Today is the start of Graham’s last full week at the holiday camp and the day when the trannies descend in a cloud of cheap perfume and camiknickers.
For once I’m glad I’m not there. I have three memories of the only week I did meet the trannies. One, standing at the bar between two fully ‘dressed’ blokes before scurrying off with my brandy and american to sit safe in a corner out of the way. Two, seeing a group having a tea party, all in billowing afternoon frocks and sipping at bone-china cups, little fingers daintily poised. Three, walking through the long bar, having to step over boozed-up trannies flopped out on the floor.
I’ve nothing against trannies but I have to say that I find their proximity en masse to be disconcerting. This is not my scene. Not no way it isn’t, even though I do love Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.
And so Dolly and I enter into our last week of what has been a long, long home alone period. I’m able to vacuum and dust the whole house now in just over an hour each day. The rest of the time we snooze companionably together, not making a mess.
It’ll soon be done now.
~~+~~
in the window
a spider cleans its web
the last grasshopper falls
~~+~~
