I've often said that marshalling trannies is like herding cats. This was based on my experiences of going out with small groups of T-girls, or watching the efforts of people like Kim Angel, who seem to take a perverse pleasure in organising massive Busby Berkeley-esque congregations of T-Girls. Now I've experienced first-hand the trials of trying to ensure a large group of trannies are in the same place at the same time I think I've understated the case.
Organising trannies is not like herding cats. Organising trannies is like trying to herd drunken kittens driving miniature bumper cars, using only the power of your mind.
Whilst blindfolded.
Early on Saturday evening
Jane and I were returning to the hotel when we happened to spot
Siobhan,
Miss K, and
Joanna sitting in the bar next door. We got talking about plans for the night, and I said that I was going to get everyone to assemble at 7.00 in the bar we were in, before heading over to the restaurant at 7.30.
"Make it 6.30," Siobhan said. "You know what trannies are like."
I did, and I agreed. A text went round to everyone not present: "meet in the bar 6.30."
That meant I had to start getting ready almost straight away. We headed back to the hotel room and I started messing about with outfits. The funky check skirt I'd bought in River Island earlier and planned to wear that night turned out to be too big, which was quite pleasing but it did mean a good amount of faffing over what I
was going to wear. Luckily I had my own personal style advisor in the form of Jane, she's managed to set her taste thresholds a bit lower than normal or I wouldn't be able to wear
anything in my wardrobe!
You know that thing they do in films to show the passing of time, where the camera pans up to the clock, and then fades to show a time a few hours later? I
swear that it's an actual physical phenomena that occurs at some point every time I prepare for a night out. Somehow 4.15 became 6.15 and I still had to finish my lipstick, brush the field mice out of the wig, and put on some jewelry. I'd said 6.30, and as I was organising things I didn't want to leave people waiting on their own, so I rushed about and we made it down to the bar at about 6.35.
Of course, we were the only ones there.
At this point a little voice in the back of my head started saying "no-one's cooooooooming," in a little-girl-in-Poltergeist style.
The problem isn't only that trannies often think of timetables as things invented for other people; they also tend to have sudden attacks of nerves, last-minute crises of conscience, and good old-fashioned bouts of
can't-be-botheredness.
Of course I knew that Miss K, Siobhan and Joanna would be there. Although they all knew that 6.30 was a ruse to get people there on time, and I knew that they'd roll down when they felt like it. But I had a horrible feeling that maybe everyone else had decided to stay in and watch The X Factor. I wasn't so much worried for my own self-esteem, you understand, I was worried for my bank balance. There was a 20-seat table at the restaurant that might have to be paid for whether people turned up or not!
Luckily we were soon joined by
Gillian and
Clarissa, and then other trannies started appearing in dribs and drabs, and by 7.30 we were almost at full strength. Very special thanks to
Gemma for very generously clearing everyone's bar tab, which sped things up a great deal! By 7.50 we'd actually made it into the restaurant. 20 minutes late, which I suppose by tranny standards is quite good. A glass of wine steadied my twanging nerves and I started to enjoy myself!
Actually, I think it was one of the best tranny gatherings I've ever been too. My unspoken agenda for arranging a "bloggers only" night out was that it was a good way of getting together a bunch of
interesting people who had something to say for themselves. I think it worked!
I didn't speak to half the people I wanted to, and the ones I did I only spoke for half as long as I'd have liked.
Rachel and I had a good chinwag cos she was sitting next to me at the meal, but I'm a little annoyed that I didn't get a chance to properly chat to bloggers like Gemma,
Steph,
Ian and
Kim.
At about 8.45 Becca and April showed up, who made up for being very
very late by bringing someone I had no idea was even coming. But they all paid for the full meal, so I'm not complaining. :-)
One of the minor annoyances of the evening was the gay bars in Birmingham don't seem to have taken advantage of the new late licensing laws so Hurst Street was more or less deserted when we wandered down to the club after the meal. In fact, it looked like some of them weren't so much closed as abandoned! I hope that this isn't the case because Birmingham had a vibrant little gay quarter and it would be sad if it went.
Here my memory gets a little blurred. I remember chatting to
Jessica for a bit. Some clubbing was done. Some snogging happened. There was modicum of dancing, some drink-fuelled emotional moments. Then we went home.
It was a great night, it really was. But I've decided I never want to organise a tranny event again. It's too stressful.
Of course, I hope they'll be a Transpocalypse II. Next year. Bigger and better. Maybe even get people to come over from other countries! That would be ace. Who fancies it? Don't worry, I'll do all the organising! ... Oh bugger.
Labels: transpocalypse
I wouldn't normally blog about this kinda stuff, but 
Did anyone else watch 
Bought a big box of cadbury chocolates instead so will eat one every day after opening Becky's calendar....
Put it on the wall.
Can't open the flaps to get at the chocolate.
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