My First Time in Manchester

King’s Lynn, as everyone knows, is the Tranny Capital of the Fens. Samuel Peypys said himself “when a tranny is tired of King’s Lynn, she is tired of life”. And he wore a very curly wig, so he must’ve known what he was talking about.

But despite living in this hotbed of TG activity, even I sometimes grow tired of the endless grind of parties, clubs and pig-wrestling tournaments that mark the height of the King's Lynn Tranny Season, and long for a quiet night in with a few friends. Or, failing that, a very noisy night out with 100+ other trannies.

The opportunity presented itself in the form of Trans-mission's 1st Birthday Party, which was being held on the other side of the country in Manchester. Kim from the UK Angels was organising a big meal beforehand. A lot of Angels were going to be there. I had to be there too. So I went.

It was my first time in Manchester, en-femme or otherwise. This is my story.

How Not to Prepare

Before I go any further, I should say that this is definitely not a "how to" guide. I am the laziest, most fickle and least organised tranny you're ever likely to meet. Follow my example at your peril!

I'd already changed my mind about 4 times about going to the TX 1st birthday bash (Trans-mission is shortened to TX, don't ask me why) but about a week before the event I emailed Kim and begged to be put back on the guest list for the meal. She very kindly made the changes to the booking. I was back on!

I'd resigned myself to the fact that I wasn't going, so apart from booking a hotel room that I'd never got round to cancelling, I'd done absolutely zero organisation. I didn't even know how to get to Manchester, let alone how to get from the hotel to the venue! And, horror of horrors, I had absolutely nothing to wear!

Well, I'd got a bulging wardrobe full of clothes... but nothing new to wear. I like to buy something new before each outing... makes it a bit more special.

So the first item on the agenda was to buy some new clothes. I took the Friday before TX off work, and made my way to Norwich. I didn't need to go far, a new TK-Maxx on the outskirts fitted my needs precisely.

I'd soon found a lovely black satin cocktail dress that appeared to be in my size. Unfortunately I wasn't in a "trying stuff on" kind of mood. The guy on the dressing room door looked like a bouncer, and I just bottled it. So I took a chance and bought it anyway.

Of course, it didn't fit.

The shoes I'd bought in Brantano's next door fitted perfectly. So it wasn't a complete disaster, but I still wanted something new to wear the next day. It was time for Emergency Measures.

The Big Day

One thing I've learned when packing for a tranny weekend: pack everything. Especially when you're not sure what you're going to be wearing. You never know what you might need to bring out of retirement at the last minute!

So that morning I heaved a hold-all containing virtually my entire stash into my car boot, and set off for Manchester. I'd left early because my Emergency Measures involved stopping at the Trafford Centre en-route and doing a bit more shopping for that elusive New Outfit. Leaving things to the absolute last minute is another reason I'm the least organised tranny in the world.

The Trafford Centre trip paid off. I spent about an hour pottering around Dorothy Perkins and found a couple of nice things. Even better, the changing rooms weren't so heavily guarded and I managed to find the nerve to try stuff on. I bought a great black skirt, and a couple of other nice things. I was on a roll, so a minor shopping spree ensued.

I'd planned to meet up with Jo and Kim who were also doing a bit of shopping in the Trafford Centre. After a couple of confused and noisy mobile phone calls to Jo, we arranged to meet in a part of the Centre called "The Orient".

Turns out the Trafford Centre's Orient is only marginally smaller than the actual Orient. After a few minutes of getting completely lost, we finally found each other. Along with Leah and Nicola, a couple of other girls up for the TX bash.

We went for a coffee. Discussions included estimating the number of cars in the car park that currently contained false breasts. Based on a survey sample of all the people around that table, and subsequently feeding the results back into my home computer, I can now reveal that on average number of false breasts per car in the Trafford Centre car park that day was 3.333. An impressive statistic, I think you'll agree.

I would defy anyone who saw those five guys in jeans, t-shirts and stubble wandering aimlessly though Selfridges were five trannies. Even I, who got to meet each one of them again later on en-femme, was amazed by the transformation that occurs.

Time was ticking on and I needed to get to the hotel room and start getting ready. This involved getting hopelessly lost in Manchester. Following maps not my strong point either!

Eventually, however, I found a multi-storey car park that I knew was near the hotel. I asked the guy who'd parked next to me if he knew where the hotel was. He laughed and said he didn't but as he was staying there too, he hoped it was nearby. I looked at his slightly-too-large-for-one-night's-stay holdall and wondered if I'd just clocked another tranny, but I didn't dare ask!

The Britannia Hotel turned out to be really nice, the lobby features a stunning central staircase and opulent chandelier. An ideal place for a tranny photo opportunity!

As I was running late from getting lost earlier, I didn't have time to relax and set to immediately preparing for the evening. I normally like to give myself four clear hours. This might seem a lot, but believe me I often use it all! I find that panicking and rushing are sure ways to make things go horribly wrong. I'd rather be fully ready an hour early and twiddling my thumbs than rushing around doing things at the last second.

I only had about 2 and a half hours, so panic had set in. Luckily as my techniques have improved with practice, things didn't take too much time. I even managed to successfully apply false eyelashes on my first attempt!

Then I decided I'd have time to put on false nails.

Formula for calculating time to apply and paint false nails:
Allow 30 minutes per nail. Add 15 minutes for each percentage point of humidity. Double it. Add an extra hour for good luck. Double it.

