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. 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 "Story So Far" Page above this and the "New Readers" 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!

Sunday, 26 February 2012


The purpose of this blog was to record my happiness when dressed, but I haven't been doing much of that lately and so the undeniable happiness that I feel when dressed isn't really peeking through.  In the New Year I resolved to try and be more positive, and lately that has been hard.  It's not that things have been going wrong or that I'm under a particularly unusual set of circumstances, but it is an uphill struggle and I do feel more comfortable being negative about myself and what I do.  However, there are plenty of positives that have happened in the last week and the last few days in particular.  So, here's what's been making me happy lately:

We're really lucky because the woods we have look a lot like these woods
do and they look pretty. My Daughter and I ended up running through them
back to our kingdom because the wind was hunting for us. Also,
blackbirds provided musical accompaniment.
1.  Going for a walk in the woods with my daughter.
  Not just because we had a good time, but also because of the way it came about and the aftermath.  She was getting all fractous, as three-year-olds are wont to do, and I suggested we go on an adventure.  She, surprisingly, agreed and we wandered off into the woodland round where we live (we're lucky like that - it's why I bought the house).  She directed us down a bridle path and I thought "I'm always going on about myth-making and stories, I should make one up here".  So I did.  I already have a working mythos for the woods from when I was taking my son round every evening in Summer, so I simply added a new character: Princess Eowyn (yes, based on my daughter).  She went to see the giants (there's an old quarry, I've previously set it up as a place where giants live with my daughter and there's a dragon that sleeps there sometimes too) and met up with her friend Gwendoline who was out hunting pigs.  Long story short, my daughter loved it, we went looking for dragons to have tea with and then we were both knights on the way home, all at the suggestion of my little girl.  That made me very happy.  Her too.

She's very good. And kind!
2.  Having a caption request made by Tiffany, who is fab at captions.  Given the vague nature of the image request I am amazed that she could make anything at all.  But she did.  And I was first on the list of captions!  This makes me ridiculously happy!  I mean, it's not having fun with my daughter happy but it's still happiness.
Given that my plot synopsis was somewhat... specialised, I'm amazed that she managed to find any image that would work.  I'm really made up by the fact that I requested something and it was made.  Ridiculous, I know, but still.

3.  Getting a 'spike' in the reading stats on this blog - sad but true, I am genuinely made happy and all wibbly inside by that.  Also, I have more followers.  One of them is the incredibly talented Miss Simone - whose blog I only found a couple of nights ago.  I'm honoured by that but also by people who wish to follow the blog.  It makes me happy to think that I'm posting things that other people find vaguely interesting, enough to actually see whan I update.

4.  Snuggling Tilly on Friday night.  She didn't respond, apart from enjoying herself, but it was nice to get all up close and have some physical contact again.  Okay, she complained about the prickly nature of my beard the next time I tried on Saturday, and again today, but it still beats the complete drought that I was experiencing previously.  We do seem to have talked more recently and I've even spoken about having a blog.  I'll be honest, I haven't told her what I write on here, but I did share that it had been helping me be positive lately.  There's a definite cycle in my posts here - I start positive, then it goes down a bit, then there's a tirade of self-obsessed wallowing and then it starts again.  I guess it's helping to see that?

Tilly at her best (stock image,
not actually Tilly)
5.  Tilly being successful.  She set up and ran an entire fair last weekend and is now already planning the next two.  She has new product ideas to support her magazine, which is also running smoothly despite the best efforts of a printer getting things wrong, and has created a strong network of people who help support her.  In essence she is living as a true anarcho-socialist: in that everyone makes money from the ventures that are being run, but they work co-operatively rather than in competition with one another.  Something that I've been striving to do for a long time and Tilly has now achieved.  Now, I would be lying if I said I wasn't jealous, but I am happy that she has managed this.

It's been a bit like this.  With more running.  And me not
looking anywhere near as pretty.  Check out the watch!
6.  Sorting out the crap at work.  There's a colleague having a really bad year of it and supporting him has been very difficult.  However, the fact that this last week has worked and been generally successful has been down to the hard work that I have put in.  I feel happy that my efforts have allowed other people to function like nothing is different and at the same time run a slick full day organisation (that won't run until Tuesday, but the build up has been far less stressful) and all the other things that normally happen.  I mean, sure, I'd have liked more help in making all of that happen, but I won't begrudge it on the grounds that it becomes all my work.  I think everyone likes something that they invest in creatively working or providing what it was supposed to provide.  I feel good that my creative energies over the last week did what they were supposed to.  On that note, I guess I also feel happy about making my own (and my first) caption.  It's no novel and it has a typo, but I made it and it looks passable.  I don't think I'll be making more but it did give me one way of shifting that writer's block that's haunted me since August last year!

Saturday, 25 February 2012

A caption!

So, I tried it.  This is all I came up with.  I was going to post other life-related things but I think sleep is more important.

Well, it's a start.  Am I allowed to caption art work
from other people?  Is this a valid thing for me to be
doing?  Am I feeding an addiction?  Is it legal?  Is it
good?  Is it right?  WWJD?

Pete would hate me for posting this!


It's likely to be another double update because the first thing I have to do, and I've been a bit rude for not doing it sooner, is thank all the people who have been reading my ramblings over the last week.  There was something of a spike in my pageview stats last week that shocked me a little.  Also, it flattered me, and even galvanised me to request my first caption.  And comment more on the blogs that I enjoy reading.
I guess this says that I live to serve.  Inasmuch as that can be true
of someone who started a blog purely as a personal thing to store
thoughts off my work laptop rather than on it...  Ah well, it's a nice
picture anyway.
So, thank you extra readers, you flatter me by your mere presence!  Also, many thanks to those of you that have chosen to follow my blog.  I know I said that the point of my blog was very much personal but it is very uplifting to know that there are people that actually read my bloggings and want to hear of updates.  To you I am particularly indebted.

It is largely as a result of this, and some following of rabbit holes, that I am considering part of my creative attempts to become a caption.  Now, don't get me wrong there are too many excellent caption makers to mention who do the job exceptionally well for me to even try and make it a regular thing, but maybe one will be fine.  Also, I can't promise that it will even be slightly good.

Can you tell I went walking in the woods with my daughter today?  I always feel better having walked in the woods.  Consider this, then, a curtsey in appreciation.  Thank you.

