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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.

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Monday, 13 April 2015

I'm a player in the Continental Game



It wasn't long ago that I lived all of my life with musical accompaniment. I would rise to a radio playing, tuned to music stations, and then would get ready in the morning to a CD in the CD player. On my way to work I would listen to a tape in the car recorded specifically for that purpose or any of the hundreds of tapes I had lying around recorded for various reasons. I would work, usually without music it has to be said, and then return home to that same tape or others. Then I would mark to a selection of CDs that were stacked by the player - usually albums - and then retire to the internet for an hour or two and do the pots and things, all to music. I would then go to bed with a set of earphones and listen to other tracks and read before sleep.


Over the years I developed different music for different jobs and I would regularly break from whatever mundane task I was doing to jerk spasmodically to the music, I can't claim to dance, and sometimes, if I was really into it, I would close my eyes and move about in sweeping movements. Dependent on location and level of embarrassment I may crank up the CD player to loud or use earphones and close the curtains to dance. In short, my life was a constantly evolving soundtrack of various types of music and artists, mainly Pet Shop Boys but also plenty of others, all of which were placed on at random and on a whim. I may listen to an entire album, several times, or cherry pick tracks and repeat those or just a single song that I wanted to play the shit out of for whatever reason I had at that time.


Sometimes it was heavy and hard-hitting tracks like Amazing Grace by thebandwithnoname, sometimes it was mellow choral stuff like Libera and sometimes it was poppy dance stuff like Discoteca-Single by the Pet Shop Boys. The point was that music surrounded me so much that I sort of forgot how rare and beautiful it can be to lose oneself in the pounding synth or the mellow strings or the intricacies of guitars and drums and piano. Like from Keane or from some ensemble group. How one can simply breathe the beat and close eyes and be somewhere else. Nowhere specific, just somewhere,


I was washing the pots this evening to the strains of Discoteca and the other songs on the further listening CD of the Bilingual re-release by the Pet Shop Boys and had to dance to a section. I realised that I had not done this since sometime in 2010 and hadn't done it regularly since 2007 when Tilly moved in. I have never actually danced in front of her or even in her presence. Partly this is my natural embarrassment but it also stems from Toby's statement back in 2005 that she was embarrassed by my dancing and that I ought to be embarrassed too. It was further confirmed by the awful experience in the club that first Christmas in 2006 and compounded by a dance class taken in the summer of 2007 where I singularly failed to meet any of the cues, follow any directions properly and was asked by Tilly how it was I could have no sense of rhythm. Like most people she can't quite understand what it is that prevents me singing any actual notes at any point - I am perpetually out of tune and can't seem to hit actual real notes in any kind of progression, certainly not consistently.


But, when I was alone and the music was loud, it never fucking mattered.


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