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� In this diary, I record my life as a transvestite. Perhaps it will help somebody else, who finds their lifestyle doesn't quite match that endorsed by the 'tranny mafia'. Well, I've been there... and survived. The debriefing starts here.

�loves: All kinds of stuff that society thinks I shouldn't.

�hates: Microsoft. Obviously.

�reads:
secret-motel
my-serenade
boombasticat
annanotbob2
enfinblue
ten-oclock
stepfordtart
fifidellabon
artgnome
lawliiet
annanotbob

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

R&R@home
4:24 p.m. -- 2023-08-12

A quiet weekend. Funny how much I appreciate those: we spend a small fortune to go on holiday, come back, just about manage to do the laundry and stagger back into work... then a weekend at home with not a whole lot to do proves to be so much nicer!

Okay, that’s not fair. We did some good things on holiday – but what we did on holiday was holiday-type stuff; you can imagine. Mountains; adventure sports; photography; culture; shopping for those we left behind; trying to find a beer that wasn’t a lager; driving on the wrong side of the road. Classic European kind of stuff.

Right now, I’m keeping an eye on the dough I just made, because I’ll need to knock it back soon and shape it, then warm up the oven while it does its second rise. Good stuff, homemade bread. Good for the psyche, too. (I won’t say ‘soul’ because it’s a word that’s prone to being hijacked...)

Damn it, why am I even writing this? Prevaricating about the bush... perhaps taking a break from my novel draft at (quick check) 45,725 words so far. I paused while we were on holiday, but it’s flying together of its own accord, now. I love it when a story does that*.

Yeah, it seems that switching into a different window and typing some more is a break from typing. What a strange species we are! Across the room, my young son is whispering under his breath as he types frantically, probably to the people in a ‘Roblox’ game. It might be bad parenting, but I’m glad he’s able to entertain himself, when I feel like writing. Which I do! Oh – and bread.

Bye.

*I’m not trying to flog you anything. You don’t know my pen name/s.

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