Merry Christmas readers. I didn't feel confident in my artistic abilities, so instead of drawing a card, I've scanned in this wonderful cartoon of 'Max' by Giovannetti. If you haven't come across Max before, you should look him out. He's very funny! (Look closely at the expressions).

If you liked that, you can try ISBN 2.211.04863.3 but I'm not sure if it's still in print. Have a great Christmas everyone! From Sleeper.

It's 10 minutes to 1am. I just got home after meeting up with a bunch of guys I used to work with many, many years ago. I know, I should be going to bed, but I feel compelled to dash off a quick note.

On the train I was sitting next to Julie. Actually that's not her real name. I don't know what her real name is, so I just decided to call her Julie.
"You have to choose a name for me now," I said.
She decided I should be called David, which I conceded was a nice name. We had one of those slanting, commuter conversations which is based on the premise that there's no point talking because we'll never see each other again, but at the same time, showing just a small degree of interest in each other because it was better than just staring out of the windows.

I love those small, random encounters! They prove that people so want to communicate; that people do really want to talk to other people. Somehow...deep down, we really do need each other.

Goodnight all. Time I turned in.

Here is some information for any of you who believe that the blogosphere is large enough to hide in. When I started 'Sleeper', I never set out to be untraceable or I wouldn't have put my first name and a photo to the blog, but neither did I wish to announce my identity to the world. It didn't seem likely that anyone I knew would stumble across one blog amongst the thousands out there.

At the company event last week, I discovered that two of my colleagues knew of Sleeper and it seems that they may have just happened across it. Now although I have reached a point in my life where I am at peace with myself, and I am completely untroubled by what other people think of me, there is a certain loss of control in a public blog that gives me food for thought. I have told a handful of colleagues about my alter-ego as an act of trust and friendship, a token to demonstrate that there is nothing they cannot share with me. Somehow I realise that I have diminished the value of my 'truth token' by making it such a public currency.

Never mind, what's done is done. In fact, the words of understanding and support I have received from Mr.JJ and Mr.RW are nothing short of miraculous. They have strengthened my faith in humankind. So...if anyone else out there knows me and is reading this in secret, I have nothing to hide and there is nothing I will not discuss in person.

Now on to another topic. Women and Christmas...

Do you recall that scene in 'Sleepless in Seattle' when Tom Hanks' character is on the phone to the radio station, telling them how he misses his wife? He describes how she made Christmas special. It's like that with my wife D. Christmas has the potential to be a wonderful celebration, but to really make it a magical event, it requires many hours of extra work and dedication. Preparations, decorations, making cards, setting the scene etc. That's what D does. It's like watching Tinkerbell at work, sprinkling her pixie dust on everything and making it all sparkle, and all the time, you can sense the children's excitement building.

I'm sure my mother used to work the same magic when I was young. It's a good job the person delivering the presents is FATHER Christmas, otherwise the apparent male contribution to the wonder of the event (in my household) might look rather feeble.

Well I'm really sorry that I missed posting yesterday. I think that's the first weekday I haven't posted since I began back in August. I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.

In fact, I think in future I may have to scale down from a daily to a twice weekly post as the Christmas season accelerates into a mad whirl. Apologies to those who need their daily fix.

I do have some news from yesterday's company rebranding launch and Christmas party, but I shall put that in the next post as I don't have time now. Suffice to say that many more watch in silence than speak out!

After the excitement of the last couple of posts, things here in the Sleeper blog are returning to a more mundane footing.

Tomorrow, the company I work for are having their company Christmas party and it looks like only 2 out of 20 of us will be turning up in Dinner Jackets. Of course I'm one of them, but then you already know that I like dressing up!

It's a shame the others aren't making more of an effort. I tried to persuade them, but there wasn't much enthusiasm?

Since the late commute home isn't really possible I'm going to try out the new Easy Hotel in London. Apparently even the air costs extra.

Flushed from the thrill of our trial by fire at Belushi's Bar in Covent Garden, M and I stepped into Sarastro's on Drury Lane, not knowing what to expect. Sarastro bills itself as "The show after the show", and it's not hard to see why. The place is lavishly baroque and unashamedly gold and velvet. The seating is packed into tiny, snug areas and balconies. It feels more like the hold of a ship, owned by an extravagant 17th centuary dandy than an eating establishment. It's really the perfect venue for three tables of transvestites, especially as we had to squeeze past all the tables of normal folk to use the Ladies!