Thursday, 23 February 2012

A Compassionate Letter

This could be harder than I first thought.  Mainly because, so far as I can see, compassion appears to consist of the following things:
1. Making excuses for things that you do wrong.  Compassion as modelled to me by others seemed to spend an awful lot of time 'explaining away' mistakes and 'bad behaviour' by offering reasons for why it was that way.  Along the lines of "it is difficult to be assertive in the situation that you're in at work and so sometimes passivity is a valid means of dealing with things, you shouldn't beat yourself up over it."
2. Affecting symapthy where there is none.  That is, the idea that one could feel sympathetic to someone displaying behaviour that offered no chance to empathise.  "I know that you have had some bad experiences and so it is natural to respond in ways that would be inappropriate to society as you have not had the proper behaviour modelled." (this one also repeats point 1)
3. A belief that one is not responsible for one's own transgressions, that there is no consequence that is 'natural' from a given action.  I'm not sure I like this one, it stinks of moral relativism.

Then there's the problem of who I'm addressing this to.  Okay, that's supposed to be myself.  But is that me as I am now?  Me as I was a few years ago?  Me as a child?  What on Earth do I have to say to myself that I don't already know?  The last time I tried to be compassionate to myself I just said stuff that I already knew and had to really restrain myself from adding "but" to everything.  What is the point of saying "Being angry is a natural response, so there's no shame in it" when what I want to follow it with "but you know that and the more important part of this is not getting angry in the first place because it never goes well!"

My Blog: Happiness
The Internet
Dear Joanna,

First of all, take comfort from the fact that I know. Everything, I know everything that you know. I know about the fact that you feel selfish and self-obsessed, and I know that you are.  You are right when you feel that you don't pay attention to other people, you don't, and that's to be expected.  Doesn't make it right, but it does mean that you can't really escape it either.  You were ignored a lot as a child, not ignored like neglected or ignored more than most children of your generation but you were ignored.  It was taken as read that your opinion was unimportant and that your needs were more wants that could safely not be met as long as your parents got some time to themselves or just had a break from your crying, whinging, whining and inability to ask for anything politely.  For that reason it is no surprise that you are unable to pay attention to your wife when she talks to you or your children when looking after them.

I know that you find work difficult and pressured.  I know that you want to quit, as that is the only defence mechanism that you have, but also feel trapped by the fact that quitting would leave you with nothing.  You make mistakes, we all do, and sometimes those mistakes are costly.  Provided that you avoid making the same mistakes I guess that means you learn from them and so that is potentially a good thing.  You bought a house at the height of the housing boom, and it was over-priced then, and you crashed your car at precisely the moment that your wife actually trusted you enough at the wheel to drop off.  In both cases there is nothing you can do to make the situation 'right' and so worrying about it is counter-productive.  Paying financially for those mistakes is what keeps you at your job, and so it is natural to feel frustrated and resentful.

I know that you resent your children.  You resent the fact that they get a better experience than you did when you were their age and they don't appreciate it.  You resent the fact that your wife practically ignores you in a physicasl sense.  You are upset when she says that you want something that she cannot see a way to give you.  You are upset that there is very little in the way of physicality between you.  But you can't keep using her comments as a stick to beat yourself with.  Who cares that the last time she had sex with you, and it wasn't making loves, was done with the stated aim of "stopping you complaining because it's been nearly two years"?  Of course these things hurt your ego but what do you realistically expect?

I'm sorry that you feel that you are hard done to and hurt by the world around you, but you aren't and you're whining.  It should not surprise you that other people care little for you, your position or your feelings when you care so little for yourself.  Be a little less of a shit stain on the underpants of the Universe, quit moping and wallowing in your own self-pity, grow a pair and fucking get on with your life.

Fuck you,


I guess I'll have to try again later when I'm less tired.

Short status update

I've been set a task of writing a compassionate letter to myself.  It's an interesting task, and was set some time ago (about a week actually), but I've not managed to sit down and think about it until now.  Indeed, I've not had time to sit down and think about anything since I last posted on here due to work.  For the last five days I've been working until close to midnight after putting the kids to bed and that has really been taking it out of me.  I managed to comment on some other blogs, but then ran out of time to update my own.

I rather mean like this.  For some reason I find this sort
of thing endlessly fascinating.
There's been some thought regarding the synopsis I posted.  I originally had the bare bones of the idea way back, like I said, but I'm struggling to start it and get going.  I do know that I want to go beyond the party now and cover the journey home where the protagonist gets treated more like a little sister by the girl that helps him out, and starts believing it to some extent.  Also, due to my other kinks and prediliction for bondage, I suppose I'd like the story to explore that side too.  I also have my novel idea that I may start posting bits of as I attempt to start writing again.  There's something about being creative that helps me remain positive and I haven't really had the chance to do anything of any worth since about this time last year, which is a shame.  Having someone try to sack you from your job for real or imagined incompetence will sap your time though.  I mention the novel as relevant because one of the main characters is a cross-dressing student who is forced to go on the run en femme.  Basically the raid on his flat happens whilst he is indulging his addiction and the rest follows on from that.  Did I mention that it's set in an alternate history?  I won't bore you with details.

Then there's been the carry on at work covering for a colleague who is having an awful time of things.  That means I have to plan the work for that colleague as well as doing my own, I mean, they've got someone in to be a body and do the work but that person can't be expected to be the missing colleague.  That means it's my job to make sure they know what they have to do, when they have to do it, how it is best to do it and then to ensure that they can get on and do it.  On top of that I have my own job to do and the joy of organising about 100 other people into a day of events next Tuesday.

Don't get me wrong, I still love this pair, I just recognise that
they're not practical unless I want to be reminded what I'm
wearing all the time.
Which brings me to the last point of this rather quick status update so I can try writing that letter (how does one write compassionately anyway?) and that is accidental cross-dressing.  I'm back on the sofa, as predicted, as my alarm wakes Tilly and with her having to deal with the children getting up in the night that seems a little unfair.  So, being back on the sofa means that I keep forgetting to get clothes for the morning the night before (not always easy, these last few days I've been thrust straight into looking after our youngest after getting changed).  This, in turn, means that when I found I'd run out of boxer shorts two days ago I didn't have time to rummage in the wardrobe without waking my son and wife.  I opted instead to use my knickers that I still have stored down the back of the sofa (and haven't had chance to wear).  While looking through the bag of socks from the last wash I found a more appropriate pair of knickers (no huge bow, full brief style) of my wife's that she's obviously forgotten about.  I was tempted.  But I also found a pair of boxer shorts.

