"Winter, spring, summer or fall, all you gotta do is call, and I'll be there, you've got a friend": James Taylor and Carol King
Millers Cafe in Carlisle's Covered Market is about as far away from a modern high-street coffee shop chain as you can get.
Nobody sits at a table working from a laptop. There are no cappuccinos, frappes or herbal infusions.
Just tea and coffee.
I'm usually a sucker for a bit of trendy decor and sitting among the beautiful people, but you won't find any poseurs at Millers. Except when I'm in of course.
It's honest rather than pretentious.
Which made it the perfect place to come clean.
Cue the Diet Coke ad music.
"Da-da-da-der-dum
I just want you to be no slave
I just want you to work all day
But I want you to be true
And I just wanna ..."
Ok - stop the music. Quickly!
Meet Alan. My buddy.
All of the above lyric applies to Alan.
To start with he's no slave, having made oodles of cash through running his own PR business.
He's true because he says what he thinks - even if it hurts.
And on hot days, he takes his shirt off while working in the garden. Just like the Diet Coke Man.
Five feet ten tall, stubbly with spiked hair.
In many respect's Alan is every girl's dream.
Except he's gay.
Now I know what you are thinking already. This story is going to end with me and Alan running off into the sunset to live happily ever after in Mykonos or Gran Canaria.
It won't.
For three reasons.
While I'm trans I'm not gay. There is a big difference.
Secondly because I don't fancy Alan.
And thirdly because he has a German boyfriend who lives in Berlin.
First and foremost Alan is my friend and trusted confidante.
Someone who I have known since our first reporting jobs on the local paper, and who I trust implicitly.
A fearless writer. Edgy.
For years he lived a champagne lifestyle as his PR business boomed. Zipping around Europe, staying in the best hotels, and mixing with celebrities.
He had a lifestyle many people would crave - but realised it didn't bring true happiness.
So, in a moment of Zen, Alan turned his back on the brash consumerism he had helped promote, and decided instead to dedicate his time to looking after his elderly parents.
Alan arrived at Millers in a pair of combat shorts, open neck rugby shirt and a ruck sack slung over
his shoulder.
Two days growth on his chin.
He has no interest in fashion whatsoever, which is disappointing, and could never be described as
camp.
We have similar views on most things, so I was pretty confident that he would take the new me in his stride. If anyone was going to understand it would be Alan.
"What the...you're wearing make-up! Your hair? The jeans?"
"Hi Alan."
"And what's with the voice? Jeez. I feel like I need to cover you up."
"No need for that. Can you see anyone staring? Giving me funny looks?"
He took a quick scan around. "No, but we are sitting in a caff with a load of pensioners. I doubt most of them could see the end of their noses."
Settling into his seat, he looked me up and down again.
"Actually, you don't look that bad. Sort of like Keeley Hawes. Or is it Phil Oakey?"
His blue eyes twinkled.
Alan could do that. Make a comment which left you wondering whether you had been stabbed or complemented.
It was one of the reasons I liked him, and many people didn't.
"Thanks. I think."
"You're welcome. You're voice is freaking me out a bit though. OK, I've adapted.. I know you said you had something important to tell me, and I guess this is it."
The owner came over to the table.
"Right babe - what can I get you?"
"I'll have a milky coffee please."
Alan silently mouthed the word 'babe' at me.
"And you sir?"
"Something strong. Black coffee."
The owner nodded and went back behind his counter.
"Well I can't see it. They must all be blind."
"It's your gay eyes Alan. You can't see a woman."
"Possibly. Or maybe everyone else here has got cataracts. Anyway Jonny, tell me all about it."
I glowered back.
"You can't call me that anymore. How many babes do you know called Jonny?"
"In my world, quite a few. Jonny Wilkinson, Jonny Depp..."
"I'm not that sort of babe. My name's India."
"Like the country? You want me to call you India?"
"Yes."
"O-K. This is a bit odd. How about we start with Indy? Sort of gender neutral until I get used to it."
It seemed a fair compromise.
"Fine. On a temporary basis. I don't really want people to shorten my name."
Alan nodded.
"Good job you didn't call yourself Pakistan then. One more thing though. I draw the line at opening doors for you. That isn't going to happen."
