‘McTavist: The Making of a Community’, by Lewis McDonald and Lucia McTavist, with added personal details by the authoress: a synopsis.
The authorship of this work is not quite what it appears, but my editor insisted the book be presented thus. In explanation, I was named Lewis McDonald at birth, became Lucia McDonald before I was two and became a McTavist in my early teens. McTavist is my married name too because I married James McTavist. My editor says she is going to use this as promotional material. I didn’t think it to be that interesting.

“Indeed My Lord, I understand your situation entirely. Tis a thorny problem, but one easy to solve.” Gareth solved the matter with a single dagger thrust seen by none other than my self.

An outsider who was a regular on Saturday night asked Pete, “May I try a glass of poteen?”

“Ask Pat, it’s his liquor,” replied Pete, “It’s not for sale.”

“Surely,” replied Pat. Put the price of a whiskey in the kid’s Christmas party collection box. Pour your man a glass, Pete.”

Nicki smiled and said, “I have been reluctant to tell you more, for reasons that are obvious. I am a pre-op trans-sexual woman. I always intended to have the surgery one day in order to form a permanent relationship, but if you think we could go the distance perhaps not for a while.”

“I told you you were different. You have not asked me if my breasts are real, if I still have my penis or how I do sex. Most men have asked those questions hours ago. You haven’t even asked me how old I am. Do you not wish to know before I suggest going to bed?”

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At the end, after the word usage notes, is the Poem ‘Taffy was a Welshman’ which is vaguely relevant to the story. I’d had the vague outline of the story in my mind for a few days. Some details were inspired by comments I read on BCTS suggesting Taffy can only be a woman’s name – I assume those comments originated in the US, in the UK it is different. Robin too like a number of other essentially female names in the US is essentially a man’s name here. The highly respected, polite and competent anchorman on the 12/12/19-13/12/19 overnight ‘Election 2019’ BBC program was Welshman Huw Edwards, and watching the election coverage gave me more pieces for the story. Then a friend came over to use my Bridgeport milling machine to remove a broken half inch stud from a casting and the detail was virtually finalised. Taffy is also a chewy toffee or candy in the UK, but that didn’t help me write the story at all.

What your father told you was what would happen if you attended as a boy. Your second option is to attend as a girl, like the trans girls. You would wear the girls’ uniform, and sleep in a dormitory with a group of girls.

“I thought I’d tell you about my cervix and my smear test,” replied Sasha imperturbably.

I’ve been having strange dreams of late. My Lord pays a bounty on every proven wolf kill. The right ear is what the Master of his coffers pays two pieces of silver for. In my first such dream I had an arrow nocked and the bow string drawn with a wolf in my sights. That was when I noticed it was a nursing bitch. Now I may be a killer, but I’m no monster. All mothers have the right to rear their offspring. There have to be some wolves to maintain the health of the deer and ensure they don’t overgraze their range and subsequently starve. I loosed the tension on my bow and put my arrow back in my quiver. I heard a woman’s voice behind me say, "Thank you, Gervaise," but when I turned there was no one there.

The data block tells me it was an early twentieth century writer called Mark Twain who said ‘History doesn’t repeat itself, but often it rhymes.’ That was before the internet never mind the data block. I came to realise what that implied when it became obvious Julian was not a little boy.

Brett sighed, the sigh of one who was weary of the whole world, a sound that had no business coming out of a fifteen year old. “Mum’s a user. She’s not at home for days at a time. I know what she’s doing, but don’t want to talk about it.” I just nodded. “When she’s home she’s out of it. There’s me, Jonno and Sophie. Jonno’s seven and Sophie’s five. There were others but they died when they were only babies before mum left the hospital. I’ve been collecting the family allowance for a couple of years now. I hide the book so Mum can’t get it, or we’d have nothing to eat. I can’t afford to get caught nicking anything, or the others will get taken into care. S’pose that’s what’s going to happen now anyway isn’t it?”

“Evening, Sasha. What do you know?”

“Sky’s blue, water’s wet and women have secrets.”

The bane of my life is Kevin Jessica’s elder brother. He’s a Neanderthal knuckle dragger, heavily into sport and his only original idea died of loneliness before he hit four, for sure he’s never had another since going to school.