There were no more this morning.  I succumbed.
Obviously I have a bulge and my waist isn't
so slim, but you get the idea.
They're surprisingly comfortable, much more so than my boxer shorts, and have been really easy to forget that I'm wearing them.  Added to that, the thinner material has actually been better for temperature down there and so I haven't sweated as much.  Combine that with the cut and the fact that my legs haven't itched from the boxers getting caught in the trousers (there's no long legs) and the nice supportive feeling for my stomach and we have arguably the most comfortable underwear I've ever worn.  But there is an enormous amount of guilt because these are not my knickers, they're my wife's.  And that's stealing.  Which is wrong.

So, that's been me.  Now I have to try and write that letter...

Saturday, 18 February 2012


I've said before that I want to do more creative things, but captioning isn't something I feel that I can do as well as other people out thereThese people are so good that it actually makes it hard to join them, as a learner I would not feel confident enough to join in!

However, there are places for longer fiction of various types that I do think I could have a go at matching.  I have an idea for a piece that has been in my head since about 2000 and I think now I have more plot and such to have a go.  Not tonight, not now, Tilly has run a successful Fair that has been really good but it does mean that I am too shattered for original thought.

Yeah, this is not the kind of thing I mean totally but it is
close enough for illustrative purposes.
I have synopsis of it now though, it involves a 21st birthday party; a 22 year old; "forced-fem" and some regression-y type focus.  Basically, I have this plan for someone who goes to a 21st and then gets involved in something where they have to dress and ends up being treated as younger than everyone else, perhaps younger than drinking age, and ends up being taken home as someone else's sister in their car (that is, the bloke's car) driven by their 'elder sister' for the summer.  I want it to include some hypnosis too, but subtle types, and a reduction in some functional intelligence.  I'm a bit of a glasses fetishist and so I suppose it would come under the need to wear strong glasses (can you tell I've got 20/20 vision?) and being too young to drive etc and being treated like that until it becomes second nature.

I dunno, is that the sort of thing people would actually read?  I guess I'd have to write it and see.  I record it here so I don't lose the idea, but would welcome any feedback at all.

Thursday, 16 February 2012

Up and down

Ideally you need to find a copy of the Pet Shop Boys Up and Down and have it playing in the background of this post.  I think it's been effectively purged from youtube but I have a copy on the extended single of Did you see me coming and on the album Format which arrived in my grubby mits today.

It should be obvious by now that I'm a. in therapy and b. not getting very far with it.  The problem appears, to me, to be that being compassionate seems to involve a lot of excuse-making to justify or explain away aberrant behaviours.  As explained in another post(s) I am an angry person who tends to find irritation in just about anything and everything.  This is a reaction to something, and generally I turn it all inwards.  Lately I have been attacking my love of dressing in female clothing.

My dress.
I did that today, by the way, in that dress I got from ASDA.  Still like it.  I love the feel of it as it twirls about my legs and the feathery brush of the hem across my thighs.  I also like the way it hangs around the neck, it doesn't feel as tight and uncomfortable as my T-shirts do around there and I don't have a terribly thick neck (just a very prominent adam's apple), and arms.  It has short capped sleeves that are elasticated to cling slightly, and it's a pretty nice feeling.  It also does a great job of hiding my bushy underarm hair and trapping the fetid stench of sweat that emanates from there (I had only just had a shower and applied deordorant and I could smell the fuckers).  Finally, the high waist is also elasticated and gathers nicely.  Ideally it would be a tad lower but I am rather tall for women's sizes.  One day I may have to bite the bullet and order a dress made for a bloke from one of the stores I know about online.  But I digress.

On Tuesday Tilly and I had a long talk about my anger and its source.  It ended up with us cuddling on the sofa and her saying that she didn't think I was a bad person, rather a good person who was finding things hard.  I also started sleeping in our bed again.

A couple of nights of being woken by a screaming boy and scaring Tilly by my expression of sheer anger in a morning from dealing with our spawn and that doesn't seem very tenable.  I can do it at the moment by dint of not having an alarm and the fact that I'm on holiday.  The moment I go back to work I suspect I was going to go back to the sofa anyway.  As it is, I suspect I shall be back there tonight but, this time, it will be my choice.  There's little point on me being in the same bed.  We can talk, sure, but not when Tilly's trying to get our son to sleep and is stressed about her own endeavours.

Mrs Doasyouwouldbedonby, for it is she,
from the Water Babies.  Not how I remember
her from the film, it must be said.
Then there's the 'good person' thing.  I'm not.  I don't care about other people because I don't really care about myself.  I don't see the point in caring about the emotions of others because they don't see the point in caring about me.  The stricture is "Do as you would be done by" but I suspect more people live as "Do unto others before they do unto you", so I'm amending mine to "Do as you are done by".  And there it is.  The fact that I've even decided that this is a good idea and the fact that I am an arrogant ass combines to mean that I'm not a terribly nice person.  I revel in the failure of others, I am judgemental and I do not suffer fools.  When it comes to dealing with things I create or have a hand in then my natural inclination is to destroy them.  I exult in the destruction of things, figuratively and literally, I love to plough them under and salt the earth.  I obviate things, obliterate them.  And the stupidity and evil of others makes me want to repay them with evil of my own.  I have righteous indignation and I do think of myself as better than others.  In that regard compassion is a weakness, a prop and a crutch, something for the stupid and lame to use to make their sense of entitlement feel less evil and wrong.

I embrace my wrong and my inequity - I see myself for what I am and I make no excuses and heed no forgiveness.  I do not strive to be better and fail, I strive for nothing and cannot fail.  I have achieved everything that I ever set out to do: go to University, trick a woman into bed.  I have done these things.  I cannot make my wife happy.  I cannot build better children.  I want them to fear me, to do as I tell them when I tell them without pissing about because they're pissing themselves in fear.  I want kinky sex, for free.  But I recognise that these things are not only unlikely but that they are also poisonous and wrong.

I guess I'll either leave, or die, whichever is quicker.

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Gender defined roles and Valentine's Day


Okay, why is this only something
homosexual men can enjoy?
One of the things that really irks me about relationships in general and romance in particular is the underlying assumption that women are the ones to be wooed and men are the ones to do the wooing.  My wife wears make-up and skirts and that is making an effort for me (which is sad, she looks stunning without these affectations) but it is expected that I should offer to run her a bath or supply her with flowers and chocolates as well as dress more smartly if I want to make a similar effort.

