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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
artgnome
enfinblue
stepfordtart
ten-oclock
boombasticat
lawliiet
annanotbob
fifidellabon
my-serenade

Lynn Jones
Becky
Samantha

From our correspondent in... drag
8:04 a.m. -- 2008-07-22

Have you any idea just how difficult it is to write about cross-dressing, seven days a week? Just so you know, I wouldn't normally think about it every day. I certainly wouldn't expect to feel a temptation to get dolled up, on a daily basis.

Since I began this, er, 'project' a month ago I've written fifty articles on the subject of cross-dressing. That's come as a pleasant surprise, but it's also a little bit scary. I thought that being a bit girlie was a very minor component of my life, and one that was getting less important all the time. I'd estimate that I am quite content being entirely masculine about 98% of the time... so why am I spending an hour or more writing about transgender issues, every day? Why am I forever sneaking a quick check of my 'notes' page, my e-mail and my Sitemeter statistics?

I guess it must matter to me a lot more than I thought. I haven't got it all out of my system after all. Or something. Time will tell.

The trouble with this single-issue approach to blogging is that I can't really call upon real life for inspiration. "Fed the cat; watched some telly; did some sit-ups..." It's not really going to satisfy. So what on Earth am I going to write about next? Recounting my actual adventures in cross-dressing won't do; despite all the additional thought I've been giving to my life as a transvestite, I haven't done very much cross-dressing since the diary began. (I tried on a pair of Victoria's jeans the other day and was really pleased that they fitted... but so what?)

I never cease to be amazed at the way a regular columnist like Jeremy Clarkson manages to come up with something clever to say, week after week, as he reviews what is basically a tin box with a pneumatic tyre at each corner. That must be really difficult, especially given that he ought to find something nice to say about every car. Even the ones made by Vauxhall (Opel, or a particularly low-spec brand from G.M., if you're reading this overseas.)

The difference between one day in my life and the next is a lot like the difference between one car and another. Some are shiny and some are rusty, but relatively few of them are worthy of an article. Clarkson, of course, has a steady stream of cars being dropped off at his home, all gassed up and ready to go. Each of them brand new, high-spec and shiny. And by implication... not quite real. You don't really get to learn much from perfection. Real life is about punctures, flat batteries and an annoying little rattle that you just can't fix. Seems that way to me, anyway.

Incidentally, if a major lingerie manufacturer wanted to send me review copies of all their new stuff, I'm prepared to do a regular column. How heavenly would that be? We're talking about a potential market of maybe 900,000 trannies in the UK, so it could be worth thinking about.

(Size 36C bust and size 12 hips, please.)

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