Words of warning and welcome:

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!

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Moving Experiences

Behold how easy it is to be more
athletic than I. Also, yes, I would prefer
that hair to my apparent inability to
remain upright.
The job I got a while back means we have to move as a family to another part of the country. I realise that this is no biggie for you people in the States and probably not an issue for people that aren't in the UK. Okay, maybe it's not an issue for anyone that isn't me. We had our first repeat viewing this evening, after a school sport's day for me in which I took part in the staff race due to peer pressure and wished I hadn't. It is probably of no surprise to regular readers that I am no sportsman and so taking part in a 100 metre dash seemed a little stupid before I began. Add in the near 30 degree centigrade temperature and a patch of grass that had caused a number of people to slip already and the fact that I was wearing school shoes with relatively smooth soles and you have a recipe for disaster. I've already fallen over and bruised myself pretty badly on both legs when running around the woods on Sunday for my daughter whilst waiting for a viewing to finish. In that one I landed on my keys in my pocket and bruised my leg pretty badly as well as grazing my other leg. There was even that comedy cartoon moment when I saw my feet sticking out from me at 90 degrees and thought "this is going to hurt when I land".

Anyway, sure as eggs is eggs I hit the slippy patch of grass when at full tilt, no idea of my placement as we were less than halfway and so no one had had a chance to pull ahead nor fall behind. I was pumping my legs and then I was pumping them into thin air, I rolled and skidded a good ten to fifteen metres, got up and then saw the rest of the field finish as I restarted running. This left me with a gammy leg, grass stains on my shirt, and a feeling of "I was right" too late to actually be doing anything about that. When I got back home it was to empty the house into the car and next door so that our viewer wouldn't be put off by the clutter.

I ended up taking the Boy, who was close to killing things, out of the house and into the woods as well. None of this was the point of this post!


Yes please. Liberation personified.
I took the opportunity to dress in that skirt with the blouse bought for the purpose of joining it to tidy some of the rooms. I really enjoyed it, especially the impracticality of trying to move around with a floaty and twirly skirt literally getting in the way. I have no idea why something that ought to be annoying turns out to feel so liberating and fun (probably because I don't have to wear it all the time I guess) but it was. I experimented with holding it out of the way, it restricts my walking, and with holding it with one hand (it felt deliciously feminine) and just moving around the house with the skirt on. The most surprising part of it all was the fact that it actually wasn't any cooler than wearing shorts and my short sleeve shirt, something I was genuinely surprised to learn.

I really really don't suit the blouse.

Oh, and my birthday present from my mother turned up on Monday: the new Pet Shop Boys' album Electric. It is very good. I can't believe that none of the online reviews have made mention of the juxtaposition of Bolshy with Love is a bourgeois construct but then I am daily amazed by how few people noted nor understood the lyrics to West End Girls: "From Lake Geneva to Finland Station", the journey taken by Lenin in April 1917 on his sealed train. I shall no doubt end up reviewing the whole damn' thing on here soon enough because I am a raving fangirl.

Hmm. I don't think I identify internally as a female, you know, but I do seem to increasingly refer to myself as 'twat face'. Make of that what you will.

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