Time For Soccerball

Its the soccerball foot world kick championships or something taking place apparently there's been some dreadful adverts cynically exploiting support in order to sell fatty snacks and appalling beer.

In marketing world, it seems, the only thing they know about football fan's is that they are passionate and loyal, loyal and passionate and if only their product could tap into that. Except they don't, instead some annoying character pastiche is created who doesn't represent anyone I've ever met and is exclusively male. Presumably all the women are only interested in handbags and Sex and the City 2. This marketing mentality permeates through to the administrators of the game hence daft ideas like the 39th game appear and the only records are Premier League or Champions League ones as if the game magically appeared in 1992 and no records were kept before.

A recent report indicated that many consumers couldn't tell who was a sponsor of the World Cup (I absolutely refuse to prefix it with FIFA which seems to have caught on, in some cases presumably as a contractual obligation but others should really know better) and who wasn't. Presumably makes you wander what they are getting for their money and if it could be better spent.

Breast Surgery and the NHS

A woman who is of transsexual history (AC) has lost her case challenging the refusal of her health authority (Berkshire West Primary Care Trust) to fund her breast surgery. Here are my notes from the judgement.

The hormones which she is taking have not in her opinion produced adequate growth. Claimant has not, "at any rate so far, sought to have such surgery (GRS) carried out" which the PCT considers a core service in the treatment of GID.

Her treating clinician stated in written evidence that any attempts to help are not going to be as effective as a surgical solution and that AC has become more fixated on achieving this aim.

NHS authorities have a duty to balance the budget every year they therefore have to find the best use of their finite resources.

The judge appears to be following a line of decisions that state that they would rather the decision is left up to the various medical boards and accession panels. Quoting Lord Bingham in R v Cambridge Health Authority ex parte B [1995] 1 WLR 898.

"...Difficult and agonising judgements have to be made as to how a limited budget is best allocated to the maximum advantage of the maximum number of patients. That is not a judgement which the court can make. In my judgement, it is not something that a health authority such as this authority can be fairly criticised for not advancing before the court."

In other words health authorities have to decide what gives the biggest bang for their bucks, giving priority to grave illnesses.

With regard where transsexuals stand in the priorities the case of North West Lancashire Health Authority v A & Ors ([1999] EWCA Civ 2022) was referred to by the judgement. Glancing at the case they appeal court judges seemed slightly dismissive of the human rights angle, however since then the Human Rights Act has come into force since then as has the judiciaries willingness to apply the act along with the Goodwin judgement.However he agrees that there is no human right to surgery under article 8.




No consensus as to the psychological benefit BA surgery gives to MtF transsexuals or natal females, the case the complainant uses of Ms X, a natal female who received BA support was distinguished by the fact she was suffering severe psychological damage and even then the decision in favour was probably borderline.

It was  advanced that the exceptional circumstances requirement amounted to a blanket ban with regard transsexuals (and therefore discriminatory), the judge didn't agree saying it was psychological need (as in the case of Ms X's greater distress) that was the deciding factor.

The judge therefore dismissed claims that their policy discriminated between natal women and transsexual historied women.

Conclusion.

Given the fact her lawyers had to prove some sort of irrationality to succeed I had my doubts it would be successful and so it turned out as Mr Justice Bean dismissed every argument. 

Its simple economics that even the best funded healthcare system does not have infinite resources and the NHS is no exception. Tough choices do inevitably have to be made sadly leading to someone losing out. I hope these considerations are made by rigorous evidence based panels rather than the populist whim of a national newspaper for the foreseeable future. Sadly for most, if not all, MtF women, the process of transition requires very deep pockets to cover what is core to them. I wish AC the best of luck finding the means to fund the surgery in the future.

Elsewhere: Court rules that NHS was right to reject transsexual's breast enlargement claim (via guardian.co.uk)

Demolition

Two structures one should be saved, the other demolished immediately. Most towns have a large abandoned building which should have been pulled down years before but is just left to decay while the windows smash and the graffti grows. Some big ugly landmark blighting the area like a big puss filled spot on the edge of a nose. I remember pulling into Temple Meeds station in Bristol where a ghastly old tower block is the first thing travellers see of the city which hardly gave a good impression. The former college building is just one of many around the country. The planning and development system should be changed to encourage such blot's on the landscape to be torn down as soon as possible.

