A postcard from the lakes

Pippa my love, thank you for a perfect weekend, again. Your promptly written blog touched me deeply, you are so sweet and I am so glad to have met you, and well, it’s all very moving.

I’m sure most of you out there will have read the afore mentioned blog, so apologies if I bore you by repeating bits, but just in case any of you bloggers out there have forgotten, the impetus for my blog is that it is written by me, for me, and I am simply flattered should anyone choose to read it and feel so inclined as to comment on it. It’s my life, a personal record, and my thoughts, sometimes a way of working through them, but of course it is also public and I am happy to share my thoughts and feelings with you all, but no more apologies ok…

I collected Pip from her home in the deepest depths of Lancashire on Friday evening, and as usual, we talked all the way home, and carried on talking when we got there. Pip said she hoped I didn’t mind that she was in drab, and I’m wondering whether I even need to go there, for the benefit of you readers that is. Just in case….

NOOOOO, no no no, I don’t mind at all, not one bit, no sireee. See, if anyone needs an explanation, and I know you don’t Pip, how can I put this…? Pip is a real person; I am not in love with Pippa the icon, Pippa the 50’s starlet, Pippa Girlygirl, or any other image that may or may not have appeared on Trannyweb. No, I am in love with a person called Pip, sometimes known as Pippa, a very human, and real, person. It’s not because she sometimes dresses, and acts, all girly, it’s because however she is dressed, she is lovely. Even when she is a he. And quite rightly she has no qualms about admitting that she is really a he, and neither do I. On Friday I actually felt it was nice to have a man about the house, (later that night it felt even nicer). On Saturday it was lovely to see my sweet little flower, Pippa blossom again and express her girly side, and on Sunday, it was lovely to step out into the big wide world with a handsome, confident and charming man on my arm.

Saturday was a day of relaxation and pampering. Pip works bloody hard and I want her to enjoy the sanctuary that my cottage offers; peace, tranquillity, lots of sleep, and as much food and drink as you can handle. And a good hot bath. SOOO, we slept in late, had a hearty breakfast, each had a hot bath, a bit of personal pampering, curled up in front of the telly, and ate, er, some more. Then curled up again on the sofa. At the stroke of midnight, as if on cue, Pippa laid her head on my breast and fell asleep. Now many people’s reaction to that would be, oh how rude, or, well that shows how interesting Lucy must be, or, pfff – lightweight, or other such patronising remarks. I see it this way: I hope for nothing more from Pippa when she visits than for her to feel comfortable. Maybe you would have had to be there to get this, but when Pippa fell asleep on me, it was both lovely and flattering. I mean, you wouldn’t rest your head on someone and fall asleep unless you felt comfortable with them would you. The person I love, asleep in my arms, head against my breast, both of us peaceful and content. Rude? No, not at all. Just at home. It was lovely.

So Sunday we got up when we were awake, and not a moment before. Croissants and coffee for breakfast today, after which Pip suggested we do lunch on the way home. Windermere is not far from my house, so, it being more picturesque than Charnock Richard service station and probably anywhere else on the way back to Pip’s, we went there. Parked up by the lake, and strolled along the water’s edge. I could say there was a cool, refreshing breeze, but no, it was bloody freezing. However the sun was out, was a clear, bright day, and it was just gorgeous. We ambled on up the hill, past the two, very tempting chocolate shops, drooling slightly, and into the village. To the top of the hill, and back down again, via the pub, for a bite to eat. And yes, as per Pippa’s blog, the bongo player really could not keep his eyes off me, for whatever reason, who knows, and who cares.

Pip had asked if I had a small mixing desk she could borrow, (now I could have said "he" there, as it was Pip the male drummer that needed the desk, but I didn’t, and it really doesn’t matter does it…). Anyhow, yes I did have a spare desk, but it was at my mum’s, so Pip was gonna have to meet her if she wanted to borrow it. Rang mum from Bowness and headed off in her direction. Coffee, cake and hugs and we were on our way again, back to Pip’s house. Mum hasn’t actually spoken to me since, but I’m sure she liked you really, Pip!

On my way home I called in at our local Spar shop. Pippa and I went there once to stock up on vodka, you could say that people in my home town are not exactly used to that sort of thing, girls like us I mean. But they hadn’t refused to serve us or threatened to call the police, and I needed stuff for my dinner so I thought I’d risk it again. Saw through the door that there were 7 or 8 people in the queue for the checkout and a few others milling around. For a split second I almost felt like walking past the place, something that’s never happened to me, but it was a fleeting moment and it would have been against my principles and I was bloody hungry. By the time I’d found all the ingredients I needed for a carbonara, the queue had dissipated, and in fact, no-one seemed to have noticed me. The girl on the checkout (younger than last time) never flinched, though I’m sure she read me. Anyhow, it is reassuring to know that I can mingle with people in my own town without them holding up crucifixes, or ringing a bell and shouting, "Unclean" on my behalf. I’m sure most people are at least curious, but most people don’t want that to be obvious because they do not want to appear disrespectful. We are not the pariahs that some of us seem to think we will be. Maybe I’ve been lucky so far to have had so little negativity towards my own situation, by so little I mean practically none, but I am becoming aware that not only are we tolerated, but many people out there, without ulterior motive, genuinely admire what we are doing: standing up for ourselves.

We could have been hard pushed to find a "straighter" place than Bowness-on-Windermere for our Sunday afternoon stroll, but as far as I was aware we got less looks than anywhere we have ever been. Maybe because a boy/girl couple is somehow less conspicuous, but whatever the reason, I felt completely at ease. We went out because we wanted to, we did it for us, and not because we wanted to be noticed, or prove that we could go unnoticed. It felt, normal.

It was after all a very normal thing to do. Normal and ordinary, but at the same time, very, very special.