celebrating and creating our own LGBTQ+ history in honour of Sheila McWattie

Archive for February, 2015

day twenty eight



The sky is blue, the wind rushes past me, my legs are trembling, my arms ache


The sky is grey, the rain falls on my face, my legs are trembling, my arms ache


It is cold, so cold, movement keeps me warm, shivering legs, aching arms


The forest smells of spice, he looks back and catches my eye.


My horse talks to me, my heart sings.





Chrissie Snell, France


day twenty seven



As we walk across the field,

the low winter sun shines slantwise

cutting flashes and sparkles off the flat white snow.

It creaks beneath my feet but beyond that is a deep silence.

I realise I can’t hear the river and as we approach, I see that it has frozen over.

In the shallows every ripple and eddy has been etched in ice, a fantasy of Winter.

My heart is warm with wonder.

Whilst behind  me, the dog kangaroos in and out of the soft drifted snow,

snorting with joy.





Megan Williams, Mid Wales

day twenty six

I want people to admire me with gasps

By Majikle

I want people to admire me with gasps

I want to have a feminine woman who dotes on my every word

I want to give her a hard time that she doesn’t give me enough attention even when she does I want a bed on wheels and a driver and unlimited petrol I want people to gather round the bed and encourage me when I’m having sex to relax and get into it

I want, I want, I want, I want it, I want whatever I want, I want, I want, I want to be a writer of stories that women take to bed with them deep under the covers unable to put the book down because they are so anxious to find out what is going to happen next

I want the picture on the back of the book to make people pass it around and say “have you ever seen a better looking woman” I want to smoke and never get asthma to get stoned every day and have a crowd of women sat outside my truck waiting for me to wake up so they can get me whatever I need.

I want the most beautiful forest to grow just outside my truck overnight so that I can wake up and go walking in it and get lost in the twists and turns of trees and find a little pool where I can swim naked. I want to impress I want to be acclaimed and arse licked. I want to have my friends talking about me when I’m not there and saying how worried or concerned they are over me or how lucid and cleverly I explained something to them that they now understand after years of wanting to. I want to I want to I want to be the centre of attention all the time until I get bored and then for it to all go away I want to be a celebrated I want a helicopter. I bet you think this song is about you But it isn’t its about MEEEEE


day twenty five

Does the heart sing or hum

Stutter or stun

Was it the moment before the kiss

Or that moment when I looked in the mirror

And I was Moving with you


Does the heart sing or sting

Leap and lurch

When your arm was my pillow

And your son brought me Lego


Does the heart sing or shout

When you asked me

While drunk

And sealed it with plastic rings

And you lost yours

But I kept mine on


Does the heart climb out of the dark

To sing again?


For you? No


For whom ?


Indeed ?




Anon, Kent

day twenty four

Hallowe’en 1987


the tartan flash of your scarf as you appeared at the top of the platform at Euston


the beam of your smile as you ran towards me hurtling a trolley to scoop up all my worldy possessions crammed in cardboard boxes


the look of sheer delight across your face as you held my face and we kissed, a long deep kiss, and a warm knowing glow hummed between us as we took the first steps to setting up home together sharing the weight of the wobbly trolley up the sloping platform.


Fiona Thomson, 54, Margate

day twenty three


Because we do not differentiate between friends and lovers by gender, so we are free to love each other in whatever way we both think we can…and I am proud to call old lovers, friends. Prouder still to call their new loves, wives, and even boyfriends, friends.
And because we have not yet perfected time travel, so the past will always be a place we cannot visit but can hold complete in our hearts… and because the perfect whole of that imperfect past cannot be unravelled, so we do not need to take it out of its box to check, we just know it is a place we have lived together, with joy….

When I got your text,

The one about the accident,

I suddenly thought that you might actually die

and I might lose you

And then I realized – you’re not mine to lose

Not any more

All the people Ive ever truly loved,

and there haven’t been many

I can’t stop loving them…It’s like a genetic fault.

300 miles, 15 years and 100lbs away

We were young, gorgeous, and stupid

now we are old and wise enough to be disgraceful,

still wading out into that river of life

still jumping from stone to stone

still falling in

All the people Ive ever truly loved

I will love them for ever

And when I got your text,

The one about the accident,

Just for a moment I forgot what decade it was,

And what happened to those leather trousers.



Fin McMorran

day twenty two



Your Christmas stocking bursting bulging with anticipation hanging beside you, lying sleeping, snuggling up to Alien Dolly, at the foot of our bed on the wee grey mattress.


Your thrill to discover on Christmas morning, the stump of a chewed carrot and crumbs from the brownie outside our front door, telling me “that’s a real test Nanny Fiona, isn’t it, because no adult is going to eat a whole carrot!’



Fiona Thomson, 54, Margate