Justine's TV Times

With all the stress in my life lately I thought a nice bit of ‘comfort dressing’ might be in order the other weekend.

I got talking to Jenny on facebook & I offered to show her some of the sights in town the following day, having realised I originally promised to plan a social gathering that weekend before life got in the way & buggered everything up.  A plan came together – she’d get the train from Stoke, I’d drive in & park near the station as I generally do.

I fished out my trusty black shirt dress that I wore on the MKAngels journey, teamed it with purple opaques, purple scarf & my almost heel-less slouch boots. Lots of walking was on the cards so I needed to have comfy feet.

Spotted by my neighbour again.  “Hiya!” she yelled.  “Off into town?”.  “Yes thanks”, said I.  “Have fun”.  Awww.  I’m not sure but this neighbour knowing seems to have opened up more of a dialogue than there ever was before. Or maybe it’s just me imagining things.  I threw my bag onto the passenger seat & drove into town.

Parked up, I wandered off to meet Jenny at Piccadilly station. Found, we headed into town & I gave a whistle-stop tour of notable landmarks. Time for some shopping, then a very leisurely coffee (which we inadvertently mixed up.. duh I thought mine tasted a bit chocolatey) & some more shopping.  Shoes were sampled but nothing fitting was found. Eyelids were apparently never batted, and not even the merest of titters from the myriad teenage girls patrolling the streets & shops.. Dum de dum, just going about my business in town, nothing to see here. Just how it should be.  Sometimes I feel like a privileged imposter, an interloper.  That probably isn’t too far from the truth.  Anyway, off to Arndale Market we toddled & I bought some ludicrously cheap earrings & a shiny bangle.  By this point the chocolate enhanced coffee had given me a mild case of the shakes which made it tricky negotiating my purse.  Arghhh.  It couldn’t have been helped by the fact I’d had so little sleep in the preceeding days either.

A trip to Debenhams came about & I saw some shoes in the sale I liked. Tried them on, walked around a bit… I like, so I buy!   Of course the pair I picked didn’t have a price tag on, but hey… the shaking had worn off & the assistant did her job dutifuly. Smiles & pleasantries.. all good in my book.

From there we decided to go for another sit down & a drink.  I’d not been in the Piccadilly branch of Kro so we opted to go there, seeing as it was close.  No diet Coke for Jenny so she had to make do with a smoothie from a bottle.  I asked for a bottle of Peroni.. which ended up being a pint.  I wasn’t going to complain, but their card is marked.  Drinks got, we moved outside & nattered away the best part of an hour setting the world to rights until an Asian fortune-teller crossed our path.  Jenny was told she had ‘a lucky face’.  I’m always suspicious of compliments from strangers, especially when they’re about to ask for money in exchange for a service & I got the impression this guy wasn’t easily going to take no for an answer.  We said our farewells – I headed in the direction of the car park & Jenny set about finding a gift for Mother’s Day.

As far as this, I couldn’t really think of a better way to while away a Saturday afternoon.  My plan for the rest of the day was to get some sleep & wait for Donna to arrive to get ready for our night out.  Fat chance, not even Horizon’s dumbed down tone could get me into a nap once I got home. Buggeration.  I chatted with some folks online for a while & Donna texted to say she was on her way with a home-made casserole(!).

Donna was taken aback when I answered the door already ‘dressed’ & asked if I’d been ready long.  Oh gawd yes, been into town today & everything I said.  “looking like that?”.  Whatever that meant.  The casserole was very edible & went down well with a jacket potato each.  We had a cuppa & did the obligatory catching up before changing into nighttime outfits.

I was beaten once again by my inability to apply false eyelashes – something I really need more practice at.  I was adept in my late teens but hadn’t bothered them at all since.  Meh.  Are they even worth the effort?  Teamed up my latest Oli dress (as worn at the MK Angels birthday party), pink belt, black Wolford sheers & my spanky new shoes.  Not forgetting my new earrings of course…

Off we went into town in the Donna taxi, got parked up & made our way to the infamous cobbles.  It was FREEZING cold.  Donna wasn’t so badly off in her satin trousers but me.. I think I picked the wrong night to wear sheer tights.

Paddy’s Goose was the first port of call.  There was a funny smell, like the drains had exploded. Not nice.  Donna noticed I was being surveyed by a dodgy looking geezer in a leather jacket.. and his missus.. ouch.  Maybe it was her they were after.  Either way I didn’t feel flattered!  From there we nipped around the corner to Bar Below for a couple of drinks.  That place never fails to be nice, friendly & right in just about every area.  Oh, apart from the teeny underagers begging to be bought drinks they were willing to pay for.  A small annoyance, seeing as there were only two of them.

We spent far longer than we’d bargained for in Bar Below so by the time we decided to leave it was getting on for clubbing time.  I casually brought up the subject of ‘Fab Cafe’ on Portland St, a brilliantly cool unpretentious (if a bit divey) scifi theme bar.. and to my amazement Donna called my bluff.  So off we went… to OUTSIDE THE VILLAGE! :-O

It was still bitterly cold so it was a brisk walk we made to Portland St, only to find that Fab Cafe was closed!  Ah, but there was a catch.. for one night only, we were told, Fab Cafe is going head to head with ‘The Tiger Lounge’ at a nearby club: Satan’s Hollow.  The name rang a bell, but I wasn’t sure where it was.  It wasn’t going to be open til 11pm anyway, so I got the short straw & we ventured to New York New York.