The other building is from the Victorian era in what seems to have been re-branded as the heritage area but is known to many locals as the railway village. 

The Mechanics Institute was one such building that avoided the attentions of demolition happy post war town planner, a lot of whose efforts have been torn down themselves. It was the site of one of the first public library in Britain and the Medical Society Fund the sort of cradle to grave care that the NHS was modelled on, a century later. Sadly it has seen better days, having been left to decay for as long as I can remember.

I'm tempted to try and start up some sort of meme where I ask others to suggest a building in their area that should be demolished immediately and one that should be saved.

Passing

I would have written earlier but I've been distracted with other things like... er, changing my ringtone to Yakety Sax which would be a great song to play at my funeral as well. Being led into the crematorium furnace in a fast motion figure of eight chased by a nurse, a short bald man, several women in bikini's, passers by and mourners.

Anyway... I don't know why but my t dar ping's in M&S either its the shop of choice for middle aged looking tranny's or I need to review my spotting mechanism.

Personally I've had a pleasing small moment of female identification, admittedly in dim light but I take it as a encouraging note and suggested I was doing something right, for once. I went out again, after my accident where I wore thick tights to cover the bumps and bruises on my legs, I don't think the rest of my outfit, which was picked out in a hurry, worked quite as well, especially the plain court shoes I brought with me.

Usually when another thread on passing appears on a online discussion forum it tends to give me a form of narcolepsy called tediusrehashedquestionus as the same old views get restated often quite forceful. The only things I will say is that if you're wearing a little Bo-peep costume and six inch heals standing outside Bristol Temple Meeds station, you might not pass. But then one might suggest if you're wearing a little Bo-peep costume and six inch heals standing outside Bristol Temple Meeds station you're likely not to care if you pass or not. There are also no short-cuts, so don't believe the snake oil salesmen.

Above all, don't panic and have fun, self consciousness is the biggest give-away.

*That's enough from auntie Lucy's advice column, you'll be relieved to hear.*

Sensation

At least it wasn't in front of lots of people with mobile phones or other wise I might have unfortunately become a YouTube sensation.

After accidentally discovering my theory that flying over the handlebars and travelling face first on to the pavement really really hurts was correct I stumble up and inspect the damage. Blood, torn clothes and a broken bag yet somehow my phone is still in one piece and working. Maybe in future I should dress as a large phone.

Bot enough about me, I was reminded of the whole sorry saga of grotty tabloid splashes, as the PCC released its decision earlier this month on The Sun's front page stories featuring trans children last September. (which I commented upon at the time). The Daily Mail's website churnalistic effort is still online. As you may have found out the complaint brought by Mermaid's on behalf of the parents of one child featured was only partially upheld, on clause one (accuracy) and clause three (privacy). The other parents complaint through the charity was sadly dismissed. One learns that their details were passed on to a TV production company, as if to increase their wrong doing. The mealy mouthed apology buried away deep inside for a front page story also wasn't acceptable.

Scrapbook

The other thing I've done is to decorate my scrap book (below) and give it the ground-breaking title of My Scrap Book

Ever since I read about a woman who has kept a scrapbook for her adult life featuring all the wonderful titbits she collected, ticket stubs, invites to glamorous parties, pictures, letters and other mementos, collages and keep sakes. I have had the idea of creating a scrapbook for my own trans life, the intention is to document bits from my trans life and transition with lots of glue, sticky tape and crayons thrown in.. 

This blog, I guess, is already a written scrapbook, what I will hopefully have is a physical memento of my life. My first entry are the first pair of clip-ons I ever owned. Over the years I wonder if all the silly little things I've done will build up and show the progression of a girl.

I've seen another transsexual who is doing a similar thing but in a neat, slick and way more professional looking manner instead of my slightly playtime effort.

I say scrapbook, it's more a cheap binder with construction paper, cards and pockets. But pretty cool, as far as I'm concerned. :)

One Pig and Their Dog

Its spring and the Stunt Pig (West Squad) has found a friend. While they've been frolicking I've been out despite the spot which tends to find the least friendly moment to make an appearance. Ready early by my standards I took my time, put the boots in a bag to change into later and set off. Not a great deal happened, other than coming down a grassy steep hill in heals is harder than I imagined and I really must change shoes for the way back as well, yet I never do. 

