Bournemouth, Bra Wars and Bleeding Ears

Friday morning at 8 o’clock as the day begins.

Usually Friday means work. This Friday it marks the beginning of an Andrea weekend.

The weekend really begins on Thursday night with packing. The suitcase is large enough to keep Andy in clothing for a month. For Andrea it’ll be ok for two nights. It’s the shoes. And the dresses. And the makeup. Hair. Boobs. And all those other essentials and not-so essentials. After the packing there are toe nails and fingernails to paint.

Friday itself … shave, shower, makeup and dress.

Tina arrives as Sally leaves. Dress and makeup.

Suitcases into the car. Leaving just enough room for the two of us. A neighbour is cutting grass and pays us no attention.

Legoland … Ascot ... Bagshot … M3 … M27 … A31.

We catch up as Tina drives.

Ringwood. Coffee and sandwiches at the Boston Tea Party. Cheese and ham for one, bacon bap for the other.

(This photo of Ringwood is courtesy of TripAdvisor)

Andrea needs to visit the ladies.

“Upstairs, through the door” says the waitress.

Andrea goes upstairs.

There’s a doorway.

And more stairs.

Andrea goes upstairs.

And through the doorway.

Looks right. Looks left.

There are no signs.

But there’s a door at the end. See it?

(This photo of Ringwood is courtesy of TripAdvisor)

Alas, the door is locked.

“Can I help?” asks a man who is sitting on the right … just about where the lady is sitting in the picture.

“Downstairs, through the door” says the man in response to Andrea’s query.

Andrea goes downstairs.

And through the doorway.

Looks right. Looks left.

There’s a sign.

And that part of the journey is over.

Tina has a much shorter journey.

A few more miles and here we are at Bournemouth.

We buy a few bits and pieces and reach the hotel at about 15:00.

Check-in, drop the bags in the room and a trip to the bar.

We order a maybe-not-so-girlie Guinness each.

Danielle pops over to say hello and welcome.

We are at the TV Extravaganza Weekend

There are just about as many TVs at the hotel as there are TVs at the hotel.

Round about 6 pm is the group fancy dress photo. For those with fancy dress. Very fancy.

The headmistress is especially eye catching.

Then dinner and the dance.

We are amazed at the number of  outfit changes that we’ve witnessed.

Sleep.

Breakfast ends at 9:30 am.

Andy could sleep until 9:00 am and still make it.

Andrea needs somewhat longer.

07:45 and the alarm sounds.

Just enough time for the transformation and to be at breakfast by 09:15.

Miss TV Bournemouth is to be followed by the Beau Belles.

Tina and Andrea help bolster the audience.

Dresses and interviews.

Swimsuits and interviews.

And then .. would I mind being a judge for the Beau Belle competition?

A Beau Belle might look a little like this:

 

We three judges ponder as each Belle is interviewed.

The scores are counted and Lindy Loo is crowned. The picture above isn’t Lindy Loo … it’s just one that I found courtesy of a Google search.

Tina and Andrea set out to visit Bournemouth Pier.

Chine Crescent.

Durley Chine Road.

West Cliff Road.

Priory Road … well maybe.

We’re thinking about the return journey. And the steepness of the hill.

So it’s a right turn down Beacon Road instead.

And here is Tina, with the pier in the background.

 

And a windswept looking me.

 

Then back to the New Westcliff via the newsagent.

It’s time for a change of attire and the barn dance.

Which is where the wars begin.

I don’t recall the name of the dance.

It involves moving round in a big circle, passing people,, hand to hand, who are moving the opposite way.

Once in a while you stop. Hold hands with the person you are about to pass. Raise hands and arms in the air and each spin around.

Andrea discovers that her bra and boob combination were not designed with this manoeuvre in mind.

The boobs escape.

Thankfully the dress that she is wearing saves the day. Or at least it saves the boobs and they don’t make a clean escape.

Walking around the circle isn’t so much hand to hand for Andrea any more as she fights to return her breasts to captivity.

The sweet thing is that though people realise why Andrea isn’t able to shake hands at the moment, no one is at all phased.

Soon it’ll be time for cocktails.

Makeup needs replacing … well … at least from the nose down. The chin bristles are beginning to make their presence felt. They need to be removed.

I wonder? Can I manage to make up half a face?

It goes like this.

Makeup remover onto the neck, cheeks, chin and above the lips.

Shave.

Re-apply foundation, powder, blush and lipstick.

And it works and saves ages … no new eye shadow, liner or mascara

Half a makeup.

Cocktails and the group photo.

The conversation is broad.

Conchita.