I’m never impressed with that place, whether it’s the over-aged crowd or the straight blokes on the prowl.. or just the rude people who barge their way past everybody.. or the utterly shite music they play. But this time it excelled itself.  The music was below diabolical – and the crowd were.. to put it mildly.. mostly prize arseholes.  That is, the ones who were of legal drinking age.  Never before have I been pestered to buy kids drinks in a venue.. and I hope it never happens again.  I find feral children in packs unsettling.  There were polite enough, mind.

I had a brainwave to try & find out where this ‘Satan’s Hollow’ place was with my phone’s internet connection.. and came out blank.  Ahh, but the flyer Donna picked up had an address.. 101 Princess St.  DUH.  Behind Cruz 101 of course!   Leave NYNY, turn right, turn right again… walk about 100 yards & turn right again… tada!  Jees – we’d gone all out, resolutely destined to spend some time outside the village in a ‘normal’ venue & we ended up mere yards from the village after all.  Madame irony was having fun that night.

I paid us into the club.. two paltry pounds each… and discovered to my great surprise that this was the venue I stumbled upon many years previous on a night out with my good friend Andrew – the only snag being that both of us were so tanked that night neither of us could remember how we got there or what it was called.  I recognised the decor immediately though.  The name of the club sort of gives it away.. Satan’s Hollow.. bing!  Very goffick, very well done actually.

Eyebrows were tilted in our direction.. or so it felt like – and once on the dancefloor in the Fab Cafe section I noticed a few sniggering twats at the back.. but nothing we couldn’t ignore.  I prefer sniggering twats to the kind of asshats who visit NYNY anytime   The music was as eclectic as I’d ever heard in one venue.. everything from The Stray Cats to Cliff Richard (only Devil Woman, thank gawd), with bits of contemporary ‘indie’ thrown in for good measure.  Very pleasant indeed.

We danced, I drank.  We danced some more, I drank some more.. and then it was time to go home.  Notable points in the meantime were pretty young ladies wanting to dance.. and a very convincing Johnny Depp lookeylikey who kissed my hand before he left the club (he was even wearing eyeliner).. heh.

All in all, a very successful day & night.  It certainly helped me relax & forget about the recent troubles anyway.. just the tonic!

Valentine’s Day is not generally something I look forward to. It doesn’t exactly fill me with dread either, but I loathe the prospect of hunting for something suitable among all the generic card shops.  It seems it’s impossible to locate something tasteful that doesn’t make me want to vomit with its trite sentimentality.  Anyway, after the longest card hunt to date I managed to find something sweet.

The day itself was initially quite pleasant – we swapped cards, shared the housework & got the house looking presentable again. I did a load of ironing & we had a very nice lunch I cooked from scratch.  Om nom nom, as they say.  Then we took our dog for a long walk at Tandle Hill Park, which was also very pleasant.

On the drive home though, my wife took a phone call from her sister.  She became very anxious immediately & demanded to know what was wrong, accusing her sister of making it up. I had no way of knowing what ‘it’ was until my wife finally bludgeoned it out of her sister.  Her mother had died a few minutes previous.  OH FUCK.

I immediately started thinking about what needed to be done once we got home. Cup of tea, loads of comforting and packing.  No time could be wasted.  The drive up North was boring & monotonous & the ever present temptation to drive as fast as my nerves would allow had to be resisted. It wouldn’t have done us any good to bring more misfortune on that day.

We arrived at my inlaws’ house & immediately saw the empty chair where her mother had died suddenly mere hours ago.  This was a shock to us all – she’d been very ill with rheumatoid arthritis for twenty years or more but more or less coped one way or another.  It’s an evil, debilitating disease with no known cure – not to mention the fact that many treatments are pretty much ineffective. Once it gets hold of you that’s it. Game over.  But no, she’d not long had a chest infection & had just finished a course of antibiotics – infact she’d just had a general checkup two days before & all was apparently well. So WHY?

We sat around & talked. Lots of tea was consumed & in some ways life continued as normal.  My wife made an appointment to visit the hospital mortuary the next day, but wasn’t sure whether she really should go or not.  I suggested it’d be a good idea to go & keep the option of paying her last respects open.  We found a parking space & made our way to the hospital reception.  Once there we had to take a seat & wait for the mortuary attendant to collect us.  Life buzzed around us & somebody caught my attention. It was a guy I used to work with in a Whitley Bay bar. All I could do was acknowledge him & give him a ‘not a good time’ look. He nodded.

Andrew the attendant came along after what seemed like an eternity & guided us through a long corridor emblazoned with eye-catching information posters constructed from Comic Sans MS.  I always find it ironic when that font is used – it has the opposite effect of being friendly & comforting to me.  On arriving at the viewing room the situation was explained to us. First, we can look through a window at the body, then go into the room if we’d like.  I tried my hardest to be a solid support for my wife but it wasn’t easy.  It’s not been easy this whole time. It takes its toll.

Without going into any detail, her state was just as described to us & she just looked like she was asleep, albeit without the customary drool hanging from her chin – a detail my wife pointed out.  Unless you’ve seen a lot of deceased folks, I expect it’s still pretty hard to comprehend that somebody is lifeless even when you’re standing next to them.  It’s completely surreal.  Freaky, infact.

Words were said, I remained silent & held my wife for as long as she wanted to stay there.  We made our way out & were asked to take a seat while my wife gathered herself.  Andrew was very good at his job, I’ll say that much. I don’t know what makes somebody choose that as a career but thank gawd people do.  He was very sympathetic, patient, understanding.. brilliant infact.

We learned that there was to be a post-mortem the next morning (Tuesday).  It would’ve been that day but it’d been a ‘busy weekend’.  Funny, I’d never taken Feb 14th as being a good day for shuffling off one’s mortal coil but hey..

