Another season, proposing a name and distant resolution. And, like the wind, all attention.
That was the opening line from John Ashbery’s poem ‘The Ivory Tower’, taken from his 1981 collection, Shadow Train. I’d been avoiding that particular collection for years, put off by its continued use of quatrains, the most hideous of poetic forms, but was finally convinced to open it up towards the end of this July. I mean, at least it makes them formally and conceptually relevant: quatrains, shadow trains… when reading, I like to think of them as dark carriages passing at night, opaque but oddly inviting.
Mid July I went on a camping trip with Glen. He’d been off work for several weeks as he’d handed in his notice prior to starting a new job in Bristol. So we took the trip midweek, and I booked a few days off to do it.
Like many this summer, it was a warm, sunny day, and we got the train to Chichester laden with our camping gear, stopping in the city for a lunch at Wagamama’s- which I hadn’t been to for years- it hasn’t changed. I used the toilet cubicle to put my blue swimsuit on under my dress ready for the beach. Afterwards, we caught a twenty minute bus to a town called Bracklesham on the south coast.
It’d taken us a while to pick the perfect seaside town for us to go camping in. Quickly, we’d realised that the coastal towns along the south coast are not particularly historic, or pretty. They’re a far cry from the little villages of Cornwall or Thanet, and tend to generally just look like mid to late century housing estates built right up to the coast. But this one had a good beach, a good campsite, and was pretty easy to get to from London, providing you’re okay with catching the bus from Chichester.
The beach was great: it was quiet, spacious, and the water was very pretty in the light. Along the coast, you could see the skyline of Portsmouth- a series of glittering towers in far the distance, as well as, out to sea, the Isle of Wight. We alternately lay sunbathing and swimming in the sea for several hours before going back to the campsite, which was just a 15 minute walk up a sunny track outside of town.
We had a few drinks in town in the evening, as well as some dinner at a craft beer place. In the evening, it was fun watching the stars come out, and laying in the field as the night came on. Our tent became full of mosquitoes from us laying with our heads poking out the tent, but this was a small price to pay.
The next day we did more sunbathing and swimming, and we both got pretty sunburnt, arriving back to Clapham Junction early evening when it was around 28 degrees. I went home and perished, but it had been a great trip, and a great send off to a wonderful few years spending time with Glen in London. Wishing him all the best in Bristol!
I finished work on the 25th of July, and on the 26th my Mum visited with her partner Eric. It was going to be a hectic one: not only was it trans pride in London, but I had also unknowingly arranged for my mother to visit to go to see Giselle at the Royal Ballet.
I met them at Euston and we had some coffee in Bloomsbury before walking over to Cavendish square, near the start of the pride march. I was glad that they were able to have a bit of an experience of what the march was like, even if we did have to shoot off before it even set off so as to make it to the ballet on time. They got to meet some of my trans friends too, which was nice.
Giselle was amazing- totally haunting, and incredibly beautiful. It was performed by the National Ballet of Japan, and told the story of Giselle, her falling in love with a disguised nobleman called Albrecht, and his betrayal of her, which causes her death. In the second act, she meets a group of ghostly women, who like her have been betrayed by their husbands. She joins them in their ghostly machinations, watching as they take revenge upon the men by dancing them to death. When they go to do the same to Albrecht however, her undying love prevents them from killing him, stopping the cycle of revenge. In the final moments, Giselle returns to rest in peace, leaving Albrecht alone on the stage, spared by her mercy.
One of the things that stuck out to me the most was the similarities between Giselle and my favourite ballet, Serenade. The rhythmic movements of the near identical women, the way they flutter in formation around the stage, clustering in places like feathers, their graceful but haunted aura, and their long Romantic-style tutus. It made me wonder if the women of Serenade are in some way the ghosts of Giselle, working their way through their pasts: a modernism born from the ashes of the romantic. Apologies for how cringe I sound, I just wished I’d have known about this at the time that I took the Tragedy paper at Cambridge!
I especially loved the final section of the first act, where Giselle’s movements become sporadic, and almost possessed. You can see the memories of her and Albrecht’s love move through her as musical motifs resurface and she works through the reality of his betrayal.
After ballet, we had Ethiopian food in Camberwell, which was great, before saying our goodbyes, after which I headed back to my flat to get reading for my night out in Dalston.
Just like the previous year, it was a lot of fun going out in Dalston for trans pride, and spending time with my friends, August and Alicia. We had a few drinks in some pubs in Dalston beforehand, and I bought some very delicious snus in a really cute tiny pot. We danced. I got back around 2am, very exhausted form the long day, but was very happy to have fitted so much into the day.
On the Monday, Molly arrived for our long awaited holiday to Crete. We had been unbelievably excited for months, and felt like we had more than earned a few days relaxing by the pool, reading and sunbathing. We’d both had our hair cut in anticipation. The day she arrived, we went to the BFI and watched Swimming Pool (2003), which we really enjoyed.
On Tuesday, we went to a nail salon in Camberwell to get our nails done for the first time. We chose BIAB, which is very strong but preserves the health of the nail. For our colours, I chose a dark blue, felt very apt for Greece, and Molly chose a really nice red to match her lipstick and outfits. Immediately, we were really happy we were really happy with the nails, how pristine and hard they felt, how glossy they were to the touch. I think we may be hooked!
Other than that mostly just prepped for the holiday, which would we be getting up for very early the next morning. In the evening, we watched Paris, Texas, (1984) one of my favourite films, which Molly hadn’t seen before. Afterwards, an immense sense of foreboding came over me, mostly due to the prospect of a such an early rise the next morning.
We settled early, and fell asleep around 11pm, which was good for us. I woke up at 2:30am though, and made the fatal mistake of looking at the clock, thus condemning myself to being up for good. I scrolled on my phone for an hour or so before our alarms went off at 3:30, we got dressed and headed out the door.
The low point