Ahh.
Back home and recovering from a brilliant weekend. Well Quite a long weekend actually.
Left home Thursday to arrive at 'Legs 800' club in Walthamstowe, East london about nineish. Club turned out to seem a bit seedy to me, (Too many male admirers and few tee-folk.) It seemed to be more of a 'pick-up' joint to me so I'll not be going there again. London's not the best place for Tee-clubbing cos there doesn't seem to be a single 'gay village' where we tee-girls can pack or herd or flock. Anyway, spent the mid morning Friday 0600 to 0900 nattering over at Naiomi's place, (No sex please we're tee-girls!) then breakfasted on coffee and mutual sympathy.

Naiomi's had a pretty rotten life. She's an asylum seeker from Somalia and she'd be killed in an instant if she ever returned cos she's a very camp, very effeminate and very graceful somali tee-girl. Transphobic bigotry is rampant in Africa and particularly in the muslim countries. She lives a very fragile, lonely existance in London on the edge of self-destruction. Tee-girls get short thrift from brutal, bigoted Somali warlords. Fortunately, she's been given genuine refugee status so she's relatively safe now.

Friday at 1130 found me in John Lewis's store on Oxford Street arranging with my newfound 40-year-old niece (Well it's been 7 years now since she found me.) to be professionally fitted for a bra. WOULD YOU BELIVE IT!!!? I'M A 36 C CUP!!!!!
The professional fitting lady confirmed it and it took me several seconds of exquisitly enjoyable disbelief to accept her finding.

Still in the fitting rooms, my niece studied my exposed boobs then giggled and squawked out.

"See! I Told you Auntie Bev! When I saw your boobs bulging out over that 36 B push-up thing you were wearing, I just knew it! You've got typical 'Hulse girl' boobs. We're all big chested.!"

(And we are!)

I've got a really deep cleavage but it's not a Vee shaped valley, it's a glaciated valley. (Even a C cup boob looks small when separated on a broader male chest.) Anyway amidst much celebration and congratulations I emerged proudly from the fitting rooms sporting my splendid rack as my niece continued to congratulate me. Next, it was off to a smart cafe and I treated my niece to a light lunch and coffee. Then some more 'mid London' shopping with my niece and finally she kissed me farewell in the middle of Oxford Street at 1500 as I strutted away towards the tube to recover my van and drive down to deepest Dorset for the Gabycon.

I cursed the early evening Friday traffic! 3 bloody hours to get out of London. Needless to say, I was late for 'The Italian Job'. I missed the start but I managed to share the main course and pudding plus of course the scintilatting chat!

Slept on the van that Friday night, very cosy and of course up early Saturday for a bike ride to the Tank museum. Brilliant display and they've got the worlds' only fully operational tiger tank left capable of even firing it's gun. Seemed a bit bizarre to have the lightest and the heaviest forms of regular land transport (bikes and tanks) in the same place. Then a ride home to an evening of reading and eating at the Black Dog Pub. (Very pleasant!) Both readers were excellent narrators, Gabby and Angie. Finally, a night in a comfortable B&B in the hometown of the famous authoress of 'Bike'.
Sunday found us gallivanting around various places of interest throughout South Dorset then a repeat evening of brain and stomach food before I had to reluctantly part again for another year (probably).

Sad farewells found me back on the road for a late-night journey to Wales and home and a well earned rest.

My better half met me in a similar happy mood having been to Alton Towers with our son for a day of wild rides and wet thrills (No the splash rides you dirty minded devils!)

Finally surfaced at 8 this Monday morning, fully recharged and ready to return to harness.

Bye ya'll
See you next year, fate willing.

XXX.

Bev.