On the day of the post-mortem we went into town, bought a few bits & bobs then took our dog to the beach for a run about.  Hunger on the drive back made us sample the delights of Gill Fisheries at Monkseaton.. fish & chips a la Land Of The Giants. Very nice they were too.  I’d just finished mine when the house phone rang.  Dad inlaw answered – it was the coroner.  No definite cause of death could be found. More tests would have to be done. Completed consent forms sent by return of post. FFS. So they STILL don’t know.  No closure yet, then.

I drove us home that afternoon & started to settle us back into our routine. I went back to work but my wife was understandably not ready for that.  She seemed quite chirpy when I got back on Wednesday & told me that a provisional funeral date of Thursday next week has been set.  Almost two weeks after the event, then.

Back at work some people were brilliant, others.. not so much.  “So your mother in law is dead? How can any of that not be good?!” was the tone of two people.  Christ almighty..   I made no secret of never having been her biggest fan but you never want anybody to die for fuck’s sakes.  Our HR dept needed an explanation for the ‘Family bereavement’ entry I put in my time log – the head of HR was very surly & I was tempted to ask if she’d like to see a copy of the death certificate when it’s finally issued.  I really could have screamed the place down.

Keeping myself altogether for my wife has been a strain & my twitter account became a casualty on Wednesday.  DELETE DELETE DELETE DELETE ARGHHHH!  Silly really, as usual.

But I’m back.. my wife is getting chirpier by the day. I think having a baby to look forward to is helping somewhat but let’s not get ahead of ourselves eh.

The great Tommy Boyd – yes the guy who used to present kids’ ITV – used to play a Dennis Leary song on his Talk Sport ‘Human Zoo’ show. It goes “Life’s gonna suck when you grow up, you grow up, you grow up….”  Yup. Life IS gonna suck when you grow up, and we all have to die sometime. But until we do.. keep on truckin’ & try to give back as good as we get eh.

It’s safe to say I’ve had a chequered experience with this thing we call ‘web 2.0′, mostly through a love/hate affair with Facebook but recently I’ve started to warm to its charms.

In the early says I had no patience for the friend collector – the person who adds people to their ‘friends’ list just because they’re there & they’re not already on a list.  I saw absolutely no point in adding people who live miles & miles away with six degrees of separation between us via people who know people we know.  Sod that, I thought.  But then, I’d never even considered what the person on the other end might think.  They might be sensitive souls who just want to connect with folk in the hope they might one day meet & solidify an online acquaintance into something more, or they might just be another vapid fly-by-night .. who knows.

A recent experience on Facebook has led me to give more people the benefit of the doubt.  I mean, what harm is there in allowing more people to add me to their lists?  If somebody’s posts are overbearing it’s not hard to quieten them down in your news feed a bit – there’s probably no real reason to add somebody & later prune the list.  For all I know people hide my status updates too – I wouldn’t be surprised because I’m a prodigious Twitter user (over 1500 tweets & counting) & my FB status absorbs every single tweet. The thing is, if new people want to add me & I ignore them, what happens if we do eventually meet?  That might be worse than awkward.  And what if (as happened in the aforementioned experience) I just don’t realise it’s somebody I already kind of knew from somewhere else but didn’t join the dots? Somebody, as it turns out, I have more in common with than I initially thought… DOH.

So I changed my fat-headed exclusive selection process & binned it.  I’ve long been critical of the infamous ’scene queen’ who upon receiving your polite introduction deems it necessary to pretend you don’t exist – and in many ways I was doing the same.  Granted, doing it in person is probably just damn right callous but the principle is the same.  I was wondering why I’d not been doing so well on the new local friends front & maybe the answer was that I’d been keeping the door locked shut the whole time.  Could I feel more silly?

Since I changed my mind I’ve also made another obvious revelation.  I’ve started to seek out people I’ve already met in person but for whatever reason we never swapped email addresses or whatever.  Yeah – was I really waiting for them to come to me?  Pfft.

Also, resting on my laurels here bemoaning the lack of organised social activity on Mancunian weekends.. that was getting me nowhere too so now I have a cunning plan to start something myself.  Tie that in with the now resolutely back-on (it was cancelled due to my inlaws inviting themselves down for the weekend.. grr) Newcastle trip in March & I’m in business

On now to Twitter… Oh jees.. I could not have been more wrong about it when I first proclaimed it was a waste of space (without ever having tried it, naturally).  With that, I keep in touch (rather generally) with friends (most of whom I’ve met because I ‘knew’ them from there) and connect with new people.  People who I find amusing & interesting, and also seem to reciprocate.  More people to add to my ‘want to meet in person’ list!

Then of course there are the kind folks who drop by here.  Wouldn’t be the same without you and yes, I’d like to meet you all too.  Sparkle might be a good time for that, who knows…

Now to the tricky subject of moodswings.  I’m terribly prone to a bit of a midweek ‘bump’ for some reason I haven’t yet fathomed, similar in concept to the ‘midweek comedowns’ a lot of clubbers experience.  If I caned ecstacy every weekend maybe I’d understand but I don’t… though these lows generally follow a really good weekend where lots of fun was had.  I’ve considered all kinds of causes – from seasonal affective disorder – to full on manic depression – but I think I’m going with ’shit happens, it’s just one of those things’ for now.  An episode generally lasts a day or so, two at most – and involves feeling frustrated & lonely before degenerating into deleting my online presence.  It’s silly, and whenever it ends I’m left feeling stupid like somebody who wakes up the day after a very boozy night out & remembers they were a complete arsehole to somebody/everybody.  Weirdly, most of the mood is centred around online life & doesn’t spill into my domestic situation much.  Go figure.  I don’t deliberately go around deleting things to get attention as far as I know.. but it generally does attract concern which makes me feel all the more stupid when it’s over.  I suspect that if I visited my GP & described the symptoms I’d walk out of the surgery with a prescription for some of those magic Smarties they enjoy peddling at the slightest opportunity these days.  Not for me if I can help it, ta.