The general election.

Immigration.

The fact that one of the girls isn’t able to leave her house dressed as a girl because there was a period when trans-phobic youths would throw bricks through her window.

Dinner and then the dance.

Complete with a Turkish male belly dancer.

We retire to the bar.

 

Nikki drops by and poses for some pictures on the bar.

Which leaves sleep and breakfast.

We stop by at Mudeford.

We almost stop by at Beaulieu.

At Lyndhurst we have a sandwich and coffee.

A fair amount of time is spent in the loo, recapturing boobs that have somehow escaped again.

At home it’s another half a makeup before heading to Surrey Swans.

There are a few less people than usual but there are quite a few girls that are relative newcomers and it’s really lovely to talk with them a little as well as with Emma, Carol and Tina.

On Monday I begin to realise the perils of clip-on earrings.

On the phone with an itching earlobe that I rub a little I notice the red stains on my fingers.

I think it’s the first time I’ve had bleeding earlobes.

Indigo, Dinners and Gatherings

I did get along to the Indigo Girls concert at Brighton on October 26th. In some ways it was similar to, and in other ways it was different from the Bristol concert.

The venue, Concorde2 is kinda nice. Not too big, not too small. And there is free parking right outside after 6:00 pm.

They played some of the same songs as at Bristol, but quite a few were different. Maybe this was partly because in addition to Amy and Emily, there was also Clare Kenny playing bass guitar and Carol Isaacs on accordion and keyboard. They both live in the UK and play fairly regularly with Indigo Girls in the USA. They played at Brighton because they happened to be around, and it was really nice.  For the first time ever live I heard them play Loves Recovery.

Stephanie Dosen played some songs at the beginning again. She said that she first got interested in playing music a long time ago after hearing Indigo Girls one time when she was babysitting. She’s 40 now … but looks a lot younger.

It was great.

Last night was a TV (as in transvestite) dinner at Billie and Kathie’s.

I wear my short black dress.

Sally says my bum looks a bit big in it.

There are round about 20 people there … a record attendance, I think.

As always, its great to catch up with people’s news.

Julia spent a few days in Bath and has been out and about quite a bit.

We talk about the why’s and wherefores of being a transvestite.

I mention that ever since Sally, my wife, accompanied me to a TV dinner she has been gently-ish pestering me to go along to a “Contemplative Fire” gathering with her. Each of us challenging our comfort zones.

To my horror, Julia thinks this is a fine idea.

I explain the discussions I’ve had with Sally … the reasons … or maybe excuses … that I have.

“Was that a girlie conversation or a guy one?” asks Julia.

“A guy one.”

“Ahhh I thought so” nods Julia knowingly.

Sally says that the gathering would be fine with the concept of Andrea. So who knows … maybe Andrea’s first outing to a churchy kind of thing will be to a gathering?

Then again.

Tina asks me about the story of Pink Punters and the front fastening bra.

“Why would anyone wear one?”

I know, I know, it is more liable to pop-open.

But it is my favourite.

We’re beginning to plan Sparkle 2010 … Tina, myself, Billie and Laura are planning to get there. And maybe others?

Nikki denies having a fetish for photographs in hotel corridors.

Tina thinks I don’t snore. At least not in Manchester.

Nikki thinks I breathe heavily whilst asleep and explains how useful the earplugs provided by Pink Punters can be.

I try to explain that I think Indigo Girls are musicians that are lesbian rather than lesbian musicians.

Short dresses and hold-up stockings are a risky combination. I think that the baby oil that I apply after showering maybe doesn’t help. The stocking tops are slowly sliding down my legs.

Katie is keen on an evening with a schoolgirl theme.

“So … who doesn’t have a schoolgirl outfit?

Only Kathie.

The second Tuesday of March 2010 is maybe the date.

Windsor, Hare Krishna and TVs

Saturday 17th was another chance to go walkabout in Windsor.

One of the challenges of doing this as a tgirl is allowing all the extra time that is needed for makeup and selection of clothing.

The makeup actually begins on Friday night with nail polish. Sally suggests I go pink. And so I do. For a while. Three coats of Urban Princess. Then an accidental argument … my thumbnail versus a door handle … changes everything. The pink stuff taking for ever to harden. So off it comes. To be followed by two coats of bright red Hot Gossip and one of 3 in 1.

At round about 9:30 on Saturday morning I begin the final preparations.

I’m still not skilled enough with makeup to manage much in the way of subtlety. I know that there are different looks … nightclub chick … everyday smart … casual … and all the in-betweens as well.