What if I want flowers?  Tough, that ain't gonna happen.

I can't get past the idea that this would
be my wife's reaction to giving me
a blow job.  Nor blame her if it were.
Then there's the fact that when we were enjoying the physical side of our relationship, perhaps enjoying is too strong a term, I would happily go down on her or masturbate her to climax.  Indeed, I was keen that she orgasm at least once and definitely before me (purely on the basis that she, as a woman, can do this and be good to go again quicker than I, as a bloke, can be without some form of training).  But, for my own purposes, she would never touch me anywhere that was sensitive with her hands.  She offered a blow job once, when drunk and before we had had sex, indeed, pretty early in the relationship.  I turned her down, quite firmly, on the grounds that she would not have enjoyed having done it in the morning.  I wish I hadn't now, it looks like the only chance I'll ever have at having one.

So what if I want a bit of sexual pampering, I'm a man: simple things are required - a bit of missionary position, maybe her on top, and that's yer lot.

Another self-serving rant brought to you by the man that wears clothes designed for women to get off and doesn't even notice when his wife wears skirts and make-up to look pretty for him.

Sunday, 12 February 2012

My addiction and my Ex pt3

What I guess I was looking for.  Like it
even exists or I'd want it if I had it.
So, early on in the relationship, when everything was going well, Toby would say things like "if I had legs like yours, I'd wear dresses all the time, show 'em off!" and she would compliment me on my feminine body.  She was keen to support me in my transvestism, and just didn't realise.  I guess I was still new to everything but I was also incredibly selfish and, ultimately, I viewed the whole things as a means of getting myself excited, as a consequence I wanted to be forced to dress and simply being complimented wasn't really enough.  I always wanted more.  I can't quite believe how selfish I was being actually nor how much I didn't notice at the time.  I could have really taken advantage of the situation, I could have been dressing and in a relationship at the same time!
The only knickers that I owned
at the time.  Plain black hi-legs
from a cheap Morrison's pack
of five.

However, there was the time where I did dress to go out.  Up until that point I had dressed at Toby's suggestion and she had been in the driving seat.  She had put me in handcuffs and locked me outside her room, she had chosen the wardrobe, put me in make-up and teased me about wearing knickers.  All of these things were good, they were consensual, they were fun.  They were also very exciting, even if I was pretty poor at accepting them.  We had masturbated one another in bed, we had both reached climax and we had both slept in the same bed all night numerous times.  But she had been in the driving seat, even prompting me to be more forceful.  Now and again I took the driving seat, with her permission, and tied her up or held her down or whatever.  I knew that she was into bondage and pain because with her own ex she had ended up with bite marks and bruises and, once I was going out with her, I saw that this wasn't abuse - she did ask me to try the same and while we did bite one another a little, I really didn't want to leave a bruise, so I didn't.  There are ways.

So, after her birthday, where I dressed as a schoogirl and had a really good time, I wanted to dress again.  On her birthday I was able to hang around with Toby and the girls rather than the blokes.  It was nice, we talked about everything and nothing.  I should point out that they weren't really girly girls, they were roleplayers, and so the conversation wasn't about 'typical' girly things - that wasn't why I found it nice - it was just nice to talk with them and to be seen, in some ways, as equally feminine - enough to share the conversation and not to feel that I was out of place.  We ended up touching arms a lot and we hugged when parting or when having conversation generally.  In the club we discussed dancing and I tried to use more feminine dance moves, turns out I was better at that than I would have been at dancing normally, something Toby later confirmed.  I had enjoyed the experience and so convinced Toby to assent to my dressing the next time we went to a club.  I had a dress that I had bought on eBay, a mini-dress with a white stripe down it like a racing car, and I really liked it.  It was rather short, but I put it on, stuffed the bosom and wore a wig and also make up.  It was cool.  However, it was a very cold night and I had to borrow Toby's jacket, but I was wearing my own shoes rather than female ones.  We had tried Toby's boots but they were too small, which figures.

This is how I'd like to look when driving: assured and
confident.  Interestingly, despite the cliche, women are
statistically more careful drivers and, generally, have
greater confidence in their own ability to drive.
I, on the other hand, hate driving with a passion and am really
waiting to have that fatal accident.
During this night, Toby spent a lot of time away from me, avoiding me, and on the way home was less talkative than normal.  Once back at her place she revealed that she was upset with me going out dressed and that she would have preferred that I didn't do it again.  Sure enough, this was the end of dressing in her bed, it was the end of her teasing and things became markedly colder.  I then arranged for her to come back and meet my mother, we had gone round to her mother's a few times already by that point.  She agreed.  When we went she was ill, and I was concerned for her, and when we were at my mother's she was so ill that she couldn't leave the bed in the morning (we didn't share a bed at this point) and eventually we had to cut the visit short and go back to her place.  On the three hour journey home she became progressively worse, running a high temperature and looking like she was going to be sick and slowly losing consciousness.  It was at this point that Toby revealed that she had got herself so drunk the night before we had gone to my mother's that she thought she might have alcohol poisoning, she had had this before so she knew what it felt like.  This much turned out to be true.  I asked her if it was because she was nervous at meeting my mother and Toby replied that it was not, it was simply something she had done with her friends and something that meant she was more likely to cheat on me.  I asked if she had, she said not, I believed her and then she got upset that I would believe her.

This is the sort of thing I imagined when
Toby said I should wear dresses more
often and complimented my legs.
We'll be honest, I don't have legs
this nice.
All of this led to the first time that we split up, I reasoned that I would function better as a friend than I would as a boyfriend, I was prepared to avoid dressing at this stage but recognised enough that I wanted to stay close to the person who had brought that part of me to the surface.  What followed were a series of errors of judgement on my part, we got back together after she had slept with her ex in the meantime and there were other occasions where I was dressed, but these were not the same.  Toby was not happy with my dressing nor was she really up for the kinks she had enjoyed at the beginning and it was obvious that she was looking elsewhere to get her 'fix' of these.  She lived vicariously through other people who were doing what she wanted to do and made it clear that she didn't really want to share that aspect of her life with me any more.  There was no pretence that this was for my benefit.