I’m very much more aware of it now, and I think I’m starting to get a handle on recognising when it’s about to happen – it’s often said that acknowledgement is one of the first steps to recovery.. fingers crossed eh.  I’ve made a conscious effort to try to cut down the amount of time I spend online.. maybe it’s something to do with that.. or maybe it’s just about wasting too much time online as opposed to actually doing something fun or useful.

Thankfully, whether it has anything to do with having so much to look forward to in the coming weeks I’m not sure, there’s been no sign of it this week

I pulled the TransAnthems podcast last year because it was unlicenced, and to licence it was going to cost big bucks.  I’d still love to bring it back legally, fully legit & not have to fly the skull & crossbones (risking legal action, etc) so I’ve been looking at the PRSForMusic website again.

It seems that their attempt to make music licencing easier for the common person has backfired somewhat.  If you read this it appears to lay out the terms quite simply, and I figure that 68,000 works would amount to a monthly podcast containing 15 tracks downloaded 200 times.  All for the princely sum of £107 a year plus VAT.  Following me so far?  Good.  Read on.. further down the page they say “The licence does not cover the rights in commercial sound recordings”.  The definition of ‘commercial sound recordings’ appears to be what you or I would consider ordinary records sold to the public.  So what kind of music does the licence actually cover then?!  I have a feeling they mean what’s known as ‘production music’ – which generally implies the nondescript ‘musak’ used as background in TV programmes, adverts & the like where they can’t afford to clear ‘real’ music.  Ugh.

The other caveat of course is that any such podcast has to be a mixture of music & speech, meaning I’d have to put my DJ head on again.  Not that I like the sound of my own voice but… it wouldn’t have been so bad.  I need to have the terms of these licences explained to me in plain English.. cos I is not a lawyer.

Anyway, this led me to reminisce about how I used to dream of being a radio presenter.  Not ‘deejay’ because even I wasn’t so green as to believe the people speaking between (and over) the records on radio had much say in what was played.  Yeah I used to wish that maybe one day I’d send a winning demo tape somewhere & get a good radio gig… until I did a weeks’ work experience at a real radio station while I was at college in 1988.

It all started well, I helped the engineering dept. wire up a new studio, got my hands dirty making interesting gadgets for routing audio around the place, sat in on commercial production (making adverts) & all kinds of cool stuff.  I met Jimmy Hibbert (the voice of Aunty on ‘Count Duckula’, creator of ‘Victor & Hugo’ & zillions of radio ads) & lots of voiceover artists still doing the rounds today.  I even edited together some bits of Rick Dees’ weekly top 40 show – all on reel to reel tape – the show arrived from the US on records & tape to be assembled for airplay, edited to fit advert breaks & to comply with local laws.  My job was trimming out a few “Oh my gawd” parts & making the rest fit to time.  Anyway – like I said it was all great fun & mostly very interesting until the very last day.

My last day was when my dreams of working on the airwaves evaporated. I was drafted in to help in the culmination of the station’s ‘Golden Envelope’ competition.  Clues were given out all week long & today during the show the big question would be asked & the prize awarded to the 57th (or whatever) correct caller.  I was to answer the phones, but there was a big catch.  The prize wasn’t actually going to go to the 57th caller who had the right answer, oh no.  I had to pick the winner.  My brief was to pick up calls, and if the person on the other end had the right answer try to guage how excited they’d get if they won.  The caller I picked would have to be bright, excitable & make good radio.  Oh dear.  No pressure, then!  The guy who’d given me the task was the assistant producer.  When his boss found out he wasn’t at all impressed (putting it mildly) but they went ahead & called the ‘winner’ during a news break in the real show.  The presenter spoke to the caller I’d picked, the ‘lucky’ envelope (a blank piece of a4 paper) was ripped open & the caller ‘won’ 10 grand.  This was all recorded, quickly edited (again on open reel tape) & handed to me to cue up on the live studio’s tape machine.  I was in bits!  I was never under any illusion that broadcasting was some kind of magical kingdom but come on guys.. sheesh!  I decided after that to forget all about radio as a career.  Well, mostly.. it’s bloody hard work to get into anyway.. and then what a swizz you have to be to stay there.. nah.

Lots was made recently about competition rigging in radio & television.. as if it’s something new.  It isn’t, and I’ve played a part in it.

So, as Robert Llewellyn says on the channel five show ‘How Do They Do It’…

“the Transanthems podcast.. how do they do it?”

I’ve said in previous posts I use a program called Ableton Live for the majority of my mix work. It’s an incredible tool that allows all kinds of unspeakable audio modification but for me its real power lies in time mangling.  For two or more tracks to meld together a number of things have to be in place.  For one, they have to be the same tempo.  Traditionally in a DJing situation that’s achieved by changing the speed of a turntable (generally as much as plus or minus eight percent) but there’s always a limitation on what sounds ‘right’ using that.  The old rule of thumb was never to go more than four percent either way or a track would sound noticeably different. Nowadays many DJing tools can remove that limitation by changing only the tempo of sound without affecting the musical pitch – or indeed make a track fit better into the mix by changing the musical key as well as its tempo.

