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A long time ago, I reached a conclusion about a general category of "Thing that matter to people, which I do not personally understand". It amounts to this: If they're not hurting anyone, then fine.
This is why my initial attitude towards transfolk, when I encountered the concept, amounted to: "Huh. Okay."
Of course, my attitude towards the first trans person I ever met was wide-eyed stuttering, but that was because I had an overwhelming crush on her and sometimes it takes me that way. It's her fault for being both hot and a giant geek.
I don't understand people who don't have that attitude, or who deliberately construct hurt where none exists.
This is why I was rather thoroughly delighted by this story wherein the answer to the question of who two cross-dressing men are hurting is: "Those guys, and they totally deserve it.
Summary: Two blokes deciding to be a bit silly for a stag night drag up. This is the minidress and pink wig version of drag - drag as silly costume.
Two drunkards decide to attack them.
This does not end well for them, because the dragged-up celebrants they're attacking are, in fact, professional cage fighters on a night out.
The cage fighters won.
It took me longer to type that sentence than it took the cage fighters to win.
This morning I woke up, and was kept awake by what turned out to be approximately eight people, across three generations of a family, chatting directly outside my door.
Eventually I got up, opend the door, and squinted out at them.
"Hi."
"Are we waking you up, are we?"
"Yeah."
"Sorry. We're just going out. Tit for tat, isn't it?"
"Pardon?"
"Tit for tat, isn't it?"
"Is it?"
"No."
Thank you for playing, passive-aggressive woman from Edinburgh, come again.
I was not knowingly loud last night coming in. Other people were coming and going quite a lot; part of why I stayed up much later than I intended is that other people were up late. It was Friday night, people seemed to be coming and going for that reason.
(Side-note: I was mildly disconcerted by all the people who seemed to be pubbing and clubbing last night as I passed through Inverness, Nairn and Elgin; finally I remembered that on the previous two Friday nights I've spent in Britain, for one I was at home with my uncle, aunt and cousins in a tiny village in Wiltshire, for the other I was at home with my great-uncle, great-aunt, and second cousin on a farm in Aberdeenshire. Neither is really a place to see the nightlife.)
Anyway, the thing about dealing with noisy people in places like B&Bs is this: any indication, however slight, that someone is making noise that's bothering people will generally get them to shut up. People are usually just unaware of it.
Meanwhile, the one staff person I've encountered this morning was terribly nice - provided me with milk for my cereal (I fetched my own cereal from my car, because I had some GF rice flakes in there) and was cheerful about me borrowing a spoon from the breakfast room to go back to my room to munch. She offered me breakfast there, etc; I explained that I drove several hundred miles yetserday and I'm really really tired.
Right now I'm watching an old episode of The Saint of which, sadly, I missed the first five minutes. Roger Moore really was very swoony, although in the character of the Saint he seems a lot gayer than I remember him being in anything else I've ever seen him in.
Oh, but he has such sexy eyebrow work.
Even if Templar is stupid enough to leave his weapons lying around for them to be used against him.
Today, my only sightseeing plan involves a tourist spot that has been taunting me. See, I've drivin the road between Elgin and Inverness six times now, and every time seen a sign pointing the way to a Pictish Fort. I wan't to go see it, dammit.
Other than that, I shall go through my Highland photos and try to catch up a little on sleep.99
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So, the Highlands to the west are really quite phenomenally beautiful.
( More pictures below. )
A few more pictures are in the set here.
Interesting thing: they have two of the dudes from Dragon's Den on the Top Gear I'm watching. One of them, Peter Jones, has taken an interesting approach to being tremendously rich and still wanting his children to make something of their lives: A trust fund, rather than direct inheritance, which pays them an amount equal to their earnings that year.
Unless they do something worthy but underpaid, like nursing, in which case it triples or quadruples their income.
I don't know anything else about this guy to speak of, but I think he's probably a better parent than a lot of mega-rich folk.
He also apparently managed to impress the Stig as a driver.
Meanwhile - and this sort of thing is why I watch Top Gear occasionally - they're setting up a hunt - as in, a foxhunt - wherein the prey is Jeremy Clarkson driving a small off-road car.
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