From the actual slope to pondering the metaphorical depths of the slippery slope. My hair is continuing to grow to the length where I feel more comfortable with it. There are, of course, pluses and minuses to this as I'm sure you are aware or can well envisage and my look has blended. I will have to get it styled and trimmed some day, just not sure what can be done with my frizzy mess to make it look better and (preferably) a little feminine.

Retrofitted Feminism

Hello just retrofitting my post for a 3D release, so if I start *poke* doing *jab* stuff for *whoosh* no reason you know why.

As you've gathered nothing has prompted me to start hitting the keyboard with gusto *throws paper aeroplane at camera*. Last week was Ada Lovelace day, a day to pay tribute and write about remarkable women in the field of science and technology who will hopefully inspire a future generation to enter those professions. Areas the UK need to get good at if it is to she itself of its recent over-dependence on the financial sector to drive economic growth especially outside of the south east.

*camera now looking from bottom of glass as I pour water into it*



Sadly many women are perceived as being totally clueless when presented with anything mechanical or technological and get marketed to as if total idiots obsessed with whether it'll match our shoes.

Perhaps feminism still has a long way to go. I do agree that modern thinking is more inclusive but there is more that needs to be done to bridge the gap between trans and non trans feminists. Feminism has moved on and perhaps so has trans although there are still many especially older self-identified transvestites who appear to lament the fact society and fashions have moved on and women are choosing to wear jeans.

I believe there is a need for feminism to reassert itself if at the very least to protect the progress gained since the last time 3D was popular.

Identity 8 Rooms, 9 Lives

A few weeks ago i visited the Wellcome Collection on Euston Road, London for a thought provoking exhibition entitled Identity: 8 Rooms 9 Lives. It explored various topics about the self and identity and was a part of the institutes series of events on the same subject.

The first room I entered was Claude Cahun, whose photography on gender, sexuality and religion struck me as being quite modern looking. The story of her imprisonment along with her partner in Nazi occupied Jersey for distributing resistance propaganda under the pseudonym of a dissatisfied German soldier was similarly fascinating.

The section featuring April Ashley was intending to show that the chosen gender is more than ones identity. Some mention was made of other trans and gender variant folks, along with fascinating information includeing Roberta Cowell, but this was for the most part April's own story, told sympathetically, through her personal artefacts, selected press clippings along with a interesting television interview.

One other notable rooms were that of DNA profiling pioneer Sir Alec Jeffreys whose techniques use has ensured innocent people have been released from prison to more recent uses in genealogy and the dubious storage of DNA profiles on official databases, also a room on diary's (Samuel Pepys, Tony Benn etc.) and how they are used to present the self.

The exhibition runs until the 6 April 2010 and is worth stopping by if you have a half hour to spare.

Love To Your Mothers

Its easy to be cynical and dismiss it as another Hallmark holliday, and certainly a lot crapola and tat is being peddled but a happy mothers day to all mums, mams, moms, mummys, step mothers, grand mothers, mothers to be and especially to those sadly no longer with you.

Have a good day.

I was going to include a picture of some spring flowers but they're barely poking through, so instead here's a mean looking swan.

Skirting The Issues

Gymslip hysteria shows the age of satire is dead  

By Daily Mail Comment. Last updated at 12:39 AM on 23rd February 2010. 

Defying parody, a £70million-a-year quango warns schools it may be unlawful for them to require girls to wear skirts.
And why? Because ... wait for it ... under Harriet Harman's Equality Bill, compulsory 'gender-specific' uniform may breach the rights of transsexual pupils!
Schools that force girls to wear skirts may be breaching the rights of girls who feel compelled to live as boys, according to a quango
It is still unclear how much time and public money the Equality and Human Rights Commission has lavished on its 68-page report. All that's certain is that this lunacy proves, yet again, the age of satire is dead.

As a former pupil of Grotbag Comprehensive, now demolished with the playing fields sold and rebuilt as the Macky D Academy High, managed by EduCorp. the whole hysteria whipped up by some newspapers over the mythical banning of schoolgirls wearing skirts rather bemuses me.

In my memory, with the rare exception, often by wearing a skirt so short (although incredibly long by some some trannies standards) they ended being being sent home. Which is what they wanted. Many years later there's a future partner who excitedly suggests they put on their old uniform for a bit of fun only to be disappointed when she appears in a pair of trousers, an old blouse with a frayed cardie.

