Low life
Changeover
Jeffrey Bernard
It's now two weeks since I underwent my sex change and all I can say is that I wish I'd always been a woman. It was two weeks ago that I woke up bearing the weight of such an enormous amount of guilt, remorse and self-loathing that I decided to turn over the thousandth new leaf of my life. Never before have I decided so early in the day as dawn broke to be precise — not to visit the pub that day. Furthermore, as I sat up in bed drinking my early morning cup of tea and thinking I must buy a nightdress for the coming winter, my local trainer's string of horses walked by beneath the window and I decided to give up betting for good.
Well, of course, I had to ease myself into day one of my new life and I spent most of that initial day pottering about the house wiping sufaces, sweeping where no broom had been before, making stock for soup and actually dismantling the cooker and giving it a real spring clean. By mid afternoon, as I hung up some newly washed tea towels on the clothes line in the garden and had a conversation with my neighbour with two clothes pegs in my teeth,1 knew that I had arrived at womanhood. As dusk fell I at last found a moment to put my feet up, turn on the radio and have a cup of tea and two digestive biscuits.
Later, after a light supper of chicken breasts sauteed in butter — I always add the juice of one lemon just before serving—and some creamed potatoes, whipped not mashed, and sprinkled with finely chopped parsley and served with wholesome broccoli spears, I listened to the Schumann Fantasiestucke before having a herb bath and then going to bed with a cup of Bourn-Vita. As I drifted off to sleep I reflected that my poor, dear wife was in London running the race of her life in the Career Stakes and that tomorrow I must go in to Lambourn to visit the launderette.
The next morning my breakfast and surveillance of The Times was interrupted by messages that my stomach kept sending my brain. 'Can we have some whisky please?' begged my intestines, but I ignored the pathetic pleas and boarded the bus with my dirty washing and shopping list. Once in the shops in Lambourn I realised just how wonderful it is to talk to ordinary, decent folk and not to jockeys, stable lads, loafers and drinkers. In the grocer's we agreed that the weather was bound to break soon and I actually heard myself telling another woman that, although Fairy Liquid might cost a little more than other washing-up liquids, it was still better value since it was and is more efficient.
Yes, it really is worth living, is this life and even if I have become a compulsive tea drinker and now talk like a television cornmercial, I wouldn't swopit for all the chart'. pagne at Ascot. Mind you, I am getting 3 little fed up with the way men sometimes look at me, but I suppose one has to accept the fact that they're all children at hearcti and, of course, that they're only intereste in one thing. What's really so pathetic about them is that they just can't look after the selves. I said just that to my neighbour this morning — she dropped in as I was putting my knickers to soak in Dreft. (I find preft, much kinder than Daz, but that's by the by.) But it's not all housework and cookin much as I love cooking. Incidentally We re., having loin of pork this weekend when nlY wife gets back from London. No, there are other ways to fulfilment. I'm taking a Ple out of Beryl Bainbridge's book and I alf putting it all down on paper. 'Reflections (), a Captive Woman', I'm going to call ita.11-' it's a sort of autobiography sprinkled vitt'' recipes and household hints. (Did you kro,g1 that cold water and salt gets rid of bloous; tains?) Anyway, it's been a wonderful PI', weeks so far and I think I've come to son very worthwhile decisions. I don't think,e want any children as I want to concentra;t on writing from now on and I really could.° t care less about the information I've ltIse been given about a two-year-old if°1 Mercer's riding at Newcastle today. 1311' must rush. There's a souffle in the oven at.rit. I've got to pop off to a W.I. meeting torug"
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