Yes that's right, we T-girls use the Ladies'. Well, surely you can't expect a lady to visit the gents? I think it might also be because we're less likely to get beaten up by the girls in their loo than by the boys in our own loos! This meant that there was plenty of queuing, especially as there are only two cubicles in the ladies. Fortunately, all the real women were very good natured and accepting, although apparently one was heard to complain that with only two cubilcles, it would be more helpful if less men were using the Ladies' loo.

I have one more thing to tell you before I move off the topic of loos, and it's yet another one of those deeply embarrasing moments that regular readers of my blog will know are a trademark of mine! Coming out of the loo on my second visit, I decided I wasn't very comfortable in a rather personal area. Hiding boys' bits can be quite unconfortable. Urgent adjustment was required! I stopped on the stairs leading down from the loo and after checking behind me to make sure the coast was clear, I hitched my dress above my stocking tops and adjusted my (ahem) bikini line. It was only two or three seconds of indecency, but as I straightened up, I realised to my absolute horror, that it was not a black wall at the bottom of the stairs, but panes of glass, leading out onto a darkened outside patio area. A couple of the male restaurant staff were sat outside facing in, presumably with a grandstand view of the traffic up and down those stairs! I smoothed myself down speedily and fled in shame.

The food was good and the company better. Only one of our party had turned up in 'drab' - the term used for men's clothing - and he was with his wife. Together they run the Visions dressing service, and apparently the business is growing. Apparently their shop is not far from a military base, and quite a number of army men of ALL ranks make use of their discrete services!

I was so pleased to see T-C, D and A again as well as their wonderful wives, A-M, J and S. They are just about the lovliest people I know. After the meal I moved to their table and chatted to them for a while. Eventually, I realised that M, Edith and the others had abandoned us to go on to Transmission, probably one of the best known tranny clubs in London. Promising to meet up with these three couples again at the hotel, I donned my coat, swept my hair back over the fake fur collar and set off in search of a taxi.

Of course, no taxi was waiting outside the restaurant which meant I had to go in search of one. After a couple of minutes of walking the pavements like a cheap hooker, I finally got a taxi. By now I suppose it must have been close to midnight. Now I'm not the most thorough of people, but I don't like being unprepared, so I had the address and even a map printed on a bit of paper. So the taxi got me to what must have been the right street, but neither of of us knew exactly where the nightclub was and the street numbering wasn't very helpful. I stepped out of the taxi and stood on the pavement and realised that I was going to have to stroll up and down the street in search of the venue. Although the evening had gone very well my confidence began to desert me after 10 minutes of searching and a full circuit round Smithfields Market, drawing some wolf-whistles from a group of late-night delivery drivers!

I phoned M, determined to have some sharp words with her for leaving me on my own. When I eventually I got through I was too relieved to be cross, and with M's help I soon managed to locate her. Transmission was interesting, and there was what I assume to be a good cross-section of the TG community there, but I suppose I was hoping for something more trendy, with a greater mix of clientelle. We stayed for a while, but I got a bit bored, so I was glad when M and Edith agreed to go back to the hotel. I had even recovered my poise enough to haggle with the taxi driver's outrageous quote to take us three blocks!

The evening wound down in the hotel bar. My three favourite couples were there and talked for ages about all kinds of stuff that must have been really important, but I can't remember a single word of it. I talked to W as well, who was with her husband F. F is one of those TVs who like the fetish style and was dressed in a tight, red PVC, mini-dress with red tights, towering red heels and four inch nails...not really my cup of tea, but hey...each to their own! A's wife S asked after my wife and spent ages with me, a concerned look on her face, offering to get in touch with my wife and offer support. At 3am I was quite sad to say farewell to them all, knowing that it will be months before I see them again. A-M and her husband scoffed, calling me a lightweight.

"I'm sorry," I apologised, "but I need to get home tomorrow and be a father to my children."

Sigh...what to say? Saturday night has been and gone now and with it my last trip out as Penny this year.

As in August, I met up with M at the hotel. We grabbed a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, two glasses and retreated immediately to our hotel room to get dressed. In case you have any concerns, M and I only share to make the hotel room affordable, and to have someone to chat with. Having someone to share cosmetics with is also a bonus. Remembering how long it took us to dress the previous time, we took no chances and set alarms. Needless to say, dressing mutton as lamb takes time and 3 hours proved to be barely adequate!

