As we came into double figures in July, apart from my son-in-law's birthday on the 12th and my daughter's birthday on the 26th, I knew there was another significant date I should be aware of, but for the life of me I couldn't think what. It niggled at me but no answers came. I assumed it was probably someone's birthday that I had forgotten and would eventually remember and send appropriate apologies wrapped in book or record token - it usually smoothes ruffled feathers.

I checked my diary and my anniversary calendar, nothing there but the nagging doubts wouldn't leave me, I had forgotten something which had some significance. Maybe old age is beginning to bite early, but only on my brain cells, both of them!

Then this morning, as I left for work the penny dropped. July 14 is Bastille Day, which in France is the anniversary of when the people stormed the notorious Parisian prison and released all the prisoners, many of whom were political ones before burning it down. I had remembered.

Before giving the impression of being a Francophile, and they have a number of things I enjoy from wines to cars and of course the Tour de France, on which I recently stewarded during the London to Canterbury stage, I don't actually celebrate Bastille Day. It is a marker for a personal anniversary and I cannot believe I nearly forgot it.

On July 14 1986, I walked into my office as a woman for the first time and have done so ever since. It was nerve-racking and at the same time one of the greatest buzzes I have ever experienced. On the whole, most people were very supportive and a little curious as the numbers of transsexuals in health professions hadn't reached the almost epidemic proportions of today. I was famous for five minutes, a 'legend in my own lunch time,' as John Lennon put it.

I had some press interest when someone let the tabloids know and that was a bit intrusive, but one has to cope. What was nice was the way that colleagues closed ranks around me. I realised that I had more friends than I thought.

Looking back it hasn't always been a smooth ride, there have been patches of turbulence and worry as some still regard a change of gender as unacceptable. That's their problem as legislation now gives some protection and of course it also enabled me to legally alter my birth certificate and achieve full legal status as female.

Would I do it again? I wouldn't have done it the first time if there had been another option, but to me it was the only way. I'd have preferred to have been an ordinary man or woman rather than having Gender Identity Disorder, which I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. However, my only regrets are around my children, my needs meant theirs for a father figure were left unmet. They are both adult now and seem to have survived despite their parents. They knew we both loved them and that the problem was mine not theirs.

Life is about the playing the hands we are dealt, there are usually choices but they come with consequences. There are few rights or wrongs just options which may be good or not so good. Each has a consequence and usually a further set of options, so far I have mostly chosen well or maybe I'm a better player than I thought and of course I happen to have a very hard working Guardian Angel, who helps despite my occasional kamikaze efforts. So things could be a lot worse.