If These Streets Could Talk…

“When a girl finds her freedom in London, she discovers a life worth living. For in this city, there’s no end to the beauty, adventure, and joy waiting to be embraced.”

This is my take on the quote from Samuel Johnson…

“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life.”

I feel like it fits my story.

You may know that my voyage to true self discovery was kickstarted in Belfast but only really began to take shape when I arrived in this beautiful city in late June, 2005.

I still remember it vividly, the excitement of being in a new city. The fear of not knowing what was ahead. The pure wonder of the cultural differences between London and Belfast.

I lived just south of the river at first, initially in Bermondsey – the wonderful Dickens estate, right next to Shad Thames and Tower bridge which are both stunningly beautiful, if the estate itself isn’t necessarily the most beautiful!

My first port of call was to get myself some kind of job, I figured Sports Massage would be a good shout so enrolled on a course in Finsbury park, starting first week in July, I marvelled at the tube and how easy it was to get everywhere (I still have to remind myself of this in my now, normalised form).

However, on the first Thursday of the course, the day after London had been granted the Olympic games (and we all had a massive party in Trafalgar Square) I arrived to Finsbury park to a very somber (and sparsely populated) room. In the time it had taken me to grab a coffee and some breakfast a bomb had been detonated on the tube at Kings Cross station on the Picadilly line – it was one of three tube bombs and one bus bomb that were detonated by terrorists that day and changed the landscape forever.

Looking back I figured out I must have missed it by two trains (which I am sure lots of people also did), I remember being acutely aware in that moment of just how fragile life could be – and thinking it would have been ironic to grow up in Northern Ireland then get taken out by a bomb in London a week after moving.

Anyway, I tell this story not to be depressing or to defile the memory of those that lost their lives, but because it loosely led to my first ever experience with another boy (not on that day obviously).

There were only a few of us who got to the course that day, and we were all promptly stuck there!

Fortunately, one of our classmates was a black cabbie (I LOVE black cabbies, probably another story in there for later). So he generously offered to drop ALL of us home – which at the outset was nine of us!

One in the front, 8 in the back, with only five seats meant that 3 of us were on the floor, oh what a squeeze it was! Anyway, the three were me, an absolutely stunning blonde girl who lived very close to me and who ended up becoming a great friend and HIM.

He was from the world largest continent, in the southernmost part lets say (don’t want to be too specific), handsome with dark hair and defined features and was a professional ballet dancer who was coming to the end of his career – lets call him Tony.

We were sat next to each other on the floor and I could just feel ‘something’, we got on well (for the short time we had been on the course) but in this moment, squeezed together amongst bags and feet in the back of a cab there was something else there.

I will write a post about our ‘encounter’ in a week or two, I feel he deserves credit for gently and softly introducing me to the joys of mans body could bring to me!

But outside of this tragedy, and the subsequent tension arising, I was finding my place.

That place was Soho!

I know, I know, it’s a cliche, LGBT person loves soho, shocker – but you will come to realise that really I am just one big cliche, and I am never not going to be proud of that!

Soho was the place where I first saw two guys holding hands, where I realised that everyone was so friendly in a pub was because it was a gay pub (lol) and where I saw my first, real live, trans-woman.

My love affair with Soho is almost as strong as my love affair with my heels (almost) – although it has changed so much in the last 20 years (thankfully the human trafficking supporting brothels etc have all gone), but the essence of the place is still there.

If I am nearby I will ALWAYS pop into the Ann Summers store on Wardour Street to get myself something sexy to hide under my clothes (pro tip, lingerie is the best invention ever, but only if you understand it is for YOU, prying eyes should only be allowed to see it if they have earned the right – well, in real life anyway). I’ll usually pop into the ‘toy shop’ round the corner to get myself a little treat as well but that is for the subscribers section 😉

Anyway, back to the trans-woman.

I was in awe, the confidence, the grace, the poise, she had everything I wanted for myself. I plucked up the courage to talk to her and was astounded by just how sweet and lovely she was.

On explaining my own situation she took time that she really didn’t need to, to talk to me, sensitively and give me guidance on how best to take the first steps.

I will always be eternally grateful for this conversation, although our encounter was left there, as a beautiful and sweet side note to the story but nothing more, I am certain I would not have had the amazing experiences I have had if it didn’t occur.