I just go for a little less foundation. Paler eye shadow. A little less eye liner and mascara. Pink lips instead of ruby red. Thoughts of Urban Princess versus Hot Gossip momentarily pass through my mind.

I select a bra that isn’t front fastening. Having it come undone in the middle of Windsor would be way more inconvenient than the time that it did at Pink Punters. I have discovered that when your boobs aren’t attached to your body it’s really important to have a bra that is unlikely to pop open. The bra is black – one of a pair that I bought at Peacock’s in Bristol - £6 for two.

A mid length denim skirt and red top – courtesy of M&S.

Shoes with low heels.

As I put them on I know they don’t feel anywhere near so good as four and a half inch stilettos. I know, also, that in an hours time I’ll be glad that they are nice and low.

I’m all ready by about 10:50. It’s kinda nice to just potter around the house and relax for a few minutes.

Sally has been busy all morning doing stuff in the garden.

I’ve managed to train her into realising that Andrea’s nails are way to delicate for such tasks. But I do make the coffee.

Tina arrives at about 11:30 just as Sally heads out to play golf.

The comic irony of the situation isn’t lost … wife out on the golf course … hubby out shopping in a skirt.

After applying a few finishing touches we head for the car.

There are a couple of neighbours chatting a few houses down the street. I resist the urge to wave and say hello. I also resist the urge to run back to the house. I have no idea if I am recognised. If I am then I am. Mostly people seem not to notice. But I would be even less noticeable if I were shorter than six feet tall.

Tina drives and mostly I remember to say which way to go.

Arriving at the car park in Victoria Street we pay at the pay and display meter and head off for the town centre.

Alas, Shoe Fetish is no more. It’s been replaced by a shop that sells motor scooters.

We walk slowly.

There are one or two quizzical kind of looks as we walk past people. It must be our husky voices.

But no one pulls faces or passes comments.

Gazing into a few shop windows we wander up Peascod Street from the St Leonard’s Road end.

Turning into King Edward Court we go into the British Heart Foundation charity shop and take a look around.

I see a white handbag – I have white shoes but no white handbag. It’s in excellent condition and a snip at £2,75. The lady at the till doesn’t really look at me as I pay.

We pay a visit to Fenwick’s. Then Boots, Daniels and Marks & Spencer.

Then on to Cafe Rouge. The place is pretty busy. The staff are, as always, very helpful and friendly. The other diners pay us no attention.

I order a Hoegaarden beer, Tina a lemonade. The food arrives very promptly and is excellent.

We chat about girlie kinds of things.

The waitress drops by … “Is everything alright for you, ladies?” It makes me smile.

It’s then a walk along to the castle and a photo opportunity or two.

As I pose a little and Tina juggles two cameras a group of ladies walk by.

“Would you like me to take a picture of you both?” asks one of the ladies. We gratefully accept the offer, and she takes a picture with each of the cameras.

 

Then on down to the riverside. Tina changes her boots for a pair of flat shoes.

We should have brought some bread for the ducks and swans.

 

On the way back to the car park we call in at WH Smiths where Tina buys a newspaper.

As we stroll back down Peascod Street a man approaches us.

“Hello.”

“Hello.”

Brief introductions.

“What’s your name?”

“Andrea.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Of course.”

“And yours?”

“Tina.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m afraid that I have to tell you that you’ve exceeded the local limits for looking cool and being hip whilst out in public. So I’m going to have to ask you to pay a voluntary fine as a penalty.”

Of course, we are smiling well before this.

The man’s eyesight is, of course, immediately suspect.

Actually he is a member of a Hare Krishna group raising money to help support homeless people.

His western name is John … his spiritual name is much more complex.

We make a donation and he gives me a booklet … pink to match the colour of my lips he says.

“Do you have blue ones for boys?” asks Andrea.

“But of course.”

Back to the car and home.

Each little trip out helps me feel more relaxed than the last time.

I have the feeling that Windsor town centre is a good and relatively safe kind of place for a transvestite to wander around in. People manage to “read” me without a lot of difficulty. But that doesn’t bother me really. A thing that Fiona Floyd shared with me several years ago has influenced my feelings on this. As Fiona said, “I’m not a girl, I’m a transvestite. If someone points a finger at me and says ‘Hey that’s not a real girl … it’s a tranny’ then it’s not a problem really … that’s what I am.” I feel the same way.

I think the centre of Windsor is maybe this way because people don’t have problems with strangers and off-beat people. The town relies heavily on tourism and really can’t afford to get overly upset about issues of gender or race or a whole range of other things.

One day maybe residential areas that don’t rely on tourism will get to see people as being people.