Merely changing the speed of a track to make it fit is all well & good if its timing is accurate.  Sadly, human beings don’t always keep good time and some music which was recorded by real people playing real instruments can be a little ‘loose’, making it hard to play alongside other things without beats flamming against one another (i.e. rather than the ‘doof’ of combined kick drums it could be more like ‘d-doof’)

Many computer programs for DJ performance work on the principle of beat grids or maps. A track is loaded up for the first time & the program analyses it to find its musical structure – i.e. where each beat falls in relation to all the other beats.  Ableton isn’t bad at analysing everything automagically but plenty of tunes confuse it which leads the poor mix orchestrator to resort to finding out how the track ‘works’, aka beat mapping.

In the picture below is a picture of a sound waveform in Ableton.  You might notice spiky peaks – those are the beats of the song.  You might also notice how the peaks aren’t aligned with the numbered markers.  The numbered markers indicate where the beats should be for consistent timing.

Waveform view of a sound clip in Ableton

So, what to do about it?  Double-clicking on the number ‘61′ places a beat marker which can be moved around to the real start of the nearest beat, like so:

If timing in the track is good overall, you don’t need to do this trick much.  But if the drummer kept less than perfect timing the poor sound wizard is left with no choice but to find every discrepancy, like in this clip:

This can become a very time-consuming process!  Abba – ‘Does Your Mother Know’, for example.. was a complete bitch to beatmap:

Most modern music doesn’t change tempo much, nor does the timing change much thanks to the fact so much music is computerised, so beat-mapping is generally a 30 second deal.

Already one whole week has passed me since the #MKAngels shenanigans but not without the following taking place:

Mrs Time noticing meeting rooms at work being booked up with no agenda or meeting chair listed, leading to suspicions that the company which bought her employer last year were about to make some changes.  They were, but she’s not affected.  phew.  That made Friday feel like a very long day.

Chatted to a neighbour tonight when she wanted to tell me her drain clearing man had taken a look at our drains when he ‘did’ hers.. it was later slipped into conversation that she saw me leave the house last Friday morning & that I ‘looked really good’.  Oops, I guess the game’s up for real this time. The probable hundreds of times I’ve left the house ‘in mode’ were bound to lead to somebody rumbling me sooner or later.  Not that I’ve ever really been sneaky, but I always used to try to minimise the risk of being spotted.  Apart from that one time last year when I pulled up outside my house in my car & the couple from 3 doors down were just sitting staring at the road in front.  There’s no ‘back way’ here, and we don’t have a driveway so any time I leave the house it’s always pretty much “here I am, get a good look”. Funnily enough that couple from three doors down actually speak to me these days.  Must be the relief at finding out I’m only a tranny, not some dodgy murdering psycho eh. The gym instructor/escort/whatever their eternal skintight catsuit-wearing daughter of theirs on the other hand, still hasn’t melted.  Oh well, if this hasn’t made me more appealing to the orange face community it’s not my loss.

Mrs Time shook her head & drew a breath when I told her about the neighbour chat.  Well, she (the neighbour) is still speaking to us both, so no harm done, she says.  Quite right too.  I’m not sure the people who live on the other side of our house would take kindly to the idea if they don’t already know.. but the guy’s a bit of an arsehole & she’s a basket case (IMHO).. so their opinions count for nought until they affect us directly anyway.

Oh, and I’ve also organised a little shindig in Newcastle for the 27th of March.  Some interest has been taken which is nice – nobody’s under any obligation to come & I’m not expecting a massive turnout but it’ll be great to return to my old stomping ground again.  Somebody I know was initially excited about the plan.. that is, until she found out I’ve invited others.  Damnit, sometimes I just can’t bear how people can be so bloody precious.  I’ll be inviting my sisters again of course.. they’ve both met the other me & we had a blast.  The elder of the two (I’m the eldest btw) has been out with me a few times & schmaltzy ‘long long sister’ comments aside we’ve always had fun.

Lastly, it can’t have escaped your attention that I’ve had a stroll down memory lane recently.  I pulled some posts from a long since vanished blog from the ether to save them here for posterity.  I make no apologies for feeling rather proud of my achievements.

From L-R, Jenny, me, Sophie, Kay, Kimberly

So then.. Pink Punters.. what did I think?  In all honesty it didn’t appear to be as bad as I thought it’d be.  But then I didn’t go for the venue itself, or the music.. or just the opportunity to ‘dress up’. I was there to meet people I’d only ever ‘known’ on the internet and of course the ones I’d all too fleetingly met previously at Sparkle last year.

I arrived early-ish after successfully traversing the infamous ditch – it almost claimed me as another victim in spectacular fashion but I managed to deflect a fall with a loud “WHOAH”.   Arrived at the door in one piece alongside some sceney hoity-toity types who seemed to exist on a plane where ordinary human beings are invisible.  Ah, the trannerati.. ‘welcome’ back to the scene Justine.  MEH.

A quick tour of the venue later it was clear that none of our hashtag crew had arrived yet. Tsck. Early again.  Bumped into Linzi again upstairs & erm.. somebody else who was also very friendly.  I didn’t know at the time but it was the famous Lucinda Ball.  Discovered to my horror that an ordinary single shot of house vodka & lemonade costs well over three quid.. and people say Manchester is expensive (house doubles are silly low, low prices most places I visit in Mancs). Yeesh.  Well, don’t ’spose I came down here to get drunk either then…

Jenny rang to say she was on her way & before I knew it all the hashtag folks had joined us too including Becky.  You’d never have guessed it was two years since her last outing – she looked like she was in her element.  Much chatter was had, one or two new people introduced & the music from downstairs begun to sound inviting.  I said I was going for a dance & Helena came with me.