Suffice to say I didn't leave myself anywhere near enough time to do my nails. With about 10 minutes to spare I was getting frantic. I'd forgotten to pack nail scissors so I couldn't trim the talons down to a semi-reasonable length, and I couldn't touch anything because the nail varnish was refusing to even think about drying in the humid June weather. I always try to make the nails the last thing I do... but stupidly I'd managed to forget to put on jewellery!

It was time to call on Davina and Jackie... two friends that were staying in the same hotel. Jackie was there for my first ever night out, and helped me out of a tight squeeze then. Or more accurately, helped me in to a tight squeeze, but we won't go into that.

Walking to their room I ran into another bunch of t-girls being given a pep talk by another tranny in the corridor. For the first time I got the feeling that something big was happening this evening.

Jackie helped me get the earrings and necklace on. And Davina was on hand with a hotel mug filled with something pleasingly sparkly and alcoholic. Things were looking up!

A Midsummer Night's Dream

A few minutes later we were in the lobby, along with Jodie and her Boudettes. The first port of call was the champagne reception that was being held for all the Angels going to the meal. There was some talk of walking, but at that point it decided to start raining. So we called for several cabs. "To the Hollywood Show Bar!"

The Hollywood Show Bar looked suspiciously shut. After some discussion it was agreed that the actual venue for the reception was the Hollywood International Hotel, and that this just wasn't it. Luckily the taxi hadn't gone far and we were soon on our way to the right venue. The taxi driver informed us that the Hollywood International was now just called the International, I don't know if this is true or not but it explains some of the confusion!

The champagne was flowing freely by the time we arrived at the proper venue for the reception. Sophie, the owner of the Translife online store, had laid on lashings of the stuff which got the evening off to a great start. To counter the heat of several dozen trannies in the same room on a warm July evening, someone had provided a large rotary fan that was sitting on the floor angled in a way almost designed to lift girl's skirts. Several girls fell foul of it, by accident or on purpose!

It was then time for several of us to head off for the meal, at the Via Fossa restaurant on Canal Street. It was a weird experience, out walking in broad daylight with 40-odd other trannies. Jo summed up the sight in a great phrase, a "tranny slick".

The slick arrived at the Via Fossa and was ushered into the gothic style restaurant area. I was seated with some people I'd not met before, which turned out to be a bonus. Often at previous outings things have been a tiny bit cliquey, and it's nice to get a chance to make new friends.

I was sat with Abby (a young go-getter of a Tranny), her girlfriend (who's name, along with many others, escapes me), Michaela (wearing a stunning little pink frock and Barbie pinny!), and Sophie (of Translife). A nice mix of people, and the conversation was varied and fascinating.

The food was very good... but during dessert tragedy struck. I'd made the mistake of ordering the ice cream, which came with a rather rich chocolate sauce. I suffer from a rare medical condition where my body is magnetically attracted to chocolate sauce, and the inevitable happened: chocky sauce on nice new top. Disaster!

I decided to head back to the hotel room and change, which is something I'd been half-considering anyway. The hotel wasn't that far away, so I decided to walk it. I suppose that was the longest walk I'd ever made as a lone tranny... but I didn't even think about it at the time. The wine and the general high I was on made anything seem possible.

Half an hour later I was back on Canal Street, freshly attired and ready to party. By this time the tranny-slick had moved on to the main event of the evening - the Trans-Mission 1st Birthday Party at Taurus. I made my way to Taurus... bumping into a hen party on the way, who for some reason all wanted to feel my boobs! It was strange, but somehow nice just to be accepted. They were out having fun on Canal Street, I was just part of the "local colour".

Some girls who hadn't gone for the meal were already there when I got to Taurus, including Sue Smart, one of the Debutantes and a friend from the Angels. She was looking a lot less nervous than when I'd seen her earlier at the reception! Also met up with Jo Nicholls again, who had also changed, but not because of sauce!

The club was soon heaving, and the downstairs dance floor was getting plenty of use by a lot of the girls. But the fact that it was midsummer's night meant that it soon started to get hot... really hot.

This is where Canal Street came into it's own. Outside was cooler and it had stopped raining, so the party spilled out into the street... something which I can't imagine happening at the London TX venue. The whole evening took on a fluidity. Dancing and drinking, chatting outside, dancing again, drinking again (and again), until it was time to move on.

The next stop was Napoleon's, a short walk away. Here I ran into Nicola, one of the girls I'd met earlier in the Trafford Centre. We quickly discovered a mutual love of Peter Kay, and spent the next half hour or so spouting quotes at each other, which confused the hell out of most of the company we were with! "Garlic... bread?"

A quick spin on Nap's mirrored dance floor and the night was all-too-soon over. Me and the Boudettes headed off to the Britannia, and the rest of the girls back went back to the International, in some cases to continue partying... in many cases just to pass out on the bed!

All in all a great night. I see now why Manchester is such a popular destination for trannies. While it's not got the number of "exclusive" tranny clubs that London has to offer, the whole place feels like one big tranny club! The next time a Manchester night out is on the cards, I'll probably be there.

I think I might try for three outfit changes next time.

Regrets

I debated whether I should add this epilogue or not, but decided that not to do so would present a slightly false impression. It was one of the best nights of my tranny life, but that's now tempered by some sad memories.

The day after the big event, my girlfriend split up with me. She'd had problems with me being a tranny, problems that she'd tried very hard to cope with. At the end of the day, however, me going out to this Manchester do was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I don't blame her for splitting with me. Some people will never be okay with it, no matter how hard they try. I think trannies who manage to find and keep a partner who is able to cope with their "thing" are very lucky indeed. I intend to keep trying to find some of that luck for myself.