If you’re reading this, you are the resistance. Well, my readership, anyway.

What? People get sick of their own families? Surely not.

What? People get sick of their own families? Surely not.

OK, OK, time I apologised for the egregious lack of signal on this blog over the last, oh, I forget exactly. Mind you, the stats page makes for pretty amusing viewing if you happen to like your cultural commentary, too – dead as a doornail throughout December, massive spike on Dec 31st, steady continuing flow over January as people get back into work and promptly want something else to be doing instead 😉 There’s a rant in there about the way Christmas  (a) drags on for an entire month and (b) takes over a secular world with orgiastic materialism and enforced gluttony, I’m sure, but I’ll (c) get round to that some other year. One when I actually have enough money to moan about how much shopping for Christmas presents sucks. Purely for the irony.

There is a reason I’ve not made a post, though. I’ve been meditating slowly on composing one about the whole Church of England and gay marriage business, which is a little political and edgy for me but really does have me beating my head on various flat surfaces, including my bemused flatmate. That would have appeared a few days ago, were it not for the fact that I am currently truly frothingly furious about something else that’s going on in the press.

What I’m on about is the transgender “scandal”; the gleeful reporting that’s currently going on about the GMC investigation being levelled at private practitioner Richard Curtis, with the usual attendant circus of straw transsexuals (now there’s a mental image) being held up as figures for public debate – a debate which, ultimately, always boils down to a bunch of people who are not themselves transsexual going “Well I find the whole trans business weird and hard to get used to.”.

Yes. Of course you do. Transgender people are not the same as cisgender people (i.e., you).

I am now going to out myself. I am in fact a trans man. Yes, you read that right; in a nutshell, the doctor held me up and pronounced that I was a girl. I went purple and started screaming. (This is really true; it’s a matter of family legend that the nurse who handed me to my mother said, over my impressively deafening shrieks, “Rather you than me.”)

This is where the world expects me to haltingly explain my painful, personal journey to a fragile new world. Screw that bollocks; I didn’t die and I’ve still got opinions. End of. I do know a lot more about transness than I did, and it maddens me, deeply and personally, to see yet another round of ignorant bullcrap being batted around in the press. It infuriates me to see journalists making no effort to get at the real meat of the story – which is well put in this Guardian article. It maddens me yet more that there is a depth of delicious, delicious political filth behind the long-existing tension between NHS gender practitioners and private ones, and that not a single newspaper is interested in digging that out when there’s breasts to be beaten and comfortable social norms to be reaffirmed. And photos of Lady Gaga mostly nude. Lib Dem councillor Sarah Brown gives the trans angle very well in her comment piece for Pink News.

I do want to post about the whole business. Because I once attended a talk given by Richard Curtis, and what I heard in it broke my heart for him. But this is not a trans blog. It’s a writing blog. A place for me to talk about what fascinates me, moves me; what makes me laugh, groan, think about my world. It’s where I get to be a complete, creative person.  The T word is a kind of social nuke; drop it and the whole area becomes contaminated. Nobody can think or talk about anything else. And the trans thing? Is nothing when it comes to what’s made me who I am. So if I do post about that, I’m not going to do it here.

If any of you care enough, I’ll tell you about the other blog in which I will eventually make that post. I don’t run it the same way as this one – comment is closed, because it’s about damn time people shut up and listened to us talk. I am considering making some of the pieces I write for it republishable under Creative Commons licenses, for the sake of teaching the world about people like me. I want to make them good, if so.

So for now, you’ll have to be content with the knowledge that I can’t make this blog my whole pontificatory life, because I’m stuck with a world where a complete, creative person is something I only get to be a tiny part of the time. A lot of the rest of it, I serve other people’s ignorance and wrangle other people’s inflexible minds. And unwedge the hamster ball from between two chair legs, again. There’s a surprising similarity between the two.

So. Normal service will… well, it never stopped. Thanks for your time.

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