spanish Beurocracy, I said thank you but I’ll find things out in my way. It worked for me and showed me that there are a lot of people who really shouldn’t give advice. My brain unfortunately completely shut out this knowledge when I started this journey. I was lucky though I had people telling me I was being a dick and whatever was causing it I should stop doing so I did. But for younger or people less sure of themselves it could prove quite damaging.

Again this is not a criticism of the Transgender Community or of Transgender people, just an observation that not everything found online is beneficial, at least it wasn’t for me. If I have offended anybody, sorry it wasn’t my intention, and my ability with words is somewhat Northern and can be therefore classed as blunt.

That’s it soap box is away again.

And on a final note for now.

After yesterday, chest is still in agony and the next wave of hair is showing through. Going to have to do it tonight, OOOOWWWWW!!!!

Once again Thanks To Val for reminding me that random thoughts are valid and to Hannah for showing me that sometimes even the smallest thing can in reality be quite a large step forward.



Zen And The Art Of Hair Removal………

I believe I may have mentioned in a previous post  about my adventures in the land of Hair Removal, and it’s rather unsuccessful results.

With the advent of my forthcoming appointment to the GIC I decided that it was once more time to visit that land of Nightmares. Now my decision was not based on anything said at the clinic, (I wasn’t going to go with any leg flesh, or any other flesh for that matter, showing) but purely on the basis that the time felt right for me.

So, thus decided, I sauntered into the local Boots (Other Chemists are available) to purchase, in no particular order, lady razors, Agent Orange hair removal cream and last but not least an Epilator. Now the lady razors, no reason other than it felt right and it felt like a small step forward. Agent Orange I’ve bought before, and the epilator I bought on the basis that prolonged use causes hair to grow back thinner and slower. (We’ll see)

It still took me a week to start, as I still worry about causing diplomatic nightmares at home. Night 1 =Lower Right Leg, Night 2 = Lower Left Leg, Night 3 = Upper Left Night 4 = Upper Right – No Problems. slight regrowth and no significant skin loss. The following three nights were spent on underarms (Armpits doesn’t sound right now) chest and for the sake of politeness lets just say bikini. I wouldn’t have bothered, but for the fact, that unfortunately, I have to tuck and tape (I am not elaborating) and the presence of hair in that particular region causes pain with a capital P! Enough said.

I digress, having finished the basics and removed the majority with the razors, I proceeded to apply Agent Orange  to some of the more difficult areas to reach.

Having then had a few days gap due to some unpleasant chafing, I decided to do an all over epilation. Dry is agony, in the shower is bearable……. Except the chest, OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I will persist. Although I fail to understand, how, after the application of razors, Agent Orange and an epilator I have managed to miss great swathes of brushland.

I have other things to write about, but having read through this I really feel that possibly this should stand alone. In fact in all honesty it should probably be consigned to somewhere dark and inaccessible, but to censor myself would defeat the object of why I started this blog. So it stays; and with all the unpleasant images it conjures up. 🙂




What Do You Call…………

The title has nothing to do with the post.

My ability to find suitable titles eludes me. And it was always the title that came first, followed by the out pouring of litery Tourettes. However a lot seems to have happened again in a short space of time, and I fear that to not publish would result in a lapse of memory and thus a failure to record a detail that may or may not be relevent at a later date.

I have never read any of my previous posts and don’t intend to, even though this is a journal of my journey. Just to know that it has been recorded is enough for me.

Anyway….. more shopping, more counselling, more visits to the doctors and I came out at work (with the previously mentioned nudge from Facebook)

At this point I have to say that I may well provide too much information, and for this I apologise in advance.

Replacement jeans are on the way in a size 18 woohoo! A new jacket size 22 that  I can fit other clothes on underneath, that’s the practical parts sorted out.

I did buy a handbag and a scarf, not, however, because I thought I needed them, but because I liked them. (I don’t do shopping, but apparently now I do)

Another thing I swore I wouldn’t do is wear skirts, dresses or anything too girly. And yet I now have a skirt and a lace top on my shopping list (I am still adamant on the dresses though 🙂 )


I’ve put the date in because I have started to write this again two weeks after I started it. Also in the preceding two weeks I have seen a dress, (Yes I know I said I wouldn’t) that I am going to order next pay day.

I have my next appointment at the Gender Clinic on the second of March, I’m ready. My make-up skills are not however. I have found a beautician who is going to do my make-up and shape my eyebrows for the appointment. The great thing about her, is that not only was she really happy to do my make-up she made me feel like she would be proud to do it. I thought I imagined the last part but I was there with my Stepdaughter  who said the same thing. She is opening her salon for me on the Monday, which is normally closed. She is also trying to find me a hairdresser.

The other items recently arrived are breast forms, 44D or now they appear to be a 42D

I have hip forms due soon and some bum enhancers, I also have a large Brasillian elastic band (Championed by Gok Wan apparently) also known as a waist cincher. I do have a lace up corset cincer but cannot fasten it myself, hence the elastic band.

At this point I have to say that these plastic body parts are not by choice but to enable me to jump through the hoops thoughtfully provided by the gender clinic.

I want their help so I’ll play their games.

I came out at work. (I am really beginning to despise this term – I think it sounds as though you’re having to apologise for something) I really love my colleagues, they have been so supportive. “Are you happy? then what’s the problem?” is pretty much the reaction. They don’t treat me any differently, they still take the piss, only now they have something else to joke about and none of it malicious.

I posted a humorous picture from a website next to my desk the day before I went to work away. When my colleagues saw it they thought that someone from another part of the company had put it there. And wanted to take it down before I got back, till I told them it was me.

Anyway, I’m hoping to have some new photos for my next apppointment, this time with my own hair.