It seems we trans-expeditionaries are sprinkled far and wide across our isles and, like the polka dots on my dress, seem destined to be scattered islands of ivory, lost in a translucent sea of navy blue, silk-lined chiffon. Nevertheless, I should like to extend a manicured hand of friendship from the glens of Highland Perthshire, where I spend as much time as I can in pursuit of my womanhood. Our home is a citadel to femininity, a sanctuary for the emasculated and a place where, without exception, women come first.
The closest life has taken me to the East Midlands was a period in my childhood when, aged eight, following the death of my father, my mother, sister and I moved from Glasgow to Corby, where my mother’s extended family had moved, one after the other, from Aberdeen, to find work in Stewart and Loyd steel works. I only lived there for perhaps two years but, despite our family’s bereavement of our loss, I retain happy memories of that time. With so many aunts, uncles and cousins around, I never felt alone. There was always something to do. Special memories of Kettering and Wickstead Park.
We may never meet, nevertheless, we share the same lands and, despite the miles between us, I’d be happy, over coffee, to share our thoughts where, in the spirit of friendship, our paths might one day cross.