Well, to show the world that I'm back in the land of the living, and not doing a Queen Victoria (i.e. stay in deep mourning for eighty two years), I'm going to Transister in Brighton this Saturday. I've been there before, of course, so I know what's what, if not exactly who's who. If you want to spot me and say hello, I'll be in a white number with black splodges on it (as if someone has chucked some paint over me), black leggings, black shoes, black bag, and probably an orange scarf. Otherwise as I look on Flickr or in a recent posting, because I don't go anywhere in heavy disguise.
Transister is a friendly, cheerful and very welcoming venue for a classy pay-on-the-door night out all dressed up. So far as I can see, transvestites outnumber transsexuals five to one, and I think that you can distinguish a transvestite because of the outstanding care and attention given to dress, hair and makeup. Perhaps because it's a part-time thing, transvestites really go to the limit when they get a chance of a glam night out. Physically there's no telling. Amazing things can be done with padding and sticky tape, and presumably corsets, although there's nothing you can do about bad legs except cover them up. There are always a large number of real girls, meaning natal females, and I suppose many come with their transvestite partners. Male-to-female transssexuals may have 'girl friends' but mostly not girlfriends in the normal sense, and (sadly) almost certainly not a female life partner. Some real girls come without males in tow, and just join in the fun. That's how Transister is, easy and relaxing and non-threatening, a world away from any cattle-market. Mind you, meeting up and making new friends is meant to be part of the night's business, although if you want to chat quietly you do need to go outside with the smokers. That means the sea breeze as well, so some kind of shawl or wrap is a good idea.
Brighton being the place it is, there is no problem about walking between where you parked your car and the entrance, and then back again at 3am. Nobody attacks you or even notices you, or if they do it's all very good-natured. At any time of the day it's a normal thing to see unusually-attired individuals in the city centre or on the seafront, generally street musicians and suchlike rather than goths and drag queens, but it's the sort of place that can cater for any style. That's why you're safe to express yourself. It's a great place to go people-watching, and to study for example what the foreign students are wearing, if you want to emulate that look. I very much like just walking around, especially when it's sunny, blending in, another tourist out for the day (and they come in droves, all year round).
Brighton is even better if you have company. And in this respect I'm a bit stuck. It's all very well being self-sufficient and happy to do things on my own, but many things are best shared. Last night I had a moment, a pang, of wanting a drink and a chat with a friend. But their landline was engaged, and when I tried a little later they didn't answer and had perhaps gone out. Not wanting to intrude on their evening, I didn't phone them on their mobile. I have these self-imposed rules, and I'm desperately anxious not to 'use' people to alleviate personal unhappiness, distress or boredom. The sad thing was that there was nobody else I felt I could contact. This has to be a warning light flashing. I am now very, very isolated and must for my own social wellbeing find myself a wider circle of friends. The internet is an obvious source, and I'm moved by the supportive comments to my blog posts and the occasional personal email. For those who have sent me such responses, many thanks indeed! And do I mean it. But we are all scattered, and it seems that we will never actually meet and form proper friendships. I hope I'm wrong about that.
There are also websites that specialise in bringing people together (tvChix, for example), and possibly this offers more chances of contact, although most site members appear to think that a photo of themselves in stockings and suspenders, with a frank rundown on their sexual status, is going to find them the right people to share their time with. I find this mildly distressing, partly because sex is a difficult subject with me just now, and partly because I want to meet three-dimensional, interesting, articulate trannies with some culture. I don't want to see only bums and tits.
Lumberjacking's no life for a girly. Perhaps I should put on women's clothing, and hang around in bars.