Things went pretty well initially. Both M and I went for black outfits, her with a Boho style, flared short skirt, lacy top and boots. I opted for a short clingy, black gauze dress with a red lining. This dress is a lovely, simple, strappy number that sort of shimmers dark red. Like M, I also decided to wear black knee-length boots.

Since we met in August, M has been out several times and is therefore more practised than me. Unlike my wonderful wife, M's wife left him as soon as she found out about the cross-dressing. I haven't the opportunity to go out, but I have had a few occasions in on my own to practice make-up, so I felt confident about the job I was doing.

Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse when I came to put my earrings on! I don't have pierced ears, so I have to have clip-ons, which are all but impossible to get hold of. Happily, there's a jewellery kiosk in Liverpool St. station that sold me just the clip-on fittings so I could modify the earrings I bought from Next. Only trouble was that I couldn't find them...PANIC! There was no way I was going out without my earrings on. They are part of the final feminine touch that makes me feel great. Desperate, I borrowed a needle from M who told me she'd done one of her own ears this way. Gritting my teeth, I stuck my own ear with the needle.

It's worth sharing with you the three things I learned from doing this. Firstly, it doesn't really hurt. Secondly, it's actually harder than you might think to work a needle through your ear lobe. Three, it might bleed. Mine bled. Worse though, after I removed the needle, I couldn't thread the earring through the hole I'd made and the more I poked around, the more the hole bled. Trying to avoid the rising panic and sadness that I wouldn't be able to wear my earrings, I cast around for the clip-on fittings one last, desperate time...and found them! Phew! I changed the fittings on the earrings and after a while managed to stem the flow of blood from the botched DIY ear-piercing.

Finally we were ready. M had agreed to accompany me to go and meet Miss.T (genuine girl and friend from work) at the Belushi Bar in Covent Garden. It's important you should appreciate that this was no typical meeting of a gaggle of T-girls in a known friendly location. This was just two of us going to a real hotspot of tourists and revellers! M bless her was keen, and Miss.T (I shall love her for the rest of my life) was there at the bar when we arrived, along with her friend Cl! Just as well, because it was full of loud, lively young things. M and I certainly turned a few heads and made some people smile! Oh yes, that's right; inspite of all the money we spent and the hours of pampering and makeup, no-one was fooled for a second. You have to laugh! Even the cab driver who took us there said to me, the minute he wound the window down, "Where d'you wanna go mate?"

Miss.T and her friend Cl were lovely and chatty, and they even refused to let us buy drinks. I would happily have spent the rest of the evening with them, but the evening schedule meant we only had 45 minutes with them before we had to go and find Sarastro's. We bade goodnight to the girls and headed back out into the busy Covent Garden nightlife. I may not look a picture, but I did feel wonderful clipping along the capital city streets in my heels, so I was almost disappointed that we found the restaurant after a very brief walk. Little did I realise then that I was going to put a lot more time in on the streets as Penny before the night was out!

To be continued...

cj592's avatar (or personal image) is Mr. Benn! Fantastic!

Since I'm on a bit of a tranny theme at the moment, I thought I'd post about something that occurred to me several years ago when I saw some Mr. Benn re-runs. He wears many costumes, but has never yet transformed into a woman.

I think it's very sad, and if they're going to resurrect him and give him a new series, this is definately something they should try. I think he could learn a whole new set of moral lessons about life and how the sexes should treat each other better.

In fact, while I'm at it, why don't Trinny and Suzanna 'do' a couple of trannies in one program? That would spice it up a bit!

Just a quick post to say a big thank you to Miss.T, my work colleague who took me out shopping with her this lunchtime. She provided some much needed help acquiring the girly necessities that were left on my shopping list for Saturday.

Well, I had a great night tonight. Went to the pub with Otherphil, AY and MR. We ate out and drank good wine and talked bollocks all evening; companionable blokish, bollocks.

AY is my bro-in-law and the very best of blokes. MR is AY's pal and rather larger than life, a top raconteur who likes to be at the centre of attention but is not arrogant with it.

I wish that I could bottle times like that up; just so that I can revist them when times are hard.