Justine’s TV Times

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….

I decided not to fight the urge to go out one last time in 2009 & braved the weather to venture into Manchester on December 20th. Ah, the last Saturday before Christmas.  Would it be absolutely jam-packed busy? Would I have a three hour wait for a cab home in the freezing cold?  No was the answer to both of those questions as it turned out…

At about 7.15pm I got my stuff together & rushed getting ready. Consequently by the time 9.15 had been & gone I was being driven into town by my wife.  False nails (I gnawed them silly with all the stress of the last few weeks), black & white zebra print J. McDonald dress (AGAIN?! Hey if you love something wear it to death I say), plum coloured opaques, lots of bling, BIG NIGHT OUT makeup and a pair of knee high purple-ish high heeled boots I picked up in a Miss Selfridge sale ten or more years ago.. Topped off with a black fake fur coat I bought from Ebay.  The coat arrived & was blatantly the size of a marquee so I set about it with a pair of scissors & took it in a lot. About four sizes a lot.  Very warm, but makes me look very wide on top. But hey it’s very warm!

First port of call was Paddy’s Goose.  Hardly a woman in sight, keen drinks prices & no Christmas music to be heard.  Saw a handful of t-folk milling around, exchanged glances but their eyes were saying “don’t talk to me” as far as I could tell.  Their loss.

A house double vodka & lemonade later, over the road & round the corner a little I went - to Bar Below.  “Well HELLAIR” a guy said as he left, “I LOVE YOU”.  Big smiles.  Shucks.  Down the ever hazardous stairs into the livingroom sized bar.  Oops.  Dead quiet.  Good music though.  Brief chat with barstaff & slowly sipped a single vodka & lemonade.

Suddenly the bar was busy.  What, do people wait for a solitary tranny to descend on a place before making their minds up to go in or something?  Ended up staring at the walls for a while, nursing my drink & passing the time.  A few smiles in my direction, returned the favour but no interesting random meeting was forthcoming. I guessed this wasn’t going to be one of the better nights.

Drink finished, off I tootled to New York New York. Whoah there!  Absolutely heaving.  With men.  The venue’s usual happy-go-lucky-devil-may-care vibe seemingly replaced by a very much up fer it & waiting for it to arrive vibe.  As in beered up leery blokes who wandered in looking for a freak show.  I hastily beat a retreat to the bar next door, AXM Late.

The velvet rope & glittering sign outside can only hide AXM Late’s slapdash attempt at being a glamourous place to be seen for so long.  On reaching the top of the stairs & entering what used to be a very nice piano bar that becomes all too obvious.  Imagine you’ve never decorated a venue before.  Now imagine you have an inkling that the roaring twenties’ art deco look will be just the thing for your new place.  You have very little budget and you’re not blessed with great practical skills.  There you go, you can deck out AXM Late ;-)  I can see what they’ve tried to do but to be completely honest it doesn’t work on any level.  So you’ve got a venue with an ill-finished art deco decor.. what to put in there?  Oh I know.. a DJ cum karaoke compere to entertain the handful of people brave enough to sample your wares.  Ordered a drink & was given two drinks.  Ahh, they’re THAT desperate.  Great.  Fully intended to leave the ‘free’ drink but took it to a table & sat down anyway.  Pondered for a while, then they arrived.  They?  A youngish group of cheery leery boy & girls who photographed everything that moved.  And everything that didn’t move, which included me.  A brief chat & we went about our own business.  They, cavorting around, bending over showing the world their lack of underwear (I’m no sizeist but if I’ve seen one over-plump arse I’ve seen them all), and me.. sipping my drink trying not to cringe at the ongoing slaughter of songs on the karaoke.

Nobody was allowed to go up on the tiny stage if they weren’t singing.  One girl decided to disobey & a heckling match ensued.  Music was stopped, DJ dummy spat out good & proper. Everybody - all 20 of us looked at the girl in disbelief.  She was wrecked.  Anyway to cut a long story short the DJ I’d previously had little regard for pulled this line out of his hat: “Has anybody got any Canesten?  This c**t’s been annoying me for ages”, or words to that effect.  All her mates were now laughing AT her rather than with her & she admitted defeat.  So did I.  I went to the loo & promptly left the building.

Sigh. That was er. fun wasn’t it?  Now where?  After a night like this so far there’s only one place to go.  No, not home silly.  Napoleon’s!

Another deathly quiet place.  I sought sanctuary upstairs & was approached by a bloke who’d obviously been drinking for far too long.  “What are my chances tonight then?” said he.  I laughed.  “no, not with you.. I mean.. in general.. what do you think my chances are in here?”.  Yeah RIGHT fella.  I ummed & ahhed.. told him I didn’t fancy his chances much on a night as quiet as this but by the law of averages surely somebody would put out.  He didn’t like that smart talk at all. Hey, if you don’t like the answer don’t ask!  I might’ve gone easier on him if I hadn’t been so flatline bored but…

I gave the place another hour or so & sure enough it got busier.  I couldn’t seem to pin down where everyone had been previously but interesting talks were had.  Got chatting to a happily married couple who seemed to be interested in a threesome.. and another couple out looking for an extra participant…  I explained that a long time ago the very idea used to intruige me & without giving away too much information I’ll say I found out it’s not really my cup of tea.

