On being a cross dresser

22 Jul
I refer you to the line “bit confident for a bloke in a dress, ain’t he?”
Eddie Izzard knows of where he speaks.
For myself, I once pulled my RAF 1250 (I fucking did, I’m a crazy bastard, ask anyone who knows me!) to help a friend who was being beaten up just for being “a bloke in a dress”. When you’re with the victim and the Police are being absolute cunts about the whole thing, you just have to make a stand.
I literally had no fucks left to give, they could have happily nicked me too. This is when I become a complete bitch. Well, I was dressed for it. The fact that the copper had to look up to maintain eye contact. “You really want to arrest BOTH of us? Good luck explaining me dressed like THIS to the RAF Police then. Oh, we’re not worth the paperwork? Then we’re leaving.”
I make no apologies. I am and was a crossdresser.
And I look fucking AWESOME in the red dress.
I’ll have you know that a lesbian once asked me to make her girlfriend jealous. “Kiss me, make her jealous.”
And it worked. “Oh, you’re a bloke? I’ll let her off then. Nice arse though.”

The 80’s Synth Text Adventure

4 Jul
25th April 2012

The 80’s Synth Text Adventure

You are in a dark room with a wooden frame which is broken. You see a hammer. There is an exit to the West.
Get hammer.
You get the hammer.
Examine hammer.
It has the word Jan on the handle. it’s Jans Hammer.
Fix frame.
You fix A Broken Frame. It’s Construction Time Again!
Go West.
You Go West. It is very bright, you can just about make out someone standing close by.
Close eyes.
I don’t understand that.
We Close Our Eyes.
You can now see an Ant playing a guitar. There is an exit to the North.
Listen to Ant.
It’s Ant Music. The Ant offers you a taste of the music.
Eat Music.
That music’s lost it’s taste, now try another flavour.
Go North.
You go North. You can see a black button with red writing, it’s too small to read. You can hear birds singing, possibly A Flock Of Seagulls?
Press button.
The birds stop singing. On the wall you see a sign. It says Depeche Mode engaged. You hear silence.
Enjoy The Silence.
You Enjoy The Silence, somewhere in Basildon Martin Gore is buying eyeliner.
A door has opened to the North.
Go North.
You go North, it is a narrow passage way. Your route is blocked by Nik Kershaw and a fat child.
Examine Nik Kershaw.
Nik Kershaw appears to be wearing a snood.
Examine fat child.
He’s no big deal, he’s just a wide boy. Nik Kershaw hands you a piece of paper.
Examine paper.
It’s a Riddle.
Do you really want to quit? Y/N?
You have scored 38 points, you are Boy George’s Make-up bag.

1990 (an RAF Poem)

4 Jul
1990 By Ray Daley (C) 21 Sept 2015
What were you doing in the summer of love?
When the world was all raving & high on drugs.
I was finding it wasn’t all wine & Stone Roses,
Where bullshit baffled brains, we were up to our noses.
So what were you doing in the summer love?
Watching jets buzz the Black Hills like seagulls above.
Buried deep in A.P’s and progress tests,
And 6 months without sleep; just a sequence of rests.
So what was I doing in the summer of love?
Just biding my time in an almost Welsh grove

Little boxes (a poem)

29 Jun

Wed, 22 May 2013

Little boxes, little boxes,
full of shoes and socksies,
straight from little boxes.

Full of bix and chocksies,
scoffing in our socksies,
out of little boxes.

Also lots of clocksies,
going ticks and tocksies,
inside little boxes.

All in little boxes, crazier than foxes.

Forget fezes or bowties. Boxes are cool ;-P

What Will I Be? (poem)

29 Jun

17 Feb 2013

What Will I Be?

What will I be when I grow up?
A fireman, a soldier, a candlestick holder.
What will I be when I grow up?
A driver, a drover, a man who falls over.
What will I be when I grow up?
A tinker, a tailor, a world famous sailor.
What will I be when I grow up?

I will never grow up, just older.

Portait Of A Manger (flash fic)

29 Jun

Portait Of A Manger

The stable was getting pretty crowded.

A handful of shepherds had brought some sheep, they’d wanted to give a fleece, maybe some Lanolin but eventually decided to offer their best wishes as they truly were a bunch of cheap bastards.

“That is one cute baby” said Balthazar, a Wise Man.

“He is pretty cute. Got his mothers eyes.” said Melchior, another Wise Man.

“Isn’t he adorable?” asked Mary, the childs mother.

“Look,” said Gaspar, yet another Wise Man. “I consider myself to be a pretty clever bloke. He’s a fairly cute little thing but I am not going to be forced into saying he’s adorable. No-one, I repeat, NO-ONE is going to make me adore the little shite. And if that’s going to be an issue then I’m taking my Frankincense and I’m going to bugger off back East.”

That killed the conversation stone dead.

Gaspar grabbed his Frankincense and left them with one final thought as he left. “Screw you guys, I’m going home!”


The One Ring (flash fic)

29 Jun

The One Ring

It’s the place all fighters come to eventually. Regardless of their experience, everyone will fight here at least once. For the less fortunate, at the most, once.

Don’t say you aren’t a fighter, never ever tell them that. It’s the one surefire thing to make them pick you for the very next bout. Lie if you must, say you’ve been fighting for years, say you’ve been winning for years.

But never make the most fatal mistake. Never tell them you’re unbeaten. Or it’s your turn next.

I can hear them announcing the next fight now. It’s not for me. I’ve already won my bout for today, I get to live to fight another day.

It’s for you. Die well, stranger.



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