Toby became 'bored' by me and said so, alleging that I had a boring voice, a grey life and was just not an interesting person.  I was too organised, I wouldn't 'drive a motorbike into a lake', which I suppose is true.  I know that I wasn't right for her, I know that Toby would never have been happy with me, and I know that my passivity toward the end was the most annoying behaviour that could ever be used.  I know that I asked too much from her, I expected more than I could reasonably expect given Toby's issues and past.  I also know that I was always waiting to go back to how things were in the beginning.  I am still unclear on what changed at the beginning and why it was that the dressing became the issue it did, but I know that it did and I know that it drove a wedge between us.  I don't regret the relationship ending but I do regret the fact that I made myself as vulnerable as I did without some form of insurance.  That is, I do regret not embracing the dressing and the compliments when I had them.  Perhaps if I had, if I had taken the opportunity to dress without being forced, then things would have been different.  I don't think we would have remained together, we weren't right for each other, but I may have had a friend who would help me dress and keep offering compliments, someone who not only knew my tendencies but would be able to support me with them.

I guess the whole thing is an example of something that has plagued me.  I had the opportunity to safely embrace my transvestism in a supportive environment and, rather than embrace it, I pushed it away as hard as I could.  I was embarrassed, I worried about the consequences and I was concerned about the religious implications and these selfish concerns overwhelmed the kindness that was being shown me.

Mid-way through the relationship after the above break-up Toby held me down and had her younger sister shave my legs from half way down my calves to my feet because I was going on holiday with two girls I had liked the look of back in University.  That was part of what made me stick around - the occasional bit of domination and bondage.  I also quite liked the feeling of my legs being smooth and without hair.  As usual, I over-egged the pudding and asked if I should shave my whole legs, completely missing the point of what had happened at Toby's Mum's house.  She only didn't go on the holiday herself because I was hardly a 'good time' person.  This blog stands as testament, I think, to the fact that I find being positive over a long period virtually impossible.

About as masculine as I look shaving.  Not
that pretty though.
Also, I told Toby how much I didn't want to be checking http://www.fictionmania.tv/ and http://www.sticky-site.com/ so much and she did try to help me give them up too.  It didn't work, I now check them irregularly whilst looking into self-hypnosis, guided masturbation and other pretty dark and dank corners of conditional sexual pornography.  I'm not really in a healthy place.  Anyway, yes, I proved about as able to give up these addictions as Toby was of giving up smoking.  She said she'd do it for me, and I guess my failure to do anything substantial, or indeed anything at all, for her meant that she didn't really feel any compunction to keep that going.  I over-reacted to her smoking and that led to more arguments and stupid moods.  Basically, I behaved like a complete tool.  I know that Sara, for example, has been able to embrace and enjoy the fact that her partner sees other men.  I guess I gave the same sort of feeling to Toby.  Thing is, I don't think I could cope with that kind of thing.  I'm selfish and territorial.  It's slightly ridiculous that I am as territorial as I am because I completely lack the wherewithal to do anything about it!

The razor was a pink one that Toby deliberately left for
me.  The mini-skirt I wore afterwards was a gift from
her too.  As was the nightgown I wore at her place.
After we split up for the final time I did shave my legs totally.  It was in a long break from work and I obsessively wore trousers despite it being a warm summer that year, 2005, and I combined it with shaving my face completely too.  It was after doing this, and taking pictures of myself with my phone, that I revealed to Caroline what was going on too.  I digress.  The point is that I recognised the role of my dressing in ending the relationship with Toby and felt, at the time, that she was 'the one', so it was pretty upsetting.  And yet, despite that, I actually increased my dressing and went further than I had ever been before.  It seems that the more problems my addiction causes the more addicted to it I become and the greater the lengths I will go to in service of it!

I'm not really certain what purpose these entries serve, but perhaps they have been cathartic.

Saturday, 11 February 2012

If you've done nothing wrong you've got nothing to fear...

There's something about being addicted to wearing clothing, or wanting to wear clothing, that is designed for the opposite gender that society finds incredibly distasteful, I think I've mentioned this rather a lot already in this blog.  However, it is something that I notice ever more these days.  Today I spotted a headline in our local paper about an ex-teacher who had been arrested on suspicion of being a paedophile and was found guilty.

Interesting that 'Original Sin' is usually personified as a woman
but my reading of Genesis suggests that the sin wasn't so much
the eating of the forbidden fruit but the failure to support one
another when confronted by God.  Man blamed Woman and
Woman blamed the talking snake...
That's not what drew me to post about it.  He was described in the first line of the article as a man who posed as a woman online, as if this alone was enough to make him guilty.  Now, there are two issues that I find interesting and a little worrying in all of this.  He was identified by Texan Police and the details they passed on were enough to locate him.  He had been a teacher and as soon as the allegations were made he was suspended, as if allegations alone were enough to harm his students, and he resigned shortly afterwards.  He pled guilty to the charges, which were not spelt out, and much was made of his user name being female when he was male.  Indeed, they intimated that this was the well-spring of is sexual deviancy.

Now, that's as it may be in a strict dictionary application of the term, but papers and the media are rarely interested in such applications.

Big Brother is always watching us, he's just not as
effective as he was in 1984.
Issue 1: privacy online.
Thye man was found when police in Texas were investigating links of a paedophile and disovered contact with a user called 'Wendy' in the UK.  They reported this to the UK Police who used web logs to pinpoint the IP address.  When they confiscated his computers they found three images - category one, the lowest category of porn - that had failed to be erased, in other words they found bits of images that the man had tried to delete or that had been opened in 'temp' folders as part of a web visit.  He claimed the man in Texas had sent them to him and he had trid to destroy them.  The pictures were said to constitute 'extreme pornography'.  Now, I'm not sure what counts as extreme pornography, but I am a touch concerned about the invasion of privacy that went on here and the assumption of guilt.  Where else in life would images you saw and tried to destroy be enough to convict you?  Furthermore, there is an assumption  that looking at such imagery is tantamount to carrying it out, which is bizarre.  It would be similar to seeing that someone read books by Patricia Cornwell and passing on their details to the Police as a risk for serial murders.

