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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

A state of transition
9:23 a.m. -- 2009-05-13

My parents gave us a hydrangea... which if you've seen my garden, you will know is about as wise as giving King Herod a job in a day care centre.

Previously, I thought that "hydrangea" was what Tonto said to his companion, when they were trying to sneak up on some cattle rustlers or something. But no... it turns out to be some kind of vegetation. A notoriously fragile plant that can spontaneously decide to die if you whistle off-tune, water it too much, water it too little, wear odd socks, look at it in the wrong way...

My first job was to transfer it to a bigger pot, because the one it came in was so small that the moisture level had to be checked every seven and a half minutes. Also, it had a tendency to blow over if a gnat sneezed, and then roll around looking forlorn. Arriving home to find Harry the Hydrangea (I just thought of that name) rolling around on the gravel makes you feel much the same as if you popped out to the post office for a minute, and then came home to find your toddler had chosen that particular moment to start playing with razor blades...

Honestly, this plant is such an attention-seeker, you have no idea! First off, I had to buy a bag of ericaceous potting compost because mere ordinary potting compost just isn't good enough for this prima donna of the plant world. Quite who Eric O'Shea is, and how his name came to be associated with bags of overpriced dirt, I have no idea. Anyway... said special mud was duly purchased, and the plant seems quite pleased with its newly expanded home. It still likes to go all limp and wilty, to punish us for daring to have a day out... but it does it less often now.

Then the damn thing started going pink.

Now, I have no problem with pink. I quite like it, in fact, but I'm told by plant snobs (basically, our two sets of parents) that Harry should be - and should remain - blue.

Nobody, it appears, has told Harry this. Harry seems to want, in fact, to become Heidi: a luxuriant pink creature.

Such a disappointment. I mean, we're happy if he's happy, and healthy... but we'd always assumed Harry would meet a nice girl-plant, and settle down. Cross-pollinate, and have some seedlings, sort of thing. Even now, we're hoping that Harry is just going through a bit of a 'pink phase', as an experiment. Maybe when he's older, he'll come to his senses. He's always been a little highly-strung, so I can't say we're completely surprised...

In fact, I've spoken to a specialist about it, and apparently it's all down to something in the drinking water. Not Harry's fault at all. Delicate creature that he is, Harry shouldn't be given tap water, or he'll continue to turn pink. Instead, we must catch rainwater and store it, just for Harry. Or give him Evian, or something.

Well...

You know what? I'm starting to think Heidi's not so bad!

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