Dear Nessi

It seems you awaiting various bits of news...

Slipping back to Wednesday, and a tall transvestite who managed not to slip on the ice in 4 inch heels. Greenland is melting. The ice age is coming. My very old acquaintance once did a show called Jurassic Tart.

I walked into the members only club and gave JT's (Jurassic Tart) name at the door. I overheard some people talking about Mr Emerald, who used to share a photography studio with the Swiss Miss. It was an ordinary enough bar. No trannies in sight. I was told to go 'upstairs'.

The hallways were matt yellow with black doors everywhere. I felt like I was in Alice in Wonderland. I'd poke my head through a door, ask where JT was, and be told to go further upstairs.

Finally, through several small dimly lit rooms, I caught site of the familiar black mane. JT was lounging on a 3 foot high bed, which took up over half of a tiny room. Oriental pillows made it a bit like a Bedouin tent. It felt like I was walking into his bedroom. Candles and a fireplace were the main light sources. "make yourself comfortable," JT said in a deep raspy voice, patting the bed. There was nowhere else to sit. I wished I'd worn trousers.

JT contacted me when I sent out a press releases for an art show a year ago. He remembered me from 16 years ago. I, however, did not recognise the female name he gave, though I suspected it might be (insert nerdy man's name here). I knew I was right when I saw a Wonder Woman comic on the bed. The tranny I knew in my goth days had a collection of Batman comics. Being a 6 foot transvestite with huge black hair and Marvel comics - well, there can't be 2 of them, can there?

There were only a few mentions of the past. Blunt news that one of his fellow squatters was dead. Very soon after 1987, I said, trying to soften the blow. I hadn't been in touch with any of those people in so long; it could only have been very soon after that Simon overdosed.

Most of the conversation was about now, how to annoy the gay scene, the psychology of sex change operations, and a lover JT's who happens to have written a film/play that was a big part of my teenagehood. It's good to see people from the past doing well. JT and I both agreed we are happier now than we have ever been.

++++++++

Friday night Mary came over to rehearse. After saying I was giving up music soon, I've started the year playing more guitar and even giving Mary a bollocking for not having yet learnt the John Zorn song I want to cover. Our new rhythm guitarist and I bonded over Led Zeppelin songs, and Mary said she'd loan him the book you gave her, the one your friend Mr Pillar wrote.

Mary and I headed over to O'Reilly's to see a French 'surf' band - as it said on the poster. It was more like speed metal. 3 amplifiers, 2 of which were Marshalls. A psycho drummer eating paper while playing. I went upstairs to check on Power Pack, who'd come along only because I didn't want to walk home alone later. Mary and I had been cringing and holding our ears, so I was surprised she didn't come up to the bar, too. I went back to the basement, where Mary and the Scuba Diver had pushed their way closer to the front. When I joined them I saw why Mary appeared to now be enjoying herself.

The guitarist had removed all of this clothes. Apart from tiny Speedo bikini pants which he pulled down so his bum was sticking out. Well, this guy was not exactly attractive but there was something fascinating about him. He was bouncing off the walls, rolling his head, and jumping up and down on about 15 effects pedals with bare feet. I've seen naked men on stage but never ones without shoes. The guy was such a primate. It made you think about the Neanderthal history in France.

+++++++++

Saturday after printmaking class, I went to a show of wild life art at the Mall Galleries. Thinking I'd be intimated as I am when I go to Cork Street, I was delighted to find some amateurish, high school art type stuff in a very proper gallery. Not all better than I can do. I've sent off for info on how to join the wildlife artist society.

I stopped to visit my Danish friend and her partner. They had seen a certain singer the day she was killed on her bike - I had no idea they knew her so well - she was meant to spend Xmas with them. Otherwise they were both doing ok.

I got home around 5. Power Pack opened the door before I'd locked my bike. He was shaking. "quick, get in the house!" he said. I'd never seen him in such a state. I thought someone had died. His dad? My mom? The cat? "I can't go to Suzy's tonite..." he said. "What happened?" I said, panic catching hold. Had he been mugged? But nothing happened at all. The Australian neighbour came over with a big skunk joint. I had to tease my husband about it all night. He was simply paranoid.

So Power Pack and I went to Suzy's for dinner. Suzy is Ricki's sister, who is about to marry the guy that Ricki lived with for 7 years. Power Pack and I always found Suzy a bit annoying. She was always getting beat up by her boyfriends, had an air of snobbishness sometimes more severe than even Serena. Frankie knew Suzy before Ricki, and insists that the older sister was always the one he really loved. She just had to get the wildness out of her system first.

Frankie insisted to us that Suzy is different when you're alone with her. That, like many people, she has a public persona that puts people off. We remained to be convinced - until now.

Frankie and Suzy have asked Power Pack to be the preacher at their wedding. It's a pretty serious job, especially as they are being married on the exact cliff where we were married. I took along the wedding vow book and all the info I could find. And the evening went fine. Suzy cooked veggie tacos that were so good I don’t know if I can make them again. She was slobby, with food spilled down her t-shirt, which is something we can relate to. Her flat was 70s but not in the retro chic kind of way - just probably like a flat would have really been then. Chipped old ashtrays, a record player (rather than CD), a few odd toys and nick nacks but not the obvious trendy ones. She had no curtains, and has ripped out several walls in her council flat. She seems ready to settle down. And she and Frankie are thinking about moving to Spain.

Much wine and spliff and very icy walk home. Doubts have faded; Power Pack and I are looking forward to the wedding.

+++++++++

Other things...

This morning we got an invite to an art-not-war exhibition. I'm slightly irked that Power Pack and I never knew about it. I guess that serves me right for not participating enough in the artist against the war group. Our old friends Mr Head is in the show. I wonder why he never told us either.

We watched a program on Kosovo the other night, where Blair was saying something to the effect that the propaganda wasn't working, the war was losing popularity, and they needed to do something about media presentation. What does that tell you? Can anyone believe a word the PM says these days?

Mrs Parsnip-Pack