Teachers in the classroom are female and pretty, on strike
they are male and old, and crap ones are male and
sweaty or young and female.  Make of that what you will.
Issue 2: Teachers and sexual deviancy.
It worries me that the man was reported so strongly as a teacher.  Was that part of what he did?  Would it have been less bad had he been some faceless suit in a legal firm?  Are people really expecting that a teacher in an actual job would be able to abuse their students?  I've been in school settings and there just isn't the opportunity for most staff to abuse the students without a. anyone noticing and b. being reported forthwith and discovered before actually enacting anything creepy.  Now, I'll accept that there may have been more to the story than I read, and maybe the images were reason for concern if they were of actual children or taken by the man himself, but there's also the issue of the 'posing as a female online' being used as a means of being dangerous.  If that is the case then virtually every geeky gamer I know is a potential danger to others!

I guess I just worry that this sort of thing feeds the societal rejection of something that I do.

Friday, 10 February 2012

Chair Work

The chairs are opposite each other, like this.  Perhaps I
need some prop between the chairs so that both aspects
can talk to the prop.
I'm in therapy.  Like most people I guess.  And yesterday was my last session, in which we tried some chair work - that is, having different chairs for different aspects of me to talk to each other and to talk to another part of myself between them.  It wasn't quite as open as I thought it was going to be.  In the end the idea was that there would be two chairs: one would be for my inner-critic and the other would be for my inner-compassionate self.  They would then face a part of myself that I was prepared to discuss and would not cause too much distress.  Something like my lack of assertiveness at work, for example, and the inner-critic would go first.  I would then have to have the body-state of criticism and feel the things that I subject myself to on a pretty much daily basis.  Then I would switch chairs and essentially take on the role of being more compassionate.  This would be acting, I know that, and the more we try acting the easier it will become to feel it for real.  By pretending to be more compassionate to parts of me then I would perhaps learn how to be more compassionate to myself.  Tilly has already pointed out that if I were nicer to myself then she would find it easier to be nicer to me too.

My inner-critic.
When it came to the task I found it hard to get going.  As is usual when I'm nervous I spent a long time building up to it: I was embarrassed and just nervous.  I prevaricated and delayed and stood in silence for long periods without moving and just feeling that I couldn't do it for fear of making myself look like a dick.  And, as is usual, I ended up forgetting what the task actually was.  So, when I sat down as th inner critic I fixed the seat where I would sit second and addressed it like I was sitting there.  I spoke about my cross-dressing and attacked my motives, my reasonings for doing it and the fact that I did it at all.  I spoke about the truths of the matter: I don't pass; I don't look feminine; I gain nothing by it but more alienation from Tilly and general distraction from what I should be doing.  I went into the fact that it is the most selfish thing that I do.  I attacked myself like I do in my head.

How I imagine my compassionate side.
But when I changed chairs I wasn't trying to be compassionate to the part of me that cross-dresses, I was role playing that part of me trying to be compassionate.  And I didn't feel very good at all.  I felt that my inner critic was right, I felt like the one I had been attacking.  And I had no answers, my inner-critic may be mean and critical but my inner-critic is right.  I think it's because I am rational and cold and logical.  All of the points that were raised were essentially about the irrationality of my actions, the lack of justification for what I do, and the unspoken awareness that I engage in pornography to masturbate these days, making it harder for me to connect with Tilly.

Take right now, for instance, we're in different rooms because my typing is too loud for her and she needs to get on with her own work and contact her friends online.  We're both tired, we don't really talk any more and I'm in a grumpy mood after my day at work.  I want to do something special for her on Valentine's Day and I don't know what to do because I'm busy trying to work out my therapy and what to do about the fact that I want to buy those damn' boots or something.  I guess I'm still a bit bummed that I didn't fit into that Karen Millen dress but that doesn't mean that I should be looking to get something else.  It was an impulse buy, it wasn't right and I should just move on.  I have the money back now and someone else wanted it, it was all for the best in the end.  What right do I have to still be mulling that one over.  It is ridiculous that I even expend thought over this.

I do need to find the positivity that I had at the beginning of the year again.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

Full time parenting Pt2

I could subtitle this as Why I shouldn't have children.

Okay, looks nothing like Tilly.  However, the idea
of a suit making a woman feel more powerful and
confident is the closest I could get to showing
Tilly's drive and determination.  Tilly does wear
glasses and is a brunette however.
Basically, Tilly was busy with shedloads of stuff this last weekend, she was out most of the Saturday with her magazine project and trying to sort various things.  Also, we went shopping for the chinchilla.  All this meant that I pretty much spent the day looking after one or both of our children.  This was fine, but I had recklessly taken the Friday night off working, meaning that I too had a shedload of stuff to be getting on with.  Alas, come the evening of Saturday (ill children meant that we were helping them sleep until 8pm) I was too shattered to actually make a decent stab at doing anything.  So I didn't.

Sunday, and Tilly is off training for a potential job thing to bring in enough money for her to learn to drive.  If she can drive she can then use the money from this job thing to pay insurance and fuel and maintenance for her car which she will use for basic transportation.  It will also allow her to branch out of her work in running a parenting group and parenting magazine into being a doula.  This will allow her to get involved in birth training and helping other women have the kind of births that they actually want to have, increasing the good vibes all round and giving her another income stream which will then add about £1-2K per year to our moving fund.  It all sounds rather complicated now that I write that out, but Tilly is one of those people who is not only goal-driven but can actually make things happen!

Yes, except no smiling on the face.  Terror mainly.
This meant that I was left looking after our brood from about 9am to about 4.30pm.  Now, this isn't usually a major problem.  However, I woke up that morning with the last vestiges of a nightmare about work bouncing around in my head, so stressed by it that I actually greeted Tilly not with a "good morning" but a violent spurt of verbiage about shopping, deadlines, things going wrong and general worry.  Then there was the lack of sleep due to aforementioned nightmare.  And the worry about my work stuff that I hadn't done, and was part of the nightmare, and the fact that the kitchen was a mess and the fact that it had snowed and not cleared the previous day and the fact that both children hadn't slept well and the fact that the sofa had been particularly uncomfortable that night.  I can make any excuses I like, I think the fact was that I wasn't really happy with the idea of looking after both children on my own and resented the fact that I couldn't get my work done.

My temper is very much like this.  Destructive, powerfully
so, and then lingers for thousands of years afterwards.
The day did not start well.  I yelled at my daughter in my best teacher impersonation within ten minutes of Tilly leaving the house, causing my daughter to whimper for a good half hour or more and generally behave like a whipped puppy.  Which, I guess, she was.  Then I let myself get all stressed out and riled up by my son keep taking his gloves off as we prepared to go and play in the snow to the point where I stopped behaving entirely rationally.  In the snow I couldn't unwind enough to play, so neither did my children.  My son because he didn't really understand the snow and my daughter because she was so frightened of my mood that she didn't know how to respond.  We tried for a walk to the park but we turned back due to the fact that my daughter's feet were cold.  Basically, I was shit.  I ruined a snow-filled day by being unrationally angry and stressed out.