Sadly the reality was slightly different.  Awful sound quality & a chatty ‘DJ’ coupled with a lack of atmosphere meant I wasn’t really into the dancing so I toddled off back upstairs for the socialising.  Recognised some more faces I’d never met in person so said hello & introduced myself.  What surprised me was being utterly ignored by a couple… I dunno what goes on in the minds of these folks – why can’t they at least be civil FFS?  Anyway, sod them, leave them to it & move on.  There were plenty of genuinely friendly people around.  I bumped into @JaneGoth who I follow on my boy twitter account & we had much baby talk.  I tried my best not to be indelicate around the subject of things everybody doesn’t tell you about pregnancy.. which I might just have managed. Jane said that if we all knew exactly what pregnancy entailed nobody would ever bother. I think she might be right

Time flew as stories were swapped, I tried my level best to be a better listener than a talker (which doesn’t always work, to my shame) and before long 3am had come & gone.  Time to head back to the hotel.  Big day tomorrow!

Sleep didn’t come easily when I got cleaned up, and when it did come it was regularly interrupted.  Finally woke at some ungodly hour & couldn’t get to sleep.  Hmmm.  Had to shave again & I’d forgotten to pack any foam.  I improvised & used moisturiser which worked pretty well, I thought.  Made myself up & got ready.  Same black dress as yesterday daytime accessorised with a purple scarf & purple opaques.  So what was the big plan?

A trip to Bletchley Park.  Woohoo.  No, really.  We piled into two cars again with Louise & Sophie being designated drivers again.  Helena was dropped off at the nearby station & the rest of us parked up.  Thanks to a friendly marshall we found our way to the centre’s reception & paid our way in. We decided to try & get something to eat but the on-site restaurant only had sandwiches on offer & they didn’t look appetising.  Bah, sack it we’ll just go on the guided tour.

This is where a little trepidation entered my mind.  Okay, shopping in daylight – fine.  Being lumped in with a bunch of middle Englander Daily Mail reader types (oooo, who’s stereotyping now?) under an effective microscope & just a teensy bit outside my comfort zone.. I’m not sure I’d ever considered that part.  Heh.  Ah well, just relax . What’s the worst that could happen?  A stare, a scowl, whispers or sniggers?  I needn’t have worried.  The staff were completely professional & as far as I could tell didn’t make any pronoun foul-ups (though I have to admit I was glad our guide didn’t see fit to abbreviate the word ‘transistor’ during our visit to see the rebuilt ‘Collossus’ computer).  Maybe a couple of eyebrows were raised, I dunno.  Did I really expect anything else? Of course not but… like I said just a leetle bit outside my normal comfort zone.  Still, a very informative trip & our visit to the computer museum next door proved me wrong – it was worth a look after all.

All that seen & done we said goodbye to Jenny & Sophie then Louise dropped Saffy & me back at the hotel.  We both had the option of staying another night but nah, home instead.  I rang my wife & was asked to change before returning.  I complied, then she rang to apologise for insisting.. a friend of hers was up for the weekend & they’re er.. sensitive.  I made the concession for my wife’s sake not her friend’s

Saffy kindly gave me a lift to the station & I narrowly missed a train to Manchester thanks to a dodgy ticket barrier.  Grrr, but not to worry there was another before too long.  It was freezing in the station though, so decided to grab a coffee, pastie & a chocolate brownie (well over six quid!! Ouch).  Slumped down on the train when it arrived & enjoyed the ride until Stoke where I noticed a bunch of EDL numpties causing a ruckus on the other side of the tracks.  Some of them got on my train & made their presence felt by stomping up & down the aisle repeatedly yelling into their phones.  Every single one of them was a skinhead.  It all reminded me of seeing National Front loons in the 1980s.. an ugly sight.  Children in the same carriage looked scared, their parents trying to reassure them that they weren’t as bad as they looked.  The parents didn’t look so sure either.  So, I was pretty glad I’d changed back.. not sure my train nerves could’ve stood an encounter with fascists.

So that was it.  All done.  Avenues explored, connections made & strengthened.  It was fantastic to meet everybody again or for the very first time.. I can’t wait until the next time.  Only next time I’ll probably think a bit further ahead.

Now for the thankyous…

Thanks to Jenny for being great company on an otherwise boring train journey, Jo Angel for planning the do & turning up, thanks to Becky for coming out of retirement for one last time (I can’t wait to meet you again next time), and to Jane for the baby chat. Thanks also go to Sophie for ferrying us to the shopping & the meal etc, and to Louise, Saffy, Helena, Kay, Kimberly. Linzi & everybody else for being such marvellous company.

Last Friday was the day of the Angels Forum 10th birthday party at Pink Punters nightclub in Milton Keynes. As the first event of my social calendar of 2010 I was, to say the very least, very keen to go and was very much looking forward to it.  To make travelling to the event possible I had to take the day off from work and this presented me with the opportunity to travel ‘en femme’ on public transport for the first time in many years.  I could’ve driven to MK but the train beat driving on all counts – it was cheaper than a tank of diesel and would only take half the time.  Daytime exposure, as many of us in this line of life know, requires blending in – this required a practical new outfit.

Rewinding a bit..   In the days leading up to the event I bought some flat boots which despite trying (one) on briefly in the shop turned out to be a little too tight when I got home (not to mention almost ending up with two left boots – the keen eyed shop assistant saved me that trouble – another lesson learned – don’t trust the hanger footwear comes on either!).  I exchanged the boots for something much better at a different branch – I’ll come to that shortly. I bought a wool dress (I figured it was going to be cold) from ASDA(!) – a quite slinky chunky knitted thing in black too as well as some other bits & pieces.

