Definitely a hairy day, in more ways than one.

First the bad news. 5 July is not feasible, op-wise.

I had my second electrolysis sesh…a different electrolysist (if that’s the word: it looks like it should be, but its totally unsayable), for reasons of administrative cock-up…and she took a look at my level of current hirsuteness and pronounced me pretty close to ready to go.

I did this session, again, with no pain relief. This time, in full advance knowledge of how painful it was going to be, but also optimistic that there would be that much less work required. My optimism was well-founded: as opposed to the hour or so that last time took, this time round was little more than a quarter of that.

Yes. Painful. But of sufficiently limited duration to be bearable (through gritted teeth).

I don’t know if it was the electrolysis that set me off, or events generally, but the rest of the day wasn’t quite the success I had hoped it might be. Leaving the electrolysis rooms, I realised that I was missing a book.

This was serious, because not only was it a library book that I was finally getting around to reading at long last…but I’d used my travelcard as book mark. No book, no ticket. No ticket, and I would be that much more out of pocket on the day (even though this was significantly cheaper electrolysis than what I’d done before).


I re-traced my steps. I worked out that I had to have had the book and ticket on my person when I came through the barrier at the underground station – and I had probably placed both on top of a ledge in front of the local map whilst I panicked, pulled out my phone, and took my bearings.

It wasn’t, as best I could tell, at the electrolysisisist’s premisises…though she’s promised me a quick rummage (ooer, Missus!).

No. This has happened before, about a year and a half back, when I briefly put down a book at the ticket kiosk at Bishop’s Stortford railway station. No matter that I phoned them back about ten minutes later. Some twonk had half-inched it.

Do they really do so because they want to read it? Or is it just the human obsession with fiddling? Oh, look: someone’s left a book lying there. Let’s pick it up and, whilst we’re about it, let’s not hand it in at the station and let’s not leave it there. Let’s just wander off with it instead. Well, I hope they enjoyed it, given that I suspect its not everyone’s cup of tea.

The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society: light, frothy but with a wit and warmth that I was really beginning to get my teeth into. Oh, well: I guess this means I’ll have to amazon up another copy of the book for my own library and read it before I come clean as to what happened to the last copy.

Still. I am talking about unsuccessful daytime wandering. Losing the ticket hit me hard. I find that nowadays. Things that in my old, pre-hormonal days, I’d have shrugged off are much harder to work round.

It bugged me. Upset me, with the unfairness and stupidity of it. I had a second meeting in London later that afternoon and, by the time I arrived for it – tea at the Commonwealth Club, just off the Strand – I was ready to burst into tears.

How awful! I was really, really in full-on wimp mode, and only the fact that I was supposed to be taking tea with the Chair of a seriously heavyweight organization that I respect and maybe some day will do some work with/for forestalled a totally unassertive outburst on my part.

I can still feel it! Sheesh! I don’t object to feeling this way. Its just, at times, that its so wearing.

Ah, well. After a quarter hour of chatting, I started to feel better and by evening end, things were back on track. But still, this feminizing lark is decidedly different!



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