But apparently there are schools where skirts are worn and in the current guidance from the Equality and Human Rights Commission to public bodies regarding trans users one part politely suggests transgendered boys should be allowed to wear trousers and that it may be unlawful if they don't. All perfectly fair and right one might think given the great discomfort and distress a trans boy may feel if no allowance was made. Suddenly it gets blown up to be a blanket ban on school girls wearing skirts.

(Though personally this blogger feels it to be a highly retrograde step that in the second decade of the 21st century there could be schools which only permit girls to wear skirts in this country. That along with my views on gender identity will probably be dismissed as "ultra-feminist drivel" undermining "traditional British values". I'm not sure what's meant by the latter comment presumably in "Mail world" that's going back to sending unmarried mothers to mental institutions and hideously racist comments are just a bit of banter).

Total bollocks of course, but you suspect they don't really care about the truth when there's newspapers to fill and a daily quote of things to hate to be met, especially if it allows them to bash their traditional targets. Which is that hideous notion of basic transgender rights. As it rumbled on the commenter's, especially the male ones, a little hot under the collar. Many trans children have a hard enough time as it is with bullying and some driven to suicide without attacks like this and the suggestion you are not trans or in a minuscule group that its not worth bothering with. The numbers one suspects are under-reported, some parents, often well meaning, try to deal with it privately or the child learns to hide it.

Its not the only recent example of a document being so distorted it bears no recognition to the original. Claims of secret plots appear regularly along with phrases like PC gone mad and lunacy. Often after someone's done some digging the truth is rather more prosaic with things done for very good reasons. Which shows despite claims to the contrary shows that you can make it up.

Headlines and Pregnancy's

In tabloid speak I would probably be described as follows "Gender-bender SEX-SWAP tranny Lucy (31)...".

Yet it could be even more offensive a quick search through Google News shows that terms like "lady-boy", "she-male" and others, have appeared in mainstream newspaper websites in the UK and around the world. Even within serious publications obsessed with attention grabbing headlines and search engine optimisation rather than accuracy and sensitivity. A recent ruling by the Press Complaints Commission has ruled that the Belfast Telegraph was wrong to the use the tranny in a headline to refer to a transsexual. The article was about a transsexual who worked in a rape crisis centre. One could argue that her being there should be open to debate, I don't think there is consensus among the general public or among rape victims (though many forget or ignore the many transgendered and trans historied men and women who are themselves victims). In the end a partial slap on the wrists to a regional publication regarding the headline but not the tone of the story, may give slight difficulties to headline writers, but it wont stop future pernicious stories.

Example two follows pregnancy the of Scott Moore. One of a handful of trans men to go public with the fact that they have a bun in the oven and not as some reports state the second occurrence to have happened in the world. Shortly followed by a third and we're back to how can they be men if they have babies it shouldn't be allowed wont someone think of the children etc etc. The arguments have been better put elsewhere and I suspect most readers of this are already familiar with them. It is also a dangerous path to start going down if we were to decide to prevent certain individuals or groups from getting pregnant.

It would be a dangerous path if we were constantly to shout down our critics and probably counter productive that's not to be apathetic just to know there is more than one way to skin a cat. (Who ever come up with that phrase, why skin a cat?)

I also challenge commenter's to describe themselves or me (the latter being something I may regret) in a tabloid style.

I Went To A Marvelous Party - Part 2

Act two.

I did snap a photo (such a cliché I know) before taking the decision to take the phone instead of the camera.

My make-up wasn't helped by the inadequate lighting in the hotel room, next time I'll bring my own mirror and do it in the hall way I think.

Finally making it outside to where a chill had joined the rain and guessing from the slow trickle of people crossing the road and going down a slope that the entrance to the Pink Punters must be around there.

At this point someone stepped out from the reception entrance and said my name, that someone turned out to be Lynn, the esteemed blogger and leading light of the Nottingham area here with another girl who had absolutely gorgeous hair travelling down for the evening. Both looking great, unlike myself and exuding an air of knowing what they were doing... unlike yours truly.

Once arriving at the venue my first good move happened when I resisted the temptation to attempt a dance around one of the poles on the bottom level, a sight which would have scared many innocents. I did attempt to dance on the level above later but realised that I still have no rhythm. Eventually I followed up to the top level where I saw a few more familiar and unfamiliar faces and chatted briefly with a few some whose names I failed to gather above the noise, for which I apologise massively and profusely.