The following day I took myself into Manchester to exchange the boots & see if there was anything else that caught my eye in the remains of the sales. My wife came too – her mission was to forage for maternity trousers she could wear for work.  First stop New Look in Manchester’s Arndale centre.  They have a brilliant shoe section upstairs – infact it’s easily the biggest store of theirs I’ve seen & they stock a good range of sizes – not to mention the prices are pretty keen too.  Their clothes aren’t often my cup of tea but the shoes are nice.  Anyway, my wife was on the lookout for some boots she thought I might like, digging out some gooduns but for one thing – the heels were all too high.  I explained this to her & she looked puzzled.  “What? YOU want a LOW heel?”, she asked. “Yes, they’ve got to be comfy to wander around shops for hours on end”. “Aha… but I think I’ll have to check your temperature when we get home…” she mused.  I found a pair with a sensible low heel & headed to the till.  On the way I found racks full of accessories selling for mega-cheap in their sale.  I snapped up a wide pink belt & an angora scarf in a striking purple colour.  There wasn’t anything else I liked so wandered over to the till, paid for my new booty & exchanged the ill-fitting size 6 boots for the new, only slightly snug ones.  My wife waited alongside & didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by the situation – actually she’d not died of embarrassment when I tried the new pair on in the shop & walked up & down in them.  I did give her the opportunity to disassociate if she wanted to but no…

I saw some stuff I liked in the sales elsewhere but was frankly shocked to the core when I visited the ‘Star by Julien McDonald’ section in Debenhams.  Oh my gawd – what has he done?  Clothes I love the style of, clothes that might probably suit me down to a tee but for one wee little aspect.  The colour.  Lurid, almost neon shades of lime green. Eeeeeew!  Actually no, the colour of limes isn’t vomit inducing so that comment is unfair to limes.  As some local girls would say, the colour is. without question.. ‘minging’.  It seems to be sweeping the other ‘designer’ sections too, so brace yourself for a luminous snot coloured fashion cavalcade on the highstreet any day now.  I didn’t buy any more clothes that day.

On the way home I remembered I was due a delivery from Oli – a dress & a smock style top.  I’d not ordered anything from them before so was keen to know how reliable their sizing is (very, as it turned out).  The dress fits very nicely indeed & was everything I hoped it would be but the smock top is going back. Rather than a black & white animal print it actually looks like it’s been mixed with something red in the wash – which isn’t what it’s made out to be on the website.. that & the fact it’s cut straight, like a bag. Oh well, can’t have it all ways.

The days leading up to the 22nd felt long & the nights were made interesting by weird dreams, one of which was where my wife turned out to be transgendered (!) & it got strange from then on in. I’ve not ventured to ponder the meaning of it all, God only knows what memories my brain was collating during that!

The big day came.  I woke at 5.40am, before my alarm went off, as usual. I couldn’t get back to sleep for love nor money so I got out of bed & made myself breakfast.  Showered, took the dog for his morning walk & saw my wife off as she left for work.. Right!  Action stations! To be on the 11.15 train I figured I’d need to be in a taxi by 10.20 & that gave me just over two hours to get dressed (black zip front shirt dress, grey opaques & a patterned silk scarf), do my makeup & finish packing.. oh.. and try on a couple of new wigs I bought from Ebay.  I found a couple of bargains, both human hair made in the same bob-ish style of my current beau.  Trying them both on after they arrived I was verging on sending them back but decided to give them a proper appraisal, in context.  I’m glad I did – for one of them anyway (unironically the more expensive of the two).  I’d actually tried it on again the night before & somehow struck gold.. it gave me the look of a very famous, flamboyant hairdresser (probably Zohan’s long-lost brother) which made me realise that maybe, just maybe…  Within seconds of fitting it I was taken aback by what I saw in the mirror.  Wow!  Yes, I like it. Infact I’ll be travelling in it.

As it turned out I managed to get dressed & made up in half an hour. By the time I finished the last of my packing it still left a long time to twiddle my thumbs & pace the hall.  I rang Jenny to say the plan was in action as er.. planned.  She asked if I was nervous.. not much more than I ordinarily would be before an outing but nerves can be good.  I wasn’t phoning for reassurance but she gave it & wished me luck.  My taxi arrived.  “hey let me help you with that bag dear”.  Dear?!  Heh. I’ve been mate (ugh!), pet, duck, babe, YOU, HIM, HER.. but never ‘dear’ from a stranger.  Sat in the back seat, had trouble finding the seatbelt but made sure I did since he wasn’t wearing his & he drove like a loon.

I arrived at the station in plenty of time & went to sit somewhere inconspicuous on the platform.  There wasn’t any such place so I opted for the nearest dry seat & checked I still had my ticket for the umteenth time.  The train arrived early, I surveyed it to make sure it was the right one & hauled my bag into coach C.  I then checked the train was the right one again before stashing my bag & sitting down.  I go through this every time without fail.  Maybe I’m scared of full price on the spot fares from unforgiving train staff, I dunno.. Spent a few minutes sorting out my cavernous shoulder bag & trying to read Heat magazine.  Oh boy, I’ve no idea why I bought that.  To be a stereotype ‘girl’? Meh.. it’s way too vapid to hold my interest so I (carefully) start to re-read Charlie Brooker’s ‘Screen Burn’ as other people get on the train.  “Excuse me, miss” a woman said “but you’re in my seat”.  Bum.  I thought I’d checked the sign… ah well no biggie.  I moved & ended up in a rear-facing seat.  I put my bag on the seat next to me to save it for Jenny who was going to be getting on at Stoke.