He looked like this when I was done, but more plaintive
and incomprehending that the man he trusted with his
life would shout at him with that expression.
Needless to say, being cooped up indoors did nothing to improve anyone's mood.  Within a few hours I had exhausted the use of the TV as a safety valve, eaten lunch and still not got any less stressed.  The boy had slept for a bit and the girl had watched Pet Shop Boys until the TV had given her a little girl headache and made her grouchy and scared of her Daddy.  She eventually became unable to play with either me or her brother and I let her grouch off to her room, which was bad parenting too as I wasn't really interacting, I was just barely holding back my own parents' style of frustration.  And I knew I was doing it.  I was being unnecessarily sarcastic, acerbic and downright mean to both of them at virtually every opportunity.  I was not enjoying anything and selfishly allowing that to show in everything we did.  When the boy ripped a box I went completely mad and yelled at him to the point where he still can't bear to be in the same room as me or anywhere where we are alone.  I'm that much of a crap Dad.  I am, in fact, my father.  He would do the same low down and dirty form of warfare.  He would be perfectly charming and reasonable with other adults around but, quietly, he would hiss threats to me and, in private, would transform into a towering monster with eyes of flame and a voice that scared me half to death.  He would roar his disapproval and I would never see it coming.  And I craved his approval.  Still do.  But I feared him.  I still fear his disappointment.  And now I've done that to my boy and my girl.  Any good that I've done over the last year or so has been vaporised by that one shining moment, well day, of terror for them at my hands.

I'm not doing terribly well at positivity lately...

Eh, it may work at balancing the negativity of this post,
it may not.  Like her hair though.

Tuesday, 7 February 2012


So, been poor at updating.  Work has been dominating my time and looking after, and scarring mentally, my children on the weekend didn't help matters.  Being out at work until 9pm yesterday was particularly bad and tonight I literally just finished working on some resources.  They're not even all finished yet.

I'll post a proper analysis of parenting later.

For now, I tried giving the beautiful dress to my wife, but it's too small for her too.  I think I may buy the boots from ASDA I keep banging on about instead.  God knows where I'll keep them or when I'll get chance to wear them though.  Haven't even been managing my heels in the morning.

Mindfulness continues, but I'm not visiting my safe place.  Instead I'm listening to Integral in the car, the remix.

Friday, 3 February 2012

On Beautiful Things...


I cannot believe what I just did.  On tha way back from work I bought a gorgeous yellow dress with a black cincher sewn into it.  There was even an underskirt with a black lace hem beneath the outerskirt, again sewn in.  It's size 10, but apparently a big one so it may fit me.  I can take it back within 28 days if I leave the tags in.  It was £25 and what I said the last time about cost hasn't changed.


I bought a dress.  Again.  And it was a proper one.  Not like the sale one I got from ASDA.  This one is yellow, and lovely, and fashionable, and nice and...

I have this habit of driving to work and checking out the windows of the charity shops I pass.  Been doing it since 2005 actually.  There have been several outfits and dresses and stuff that I've liked the look of and I've always wondered about popping in to buy them.  But I didn't.  I know some of the people that work in those shops, not well but enough, and could never quite chance it.  You know, that they may figure it out.

But today has been a hyped up day, and I drank caffeine in the morning, and I'd seen this dress a week ago and thought it long gone and it was there again and I thought... Why the heck not?

I can't quite believe I've done it.

When Tilly is a-bed I shall bring it into the house and try it on, see if it fits, on one level I can't wait.  On another I worry that it won't fit, which will be crushingly disappointing.  And, yet more, I hope it doesn't fit, so I can take it back and forget I did it.  My heart is thumping.  I can't believe I did it.  I've bought two dresses in a few months, that's more than I bought in two years before Tilly moved in.  Does that mean therapy is working or failing?  If it fits, should I splash out another £25 on the boots?  I don't think my current shoes will match, they're fawn.  I'll get away with dark brown knee-height boots, but not fawn heels.

Pictures may follow.  I'm too excited.  I even managed to forget the name of thing on being told it I was so excited in the shop.  Oh God, I hope it fits!  But please let it be too small so I can take it back.  I want to wear it forever!  Amen.

See what I mean?  Achingly beautiful.

It's a Karen Millen.  £160 when new.  It's beautiful.  I'm wearing it now.  I love the fact that it holds my arms back as I type.  But it's too small.  Irredeemably so really.  I mean, if I had some sewing skill I could maybe come up with a fix, but my ribcage is too wide, I can't just 'suck it all in' because it's my frame that's too big, not me being too fat.

It is beautiful.  I would pay twice as much for a size 12 version, because it would fit me.

I guess I take it back.

But it was beautiful.  I owned it for a few hours.  I wore it.  Sorry beautiful thing, I cannot keep you.  But you will be cherished and loved by someone you were designed for rather than a hairy, sweaty, selfish bastard.  If you love something, you must set it free.

I wrote a poem once, called The Salad Ballad and this is the kind of dress I imagined was in it.  It wasn't a ballad, that was part of the 'thing'.

The poem is below, for what it's worth:

The Salad Ballad
"I," the world draws breath,
"Am a manly man."
Birds with sunshine wings
And other pleasant things
Fill his dreaming with meaning.
Sweet sounds of sucking, suckling,
Stones play on his bones.

He remembered when he was old:
to the leftTake a stand on the golden sand,
Streams of flaxen hair like cream.
to the rightNo, the pastel pink on his wall,
Not an indication but a squall.
aheadStorms must be weathered.
(but not always, like that time as a child he ran away rather than become fodder for the angry gang of lean teens)

Lettuce and celery;

Eaten with clarity and
The barest hint of vinegarette.
"My name is my own."
No one can take that away
But God and he knows.

