I woke early on Saturday, excited and terrified by the thoughts of the coming day. Probably more excited than terrified, yesterday’s excursion having done much to allay my fears. I checked the time; 5am. Still time for another snooze. I turned over, snuggled further into the duvet, closed my eyes, and stayed fully awake. After about 10 minutes or so, I decided I might as well get up and start to get ready. I wandered to the bathroom and was just about to step into the shower when I saw a small box on the shower tray with a note.

Wear this in the shower.

As the car turned off the lane leading to Niamh’s house, and onto the road towards ours, I saw the security light outside our house come on. My heart sank: This could only mean one thing; my father had just driven or walked into the farmyard. For some reason, this was a much more troubling prospect than been seen by my mother wearing one of the Twins cheerleading skirts. She had, presumably been given an explanation by Niamh so would have expected to find me dressed like this when she called to collect me.

“Does he know?”

This story contains some discriminatory language and offensive comments. These reflect the beliefs and attitudes held at that time and location and are included to help the reader understand just how things were back then….

It’s about how I dreamed it should have been…

Lisa, Mayda and I met up in the Birdcage the following morning. With all guests now off the SuperYacht, Danny, Clive and the Skipper had helped themselves to the guest staterooms. Only a skeleton domestic staff remained on board; the rest, including the Purser had been sent on ahead on a domestic flight. They would be sent on leave for a few weeks until the boat recommenced sailing with guests in the Gulf and beyond. We had a leisurely breakfast; our charges, unlike normal guests, had busy workdays, so we, in contrast, would have plenty leisure time.

Exams over, we had a few frantic days in London buying up what we thought that we would need for the Summer. This included one more dancing costume each. We asked the shop owner where we could get these adjusted, and had both bra tops cut down to only a support under the breasts. Our short experience of topless dancing had led Lisa to the realisation that she needed support so as not to have to either hold her boobs when dancing, or have them each do an independent dance of their own.

“I’ll need to get a new passport when we get to London”.

Lisa and I were walking around Stephen’s Green in Dublin. It was cold and dry, a pleasant enough day for the time of year.

“Why’s that? Can you not get it while you’re here?”

“No, I would need to get the local police to sign the application. In London I have more options. I’ll start working on it tomorrow; I’ll need to get some other documents first.”

We were late getting up the next morning. Lisa met Helen in her dressing gown and showed her to the lounge whilst I speed-dressed, no need for shaving any more. I slowed down to make a dignified entry into the lounge, Helen was sitting on her usual armchair and rose to greet me.

“Sorry I’m late, slept in…”

“Looks like you both did… all OK?”

“Yes, great… definitely, great…”

“I’ve something for you, things are a little more relaxed here than in the UK.”

I was sitting in a bright room overlooking the sea. It was already warm, thought not yet hot. I felt confused, happy, sad, and a bit afraid. A knock on the door and a lady walked in. She came over to me, I stood up and we shook hands. She was somewhere between 35 and 40 , friendly, wearing a dark skirt, white blouse, medium heels and carrying a briefcase.

“Hi, I’m Helen, mind if I sit down?”

“Of course, sorry, please do sit.”

She sat in an armchair on my right. I turned towards her.

“What do I call you?

“Jim, Jasmine, as you prefer”.

I started to pull on my shorts next morning. We were a little late getting up; not surprising. I had planned to have breakfast before my shower.

“No way, I want to spend the day with the girl I slept with last night”, Lisa was just dragging herself out of bed.

I shaved, carefully, despite being late as I could not risk a cut! My beard was very light in colour and density and I could have delayed shaving in male mode, but definitely not as a girl!

The Last Greek Class

Ancient Greek… an unusual subject nowadays, and even unusual back then… it was compulsory, along with Latin for the “Honours” class up to Inter Certificate (Intercert), and optional thereafter for Leaving Certificate (Leavingcert). And I took the option, even though I wasn’t that good with languages; it was reputed to be an “easy honour” and I needed this to get the state grant to help with college. We were to be the last Greek Class in our School as Greek teachers were becoming hard to find.