Pink Ball, Corner Pocket 

There are many useful words in the Scottish lexicon.  My favourite is probably Baws. It’s potential uses are legion. A single word that can mean many things depending on context.

It can just as easily mean “the argument you are putting forward carries no scientific merit” as “Damn it,  this rain is torrential and I am without an umbrella “. It is singularly useful.  But it’s probably chiefly used to describe one’s testicles. And that’s what we are going with today.

As the spectre of surgery soars ever nearer on my horizon,  I find myself wondering more and more what my operation will really mean. It may be the ultimate case of separation anxiety.  Imagine a distraught dog wondering where it’s Master has gone. I think we all know that nobody is being sent to live on a really nice farm in this scenario and I’m mentally preparing for the fact that I may miss my accoutrements. And the impact that may have on me.

Humour is my default position whenever I face something difficult though.  I like to think it’s a healthy enough defence mechanism.  But this post is partly to illustrate that I really have thought everything through. No metaphoric stone(s) left unturned. The change might potentially be traumatic but I’m ready for it. Or as ready as I’m likely to be. To be fair,  it’s not like I’m using them much. I wish I could donate them to medical science though. Because it was hard enough to find the courage and being Transsexual takes a barrowload of baws.


I’ve pretty much been as high as a kite since I got my surgery appointment confirmed.  Things really couldn’t be much better than they are. Everything seems to be finally coalescing into something real.

People have since asked if I’m going to go through with it. It’s a reasonable enough question to have of me. Well, I think it is. If you have never questioned your own gender then I imagine it must still be hard to wrap your head around. I’m not sure I can offer a concise soundbitey explanation either. 

But here goes. Surgery is just the thing that makes sense of the last four years for me. It’s been a ridiculously long process. And it’s been as painful and difficult as much as it has been enlightening,  life affirming and an education. 

And I’m ready to do it now.  Not that there aren’t sometimes doubts. Of course, I’m not reckless. But surgery won’t make me any different really.  It may be a cosmic mindfuck in terms of replumbing but I’ll still just be me. Only happier.  One might hope.  It’s just occurred to me as I end this post that I should have gone with Dancing On The Ceiling.  Damn it!


Loaded Questions 

So, I finally got my appointment to see the surgeon. Friday 16th June at the hugely convenient time of 8.30am. It feels like an enormous milestone though. Like reaching land after drifting aimlessly through a shipwreck of a life.

I have hundreds of questions that need answered by the surgeon.  And a few for myself to boot. “Just what is it that you want to do?”. Now that it’s time, it’s actually as scary as fuck. There is no other expression that covers it.

In a matter of months I could have had my operation and be adjusting to the new life I’ve been clawing the path towards for an age. And I’m a little bit terrified.  Although totally ecstatic at the same time. 

I’m still of the opinion that it is sensible to be scared. I’ll never do anything so life altering again.  Short of becoming an astronaut. But it’s all systems go. The answers are within reach and a clock has started ticking down.  Kind of can’t wait 🙂


Three Heel Clicks Ought To Do It

In a few short hours I’ll be heading back to Glasgow.  As much as I love being on holiday, there is no place like your home. I can’t wait to see my own city. In the same way as you miss an old friend. 

I love to travel and in particular I love where I am writing this from. Chania is the only place I have ever felt the need to return more than once. I can’t imagine a year now where I wouldn’t visit at least once.

Which is largely because of the people. Open, friendly and funny. Like an alternate universe Glasgow really.  If we ever saw the sun. 

But to sleep in my own bed in my own home is still a simple joy I am looking forward to. You can take the girl out of Glasgow.  You can never take the Glasgow out of the girl.


The Start Of Something. 

A Scottish transsexual walks into an Irish bar in Crete and it’s owned by an English man. Can’t help but think it’s the start of one of those awful jokes. But it’s still as surreal a situation as I’ve found myself in.

Made all the better by watching Eurovision hosted in a language I don’t understand.  I actually think it may have improved the experience.  Not that it mattered.  I was there for the craic. And there was plenty of that to be had.

Been a little too busy to blog of late. Life getting in the way is not something to complain about though.  Although I did start several posts, there was just something more pressing to do at the time.

Which was generally just catching up with folk I love and hearing their news. I don’t think there is anything better in the world. But I’m currently on a Greek island,  dissolving drip by drip in 31 degree heat at barely 11am. My sunny disposition might be somewhat artificial as a result.  

I care not. It’s another wonderful day, breakfast is at the bottom of the stairs and my holiday is but halfway through.  I’m going to get back to it.  But have yourself a lovely day. Whatever you be doing.