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This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Thursday, 3 January 2013

Post New Year write up

Oh, wishful...
That was New Year 2013. And it was an interesting four days away from the homestead. First of all, as I think I mentioned, I failed to get all the work I wanted to get done done before we left, so far so normal, I think I was bibbling about something similar last year as well around this time. Anyway, we travelled first down to my father's where we spent the actual New Year. This was generally positive, with my brother and his wife and daughter there too. We were all smartly dressed, as my father insisted, and we had proper drinks like Port and various wines that matched the food we drank.

My father, having imbibed rather a lot of Port, held forth on why he was proud of both of his sons for the same underlying reasons but different outcomes: that we were both workaholics and had applied it in completely different spheres; my brother has thrown his all into Youth For Christ and I've become a teacher. Neither avenue, he said, would have been his own choice but the way we both have gone about making them all we can make them was very much of him. As my father is a workaholic so we are too. On one level this was pretty good to hear and clearly meant as nothing less than a great compliment. Of course, it got me thinking about defining oneself through one's function - something I've ranted about on here already - so in the end I merely got all thinky about it as I too had been on the Port and at least three glasses of wine by this point.

Tilly's parents were old. I mean that in a sense that I could think of no other way of describing the experience. Her brother is a bit of a piece of work, largely down to domestic issues a-go-go, and these particular chickens have come home to roost in that he is now a bit of a miserable, violent, racist, not-too-nice, work-shy lump. And now the Dad that pretty much caused this is in the position of being a vulnerable adult with minimal mobility, causing Tilly some anxiety. We both know that nothing will change and, in the nicest possible way, they will simply moulder on until one of them dies and then, well, they'll sink slowly toward death themselves. As you can imagine, such a place is not terribly pleasant - with overdue bills and rent arrears letters and warnings about bailiffs shoved not too well out of sight about the house, evidence of violence (shattered door panels, holes in the walls, ripped carpets and stains everywhere; coupled with the lack of money evidenced by the window that was smashed back in 2010 still not properly repaired) and the thick smell of stale cigarette smoke hanging like a veil.

Nevertheless, the children loved seeing them and we took Gran down to Portsmouth for a look around the dockyard. Tilly, her mum and the children went around HMS Warrior whilst I, for reasons of prohibitive cost, was free to roam about the place. We were staying in a hotel, cheap place, I should point out. It went well enough, but Girlie has now decided that I am the enemy in terms of gaining Tilly's attentions - so that went well. She tantrumed so much on my approach that several official looking people began to approach me, it was only when she added 'Daddy' to her list of screamed complaints that people began to visibly relax. So... fun.

On the first night down there I spooned Tilly and stroked her hair, she didn't really respond at all, as in no response. So I asked her about it while we were in Portsmouth and she said that it wasn't so bad but she got angry that I was crawling all over her and nearly knocking her out of bed. Needless to say I did not attempt to do so again. Indeed, tonight, after a long drive home and a decision to get take out, we are once again on laptops on opposite sides of the room. No TV, no shared experience, just her catching up on e-mails and me blogging. Wedded bliss.
Hippy Now Beer!

I was going to post some other things, but I'm beat, been driving since 11am and we stopped home at around 6pm, then I unpacked (my job as bloke) and then put the children to bed (also my job). Still, I was downstairs by 8pm so I can't complain too much.


  1. You can complain all you want, Bex. ...or, did you mean that there is no such thing a 'too much complaining'? ;P

    Anyhow, I do hope this year holds better for you, dear!

    If there be any comfort in it, consider the thought that; There is more in store as time & life (no, not the magazines) progress on their unknowable paths toward the presents we've not yet arrived at. And that, + & - must flow in turn to complete their circuit and be transformed from the merely potential to the kinetic reality. Beyond that, now and then never exist as, by the time you've thought, 'I am doing this or that', the doing has become a history of its own, neither tangible nor terrible, simply done.

    Sorry, Bex, not sure where that came from or what relevance it may have to relativity... or relatives, for that matter. If it speaks to you of some truth, we might call it "prophecy", (inspired speech), otherwise, it may be considered inane babel.

    Regardless, my best regards to you in the onset of our next solar circuit and this year which has not been before!


  2. Elle, dear, I always appreciate your comments!

    Prophesy, my lovely, always prophesy!


All comments are welcome, I have a thicker skin virtually than I do in real life!