Getting the same train was a brilliant idea for so many reasons but thankfully I didn’t need my hand holding. I relaxed quickly & the guy sitting on the opposite row stopped gawping & disappeared into his iPod.  As I’ve already said train journeys are always something I find stressful at first and this being no exception was not exaggerated by me being en femme (promise).  This, I decided, was a nice adventure.

I spent 45 minutes or so being bored.  The book was all too familiar (I should’ve bought a new one really) and for some reason my phone wasn’t allowing me to grab a £1 all-day web browsing bundle. A little boredom never does much harm though, and before I knew it Jenny had found me & sat down next to me.  We’ve ‘known’ each other for quite a while through Facebook and Twitter (mostly Twitter) & had a right old natter.  The heater next to my left leg was starting to cook the contents of my boots & I was really glad I hadn’t worn the chunky wool ASDA dress after all.  Milton Keynes Central station came very quickly.  We alighted & set off to find a taxi to the hotel.  Who should we see on arriving at the hotel but Helena Love who’d also travelled en mode.

I checked in, found my room to be pleasant enough & quickly unpacked before going to the bar downstairs where I met Linzi who I’d not seen since a Northern Angels Christmas meal a couple of years ago.  She’s got her head screwed on, knows how the world works & is always a pleasure to talk to.  A short while later more of the #MKangels hashtag (a twitter term) gang appeared.  I was completely thrown by Jo Angel saying hello – she was in boy mode & I totally didn’t make the necessary connection quickly enough. She tweeted “Just arrived in MK. Freaked out @timejustine in reception who didn’t recognise me in boy mode sorry hon.”.  You said it girl.  LOL.  The lovely Louise who I’d only previously met once before was checking in & seemed to be all of a fluster about something.  Saffy was in the reception area too & we all briefly greeted one another.

When we were as together as we were going to be it was time to launch off into MK itself & do some shopping.  Saffy & Sophie ended up being designated drivers, and for that we should be thankful (I know I sure am!).  I wasn’t really looking for anything in the shops but did see a few things that caught my eye.  I’d spent enough in recent days & besides my bag was already rammed tight so I restrained myself (admittedly not all that much).  I’ve often seen Milton Keynes called ‘a town planning experiment that has never be repeated’. I can understand that – not that it’s without its own charms of course but for what it’s worth I favour traditional towns with streets of shops.

In our number there were, if my memory serves, myself, Jenny, Saffy, Louise, Kay,  Sophie & last but by no means least Helena.  There’s an old saying that gaggles of trans folk make themselves much more conspicuous by an exponential factor – we were surely very much in attendance & nobody seemed to bat the merest of eyelids as far as I could tell.  Not that I was especially looking, mind (for once).

Most of the time in the shopping centre was spent idly browsing or waiting for fellow angels (mostly Louise who was shopping for work outfits).  Women!   I’m not ashamed to admit I’m not much of a shopper & more or less just tolerate shopping.  I bought some bits & bobs at Superdrug & we all eventually made our way back to our transport before heading to Jaipur for a curry.

At some shopping centre or other on Friday afternoon

We waited for more of our party to arrive & eventually sat down to eat.  I mistakenly took a girl on my right to be Petra (d’oh!).. profile photos can be very similar.. but once I papered over the faux-pas we had a good natter & a bit of a laugh.  No, I was as terrible as I usually am with names so can’t remember what everybody was called.  Everyone was very friendly though, not just civil for the sake of not making a fuss.

From there, following the very nice meal (I had Kashmiri Tikkamasala made of lamb) we went back to the hotel to get ready for the club.  I hurriedly changed & recharged my makeup & yomped across the road to Pink Punters.

(to be continued)

In no particular order…

The year I took part in the Manchester Pride parade, met some marvellous people at Sparkle.

I took a terrifying leap into the world of prospective parenthood (God help us all), and had more pleasant invitations than I could shake a stick at.

Then there was the fab summer holiday with my inlaws. The holiday was fab, the inlaws less so.

I launched a podcast (RIP for now, more on that in my previous post)

Made some fabulous new friends, some of whom I met at Sparkle all too briefly.

Fell out with online life, and bounced back into it…

Fell out of accepting myself.. and bounced back into it…

Yes, 2009 was part fun, part waking nightmare. I think a fair way to put it would be ‘very full’. But hey, I got through that lot, so bring on the next lot. Here’s hoping it’s not more of the same eh I said ‘I got through that lot’ … not without at least a little help from my friends.  So, you know who you are… thankyou all for just being there.

There were times I wished I could have done more, or even *something* but..  We’re all only human.  Anyway, thankyou all xxxx

It is with a heavy heart that I’m announcing the departure of the TransAnthems podcast.  I fully intended to relaunch it this year, properly licensed & promoted but with upcoming financial pressures maybe, it seems, it’s not such a wise idea.

PRS For Music made licensing online music services for things such as podcasts a lot easier than it used to be (I’d argue they’ve even made it possible for mortals to do it) at (for them at least) very reasonable prices.  But, to plough £200 or so a year (plus web hosting costs) into a hobby is maybe a luxury I can ill afford in the current climate. Sure there are way more expensive hobbies people can have.. but not me.

I could go into the sums, but for now my main priority is to clear my overdraft & start saving like blazes for all those rainy days.

If, however, some glorious benefactor would like to pay for the podcast to go legit (which is ostensibly the only sensible route to take in these litigious times), then I’ll be more than willing to continue.  Heh, what are the chances….