Saturday dawned drizzly and windy, just as forecast. As on my previous visit in March, I'd planned to go into town and do a bit of shopping, but this time - for the first time - I was going alone. In a departure from the knee-length skirt which I usually wear for going out in public (which frankly looks a bit 'mumsy' for my taste, but feels 'safe'), I chose to wear a 16-inch black wrap-around miniskirt over black semi-opaque tights - much more trendy! So after breakfast, I pulled on my raincoat, grabbed my umbrella, and headed out. The north wind was blowing straight into my face, and I wondered what it was doing to my carefully-styled wig. But my attention kept being drawn to the hem of my raincoat, which repeatedly billowed up on both sides to show the full length of my legs - I just hoped that my skirt wasn't doing the same!
My shopping list included a black strapless bra and a pair of shiny tights for my wife back home, and some Blackpool Rock for the guys at work - but of course I was also on the lookout for some girlie bargains for myself. Now had this been Norwich, I'd have known exactly where to get the things I wanted, but Blackpool doesn't have a Debenhams, and one store assistant I spoke to thought that Aristoc was a Greek restaurant! Well, what can a girl do?? With my plans in greater disarray than my hair, I spent two hours wandering in and out of Marks & Spencer's, British Home Stores, Woolies, Boots, Top Shop, Dorothy Perkins and Miss Selfridge to name but a few. I managed to find the bra in BHS, which I paid for with my 'femme' Barclaycard. Now although this was issued as a 'second-user card' on 'his' account, there'd been some debate around my tranny meetings in the weeks before as to whether such a card is valid, given that Sally is, in effect, fictitious. Barclaycard themselves had said it was OK, although on their advice, I'd agreed to let them amend their records with Sally's true identity in case I ever needed to prove I wasn't trying to defraud. In the event, the young woman behind the counter in BHS checked my signature in the usual way, smiled pleasantly and said nothing.
By about midday, despite wearing a very comfortable pair of M&S court shoes with modest 2-inch heels, my feet were beginning to complain about being mistreated on the dance floor the previous evening. I was also rapidly running out of interesting places to look around, so I decided to go into the nearest shop with a café, which turned out to be Woolies. I bought a bakewell tart and a mug of coffee, found a table where I could see everyone, took off my coat and sat down to review the morning's highlights. What highlights?? So far as I was aware, only a handful of people had even given me a double-take - in fact, the vast majority of people didn't seem to have noticed that I was even there. This, I decided, was the reality of the situation: most ordinary people don't go around deliberately trying to spot trannies - they're far too busy doing their own thing to give anyone else more than just a passing glance. So with a bit of care in applying make-up, and an appropriate selection of clothes, most of us can blend in to the crowd, and disappear. Sure, it takes chutzpah to get away with it, but that's what gives us the buzz! As I sat drinking my coffee, I reflected on the fact that, two years ago, this would've been far beyond my wildest dreams, but now it felt so natural. After reading my copy of TV/TS News to play for time, I headed back to the hotel, stopping on the way to buy a half-dozen sticks of rock.
From personal notes.