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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

Pffftthhhbbbppt!
10:54 p.m. -- 2009-02-26

�Pffftthhhbbbppt� is a kind of raspberry sound you might make with your lips, indicating a sense of relief, or a narrow escape. And tonight, I am pffftthhhbbbppting because I appear to have secured another month�s employment. With just one day to go! Two if you count Saturday, but I try not to. So maybe I�m not facing unemployment... not just yet. And perhaps by the end of March (a nice, respectable month that has the decency to include 31 days) things will be clearer.

So it ain�t all bad!

But enough of all this serious stuff. I�d like to talk about telly instead.

Back in the autumn, you might have seen the Wallander television series, starring Kenneth Brannagh. Or like me, you might have recorded it and then not got around to watching it until now. I do that a lot. Anyway, it�s a cop show, but it�s really a very good one.

Wallander is dark. It�s set amid beautiful Swedish scenery, but this isn�t Heartbeat Does Scandinavia. Neither does it offer the comically grisly homicide demographic of the Midsomer Murders; just a peek at the darker recesses of the human mind.

(It�s probably best you don�t read any further, if you�re intending to watch the series yourself, at some point.)

Episode three (they only made three so far) sees Wallander and the gang trying to solve the murder of their colleague, Svedberg, while he was trying to locate some missing teenagers.

I�m not doing the programme justice here, skipping over several well-executed sub-plots, including Wallander�s relationship with the deceased. He�s staggered to learn that Svedberg considered him to be his best friend, when he never really knew him.

A search of Svedberg�s house reveals some photos of a mystery blonde, tentatively identified as �Louise� (shown below), and implies a link with the missing children.

Meanwhile, stuff happens, and some of it is really quite upsetting. But why am I writing about this?

Well it turns out that �Louise� is a transvestite... and a psychopath. Definitely not an �executive transvestite� as Eddie Izzard would say.

So we can add �Louise� to the List of Scary Transvestites, to rank alongside Norman Bates in Psycho and that weirdo in The Silence of the Lambs. We transvestites really don�t get a very good press, do we?

Sometimes, trannying is (or is meant to be) humorous, such as in the �Carry On� films, in Nuns on the Run, Some Like it Hot... maybe Klinger�s role in M*A*S*H. All too often, though, it seems we�re portrayed as killers. Which is just another reason why I don�t seem to be a fully committed transvestite. I just don�t have the homicidal tendencies.

Okay, I�m kidding.

�I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman...� *

She�s buried under the patio.






[*] Actually, that�s Queen Elizabeth I in 1588, speaking to her troops assembled at Tilbury before they took on the Spanish Armada. She followed up with �but I have the heart and stomach of a king.�

She didn�t say which king, nor how she was intending to enjoy these delicacies.

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