Hi, well at the moment I know of someone who is going through a bit of a tough time. Thus I decided to share a few moments from my early days of transition. Maybe, just maybe, it may induce a wee smile?
It was late summer and being unable to head for the hills that weekend I decided to head west, Dorset way. Leaving London in the early hours I was off the train at Wool by around eight. My intention was to walk via footpaths and bridle ways etc towards Weymouth, stop somewhere over night, do a walk the following day day and catch the train back.
For whatever mad reason I had not packed shorts but a light, sarong type wraparound skirt. Heading for the nearest convenient spot I performed a hasty change. nice, cool and comfortable. However, it soon became apparent that the skirt gaped, very much so. A quick rummage of the first aid kit and a couple of safety pins later, problem solved. Until I had to cross a style, ping, both safety pins gave way, one stabbing me in the thigh.
During the course of the day I worked out a sequence. With no people around I just carried on regardless. With people approaching, draw everything together and fasten bent saftey pin and stand to admire view. There was one other problem at that time, my voice. I was still requiring speech therapy and was acutely aware that my voice could be a giveaway. It was a case of smile a lot and say little. yes, I am sure some folk considered they had stumbled across some poor befuddled half wit. Their condescending smiles said it all. By late afternoon I had come to a trickier piece of map reading through a series of footpaths. One such section led across a field to a stile, crossed a lane and back over another stile and through another field. Simple! One slight problem, a dear old man was leaning on an adjacant gate busy watching me. Try to maintain a degree of decorum and dignity I shuffled over the first stile. Ping, both safety pins parted company.
Old gent, with leery eyes on the flashes of naked thigh, mumbled, "there be a bull in yon field lady."
Bulls I could cope with, old men getting an eyeful of my exposed flanks was not what I wanted though. flashing him a smile I performed the quick shuffle over. "Bloody forigners, don't speak english" Was all I heard from the gent.
There was bull in the field too. Fortunately I am ok with animals, more so than with people. and this one was magnificent. One of the old longhorn breed. He had cows with him and was perfectly happy.
My intention had been to sleep out. It was easier than trying to do b&b. The problem was that I was in chalk country which meant no water. Finally, up on the downland, late in the day, I found a herd of beef cattle clustered round a trough that was fed from a cytern. Talking to them nicely, I ellbowed my way through and had a look at the water. It was fresh and anyway I would boil it. Just a a little from from a crazy woman's memories. Enjoy.