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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

Sigh no more, ladies...
8:27 a.m. -- 2008-09-01

Victoria and I spent the weekend in York, which is a really great city. There are quite a few genuinely different shops there; not just the 'usual suspects' that you find in every town. If you get bored of shops (I'm not a very good tranny - I rapidly tire of shopping!) there are several refuges for the differently-motivated. For one thing, there's the river. A walk alongside the Ouse (I think it's the Ouse?) is good for the soul... or you can hire a motorboat if you want.

Alternatively, may I recommend the city walls? They're not quite as (new word for the day...) contiguous as Chester's walls, but they seem longer, and more interesting, being a bit higgeldy-piggeldy. They get you away from traffic and crowded pavements, and give you a vantage-point to view everything, from a virtually private highway among the trees. Alternative sanctuaries from the hustle and bustle of the city include the Minster, and the museum gardens. The Minster was the scene of a fire in my teenage years, but everything has now been repaired. Actually, that was only the most recent fire... the building was badly damaged in 1840, 1137, and actually destroyed in 741 AD. Those people really shouldn't be allowed candles!

The museum gardens were the scene of some excellent open-air theatre on our first night; Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. We had a picnic (well, there were some olives and cheeses to soak up the wine...) and we watched the play from amid the ruins of a Norman church. Considering that we were located just a short walk from the inner ring road, it was an incredibly quiet setting.

Let's be honest... some Shakespeare is done appallingly. It's tired and over-worked. Too familiar, both to actors and audience. The comedies are delivered with a dreadful sense of duty, and the tragedies with pessimistic predestination. Worse yet, some companies interfere with the material in an embarrassing effort to make it funky or relevant to da yoof.

Not so the Lord Chamberlain's Men. This was classic material, delivered with freshness and fun... and some singing. The madrigals really worked well.

Now, I'd be failing in my transvestic duty if I didn't point out that the Lord Chamberlain's Men are exactly that; seven guys and not a girl among them. So Hero, Beatrice, etc. are played by men in dresses. Just as they would have been for audiences at the Globe Theatre in 1599. That wasn't anything like as dreadful as it might sound. In fact, after the first couple of sentences, one just accepts the female characters (with their flat chests and slightly deep voices) without further thought. Quite simply: good acting.

How come I never get to wear a pretty dress in late 16th century fashions? But then, even if I'd become a Shakespearean actor, I guess my colleagues would have wondered why I felt it necessary to wear matching undergarments...

Trannies were deceivers ever;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one thing constant never.

It's funny how readily we jet off to France, Scandinavia, Italy... and overlook a gem like York, which can be reached in about the same amount of time it takes to drive to a major airport. I don't think we've found the definitive hotel yet (in fact, York's inner city hotels seem to be pretty ropey), but the city itself is one that I look forward to returning to.

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