"I," wait with bated breath,
"Am a manly man,
"And manly men do not feel pain."
Or wear yellow dresses in

Wednesday, 1 February 2012

My addiction and my Ex pt2

In the relationship with my ex I guess part of the attraction in those early days was the feeling that I was the one being wooed.  Before we were going out, in the Summer, it was Toby who invited me round to her house, who suggested that I try on a dress, who sought me out at parties and made sure I was generally well treated at BBQs and the like.  She would hover about me when I went round to the house she shared with some of my friends and she was keenly involved in the things I would do.  She followed what I did, listened to me in conversation, laughed at my jokes, inquired after my feelings, she was, well, attentive.

I really quite like the idea of my Significant Other being the
knight and I the damsel.  But we're both the same gender we
are in real life.
At the party we eventually ditched for me to try on her dress she even said that she loved me when I was mock-complaining about being lonely and not being able to meet people.  At the New Years' bash where we hooked up it was she that fastened herself to me, bought me drinks and generally did the running.  When I stayed over it was at her room, not her at my place, and she would put a protective arm around me when we slept in the same bed rather than the other way around.  I sought her domineering tendencies and she was happy to provide them.  I remember having the discussion early on that I saw her as my knight and I was her damsel that she had rescued from a life of loneliness.

Check it out: man is manly, strong, not too bright
and given to physical solutions.
Guile? Subtlety?  Not in relationships,
only in battle!
In essence, I think I recognised on some level that I was the 'female' in our relationship insofar as it was she that was doing the wooing and the running.  One of my great disappointments in life was learning that my passive nature was not going to get me far in life.  Most of the girls I knew were able to use their passivity to get what they want, further, this was actively encouraged by parents, peers and society in general. Most of the girls I knew when I was young were adept at appearing to be passive but actually actively seeking what they wanted through guile, subtlety and intelligence.  When I tried that approach it usually failed completely on the grounds that I was male and therefore expected to get things through action and brute force.  My subtle attempts to get ahead were usually met with people not getting it because they assumed a male would not be as subtle as I was being.

Nowhere was this more apparent than in relationships.  I hated, and still hate, the fact that simply because I am male it is expected that I must do all of the wooing.  It is expected that I will try multiple options to woo or otherwise please and compliment women even if most of them fail.  I am not to expect direction, encouragement or thanks and praise.  If I get it wrong I must endure the fall-out and if the woman just isn't in the mood to do anything more than grunt at my efforts then I must take that.  Conversely, if a woman does anything at all for a man it is societally expected that he better be damn' well grateful.

Yeah, the reaction was like this but on my back or my head.
I confess to rather liking the feeling: both the immediacy
of the pain and the satisfaction that I was doing
something she liked.
I flirt with the idea of female domination but, in truth, I'd make a terrible submissive.  With Toby it was clear that she appreciated my passivity and was keen to offer multiple options to me.  In gratitude I did my best to offer direction, praise, thanks and respond as best I could.  Take her masturbation of me as an example.  At first I was a little freaked out by it, no one else had ever touched me anywhere about there, and I didn't really know what to make of it.  The first time was in the blue satin nightdress too, after Toby had pointed out that I was more vulnerable to that kind of manoeuvre in this kind of clothing, and I confess to enjoying it.  I returned the favour with my own hands and rapidly discovered what she liked in return.  I took some pride in the fact that I could make her scream, in pleasure(!), involuntarily (no way I'd be able to make her scream in pain, she'd've killed me) and was able to produce multiple orgasms for a woman that had pontificated at length on why she thought such things did not exist and were impossible.  The point was that I took what she did for me and returned it on the grounds that people do for others what they'd like to have done to themselves.

We ended up biting a lot of lip, she did more than me.
She always took the lead when kissing and took the lead in deciding what we would do.  I wasn't completely passive, I did take part in discussions, I had an opinion, we had disagreements and I stood up for what I wanted but, overall, I was very much the one that was being pandered to rather than the other way around.  Societally, I was very much the woman.  She was very much my knight.  It's how I visualised us.

Like this.  Here the woman imitates the sort of pose
that I used to strive for with Toby.  She was the strong
and confident one and I was the slightly shy
and slighter built one.
It was this aspect, the roles in the relationship, that I think affected me the most and what stays with me now that I look back at it all.  The cross-dressing and the games we played, we abstained from oral and more sex, were ornaments, they weren't what drove us.  My mistake, among many in that relationship, was assuming that the games were the most important bit.  The association of those games and the feelings of having the more feminine role in a relationship propbably explains a little about why it was after that relationship that my addiction really took off and stopped being something that I just pootled about in my head with.  It explains why I was so concerned about it all that I started to genuinely look into transvestism and the like and why I was so surprised to learn that most people associated transvestism with homosexuality.  I mean, I had thought about my sexual orientation but in the same way I thought about gravity: my heterosexuality was as obvious to me as the force of gravity, in much the same way I imagine that homosexuality is obvious to homosexuals.  That I had taken a 'female' role in a relationship wasn't immediately apparent and the dressing had seemed little to do with my sexuality and more to do with having fun, messing with other people a bit and just something that felt really nice.

I think this may warrant a Part 3...
I viewed myself, still view myself, as a damsel in distress,
I guess.  I wait for someone else to take the lead.  Is that
so against masculinity?

A Short Muse

Wish I could do that.  No, really, I do.
I've never really thought of myself as all that creative.  I mean, I like stories and I've always liked writing them, but I never really connected that with creativity.  Not in the sense that I realise most people use the term.  Most people have the sort of ideas that I have when it comes to writing and the like, they are truly creative in the way they do things, whereas I feel that I've now had all of my main ideas.  At this stage practically everything I do is derivative in some way, either of things that I've already done or the work of other people.  Yet, because I'm me, I remain hopelessly devoted to the idea that one day I will be able to write a novel.

This is an inspiring picture.

Work has been odd.  After some stormy exchanges I appear to have come out, well, on top for once.  I don't think anyone is actually pissed off with me.  This can't last.  EDIT - Ah, and it didn't.  It's come up now, those awful meetings before Christmas, we're back on to them.  Stress ahoy!

On mindfulness, I managed to remain emotionless before, during and after my shower this morning.  Is that an improvement?  I think it is.  Vanessa Mae helped me imagine my safe place last night but I didn't really visit it. I'm not sure I'll be able to do so tonight either, but at least I have the music playing in my head.  I rediscovered Disco 4 in my car too, which offers some rather good driving music.  If you're a fan of Pet Shop Boys.  I also pre-ordered Format.  Since when do I pre-order music?

I have lots of work still to do, but I want to sit and do nothing but imagine things.