Better things

I am coming to the end of another book, and it is triggering all sorts of thoughts about my life. I went through transition some years ago, from a hairy rugby-playing 'bloke' with a beard to a plump woman with bobbed hair and a taste for print dresses. I went up to York a week ago, for what used to be the Cyclists' Touring Club's annual rally, and I rediscovered myself.

I went up for the Thursday night, so I could have an extra night camping, and I found myself almost singing on th eFriday morning as I rode towards the Knavesmire. I was rolling along from Saturn on the Solar System path, and the sun was warm on the top of my breasts, the wind wasn't too bad, and friends would be joining me at the rally site. I had a clear moment of thought that I had missed such things, had been far too long away from the simple joys of rolling along, self-sufficient, happy.

In a few weeks I am off to the Shrewsbury festival I have written so much about, travelling by train and bike, and while I will not go into detail about how utterly crap my life has been recently it is so much better. I have friends, here and elsewhere, and they demonstrate that message I strive to get across in my stories: human beings care.

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