Some time after midnight Lynn left for the drive back to the East Midlands. Nice to have met, It was a unexpected delight to see you. After she left I found myself stood between a conversation on one side was Jo Angel the overlord of the Angels site and forum whose tenth anniversary was the reason we were all here. There were others including Sarah-Jane, Sophie, Justine, Jenny, Petra, Helena, Saffy, Toni Louise (most looking totally in their element) and so many others (mentioned and photographed elsewhere) that my brain couldn't process as it was whizzing along trying to match names to faces I recognised. As Evan Dando once sung "I'm never good with names but I remember faces". I am bound to have left some out and for that I apologise, maybe next time? Apparently I was mentioned in a tweet by Becky. Jane and Becky looked like a fabulous couple who were comfortable together. Given that Becky has been out even less than me she looked like she hadn't been away.

The following morning after 4 hours sleep and with a poor attempt at shaving for the third time in less than 24 hours I checked out and made a vague plan to head back and explore the centre of Milton Keynes. Living around Swindon I'm used to roundabouts but blimey there's a lot in Milton Keynes was the major thing I learnt from this.

In short it was a good night, I learnt that its worth paying for a half decent pair of tights, gloomy lights help to hide rushed make-up and I wasn't as middle aged as I'd suspected.

(The title as some may have guessed was inspired from the Noel Coward song of the same name).

I Went To A Marvelous Party - Part 1

I didn't see a concrete cow but I did get up close with a plastic pig. One of the legendary Unison stunt pigs no less

Just one of several highlights from my visit to Fenny Stratford and the infamous Pink Punters, having left my West country coven to travel across the Thames Valley by train and by bus. According to Google maps the distance was about 72.8 miles. Though most transport companies required me to take a lengthy and expensive detour via London (in the case of National Express, Heathrow) probably not a good thing on a Friday afternoon and and given the cancellations and delays it was probably a smart move.

After much searching I figured the best and quickest way was to get myself into Swindon, travel to Oxford, get the twice hourly bus to Cambridge which stops at Milton Keynes and get a train for the short ride to Fenny Stratford.

For some reason I also decided to attempt it dressed, I suppose, just to prove to myself that I could. Although this involved taking more time to get ready, which I didn't take fully into account hideously underestimating the time it takes to get ready, especially when straightening hair. Cutting the story short it rained the whole time, got splashed by a passing car and walked from Bletchley station.

So I arrive, damp, runny make-up and my hair frizzled, I felt like crap. Though I'm sure the reception have seen worse. On a normal night the sensible course of action would be to put on a nightie and crawl into bed but this was not a normal or sensible night.

Stumbling in to the hotel room I could hear the noise from adjoining rooms and folks rushing about. So little time to rest before I joined them in getting ready, my nails needed finishing and the hair needed to dry and be fixed again for a start. There was also the question of fixing up my face and the supreme engineering achievement that is my support underwear (seriously Brunel would stand up and applaud it, while I'm on the great Victorian engineer why are there so many bland and just plain awful buildings bearing his name? Almost in inverse proportion to his own great achievements. Slough has a particularly dreadful building named after him but the one I saw in Bletchley was not very inspiring. To the man who designed the Clifton Suspension Bridge across the Avon Gorge among many other great feet's of engineering, we name a bit of grey concrete that will crumble and smell slightly of piss. Yes that's a Fantastic tribute.

I'm sorry I digressed, where was I?

My make-up skills had grown a little flabby owing to the fact I hadn't been anywhere and had long ago given up putting on the slap while at home.

Getting ready to step out I felt something I hadn't felt for a long while, nervousness? Giddyness? I'm not sure but it was something I hadn't felt since my first times out.

I suspect it was largely caused by the unfamiliarity of the place I was going to and meeting some people I'd been looking forward to meeting. Once past my initial turbulence the metaphorical pilots voice kicked in telling me I've landed the plane far too often to feel like that and true enough once I took the controls it became simple. By now the noise had died down obviously everyone had gone, but not everyone as I later found out.

The second act will cover the good and bad ideas I had, reel off a list of people I met avoiding it turning into one long "tranny coo".

Happy Christmas

It's Clichéd to be Cynical at Christmas, something away from the usual Christmas play-lists (sleighlist?).


 Thank you for reading, it's time to log off and to pour a drink of your choice.


Hope you have a wonderful peaceful, loving Christmas.

L x