Music was quite good, or maybe I was a bit drunk I dunno… dancing was had & then I decided I’d had enough.  Headed to the taxi office, almost broke my neck on the ungritted pavement next to the NCP carpark.

On arriving at my usual taxi firm I was presented with an exasperated sigh by the clipboard bearer.  “Might as well give up love, it’s gonna be at least an hour”.  “BOLLOCKS!” came a yell from the other side of the street.  “Come here love”… I glanced around & saw it was the guy who usually acts as taxi admin.  He recognised me & said as a good regular customer he’d get me a cab pronto.  He did too.  I wished him a very merry Christmas & off I went on my way.  Made my night, that did!

I got home at round 3.30am, so it can’t have been that bad of a night really.  I’ve had worse.

There was no TransAnthems podcast in November. I was erm.. busy with another erm.. project.  So I made up for it by pushing out no less than two podcasts to round the year off.  There may still be one or two waiting in the wings to see out 2009 but I’m making no promises.

In the first ‘cast… quote:

“It’s the TransAnthems Christmas party. Everybody, especially the DJ, has been drinking all day and it shows. People are asking for all kinds of junk & DJ Jus is all too willing to oblige. Somehow it all mixes in. Well, kind of.”

I throw anything & everything in the mix, and with the possible heinous crimes of a) playing some things too fast and b) back beated(!) it more or less works.

And then a more traditional ‘four to the floor’ mix of dance music where even Kylie & Gloria Gaynor get an airing.  Hackeyed, moi?  Never!

Go here to find the podcast website or if you use iTunes you can subscribe to the podcast directly by clicking this link

Interesting & fun night last night.

Rocked the red J. Macdonald (signature) shirt dress, was gonna wear the red & black houndstooth dress from Matalan but it needs taking in at strategic places - and probably up a couple of inches - it’s almost knee length! Same old hair, serious party makeup, light grey glossy opaques & my dancing heels. Felt like a million quid, maybe looked like 500. My wife gave me a lift into town before she headed to a party.

Arrived in town & bumped into D, who was wearing an outfit I actually wouldn’t have chucked out of my own warddrobe, toured a few places we’d not been to for ages, some completely new. Spirit, good music & a crowd who looked like they’d never seen the likes of us before (que sera) but friendly all the same. The Thompsons arms, which although no longer akin to the local pub in ‘Shameless’ had more than a faint whiff of pensioner’s wee about the place.

The usual haunts were good, til NYNY came up. That place is becoming more & more like Mos Eisley’s Cantina, only with much worse music. Shakira’s ‘She Wolf’.. FFS what a crock. I’d heard it & hated it before but this time I wanted to cut my ears off. Tolerated that, and Madonna’s latest crap song, then a 70s disco selection culminating in Kelly Marie’s ‘Feels Like I’m In Love’. Visualise headbutting the DJ for playing trash like that. Camp need not mean shite.  I honestly hope that pop producers’ love affair with over-use of AutoTune dies off soon. It wasn’t fun when Cher had it applied to her wailing & it isn’t even now.

Anyhoo, after that we popped round the corner to Poptastic @ Alter Ego where on having paid to get in, we were given numbered labels. Ahhh.. I know what these are.. Shag Tags! The premise is that everyone wears a number, and if you see anyone you fancy you go & tell the shag tag monitor (Flangela Lashes) who registers your interest. A plasma screen above the bar displays the numbers to show who is generating interest, then said person can check up & see who’s interested and possibly go looking for that number. An interesting concept but it seemed few people were making use of it.  I think it was Poptastic’s 10th birthday or something - anyway for whatever reason the DJ was very chatty -and arrogant buggers that ‘personaliddy’ DJs are (it’s fine for me to say that - I was one in a previous life), demanded everybody look at him while he eulogised about Alex Burke switching on Manchester’s Christmas lights display next month.  JUST PLAY THE SODDING MUSIC!

Booties were shook, arms were flailed to Depeche Mode, more Madonna (Anna Friel), Girls Aloud, The Ting Tings & current chart fayre, which was nice but it’s not a patch on Newcastle’s Powerhouse where the DJ *really* knows how to shake a club to its very foundations.

End of the night came around 3.30am which was officially still only 2.30am but my feet would’ve begged to differ by that point.  They didn’t smart badly enough for me to feel the need to take my shoes off but still..

Made our way over to D’s car & she gave me a lift home.  We pulled up at traffic lights where there were 3 blokes loitering around.  One looked our way, said something to his mates & then pulled his jeans down to reveal tight white shorts.  He then pulled his shorts down.  “It must be cold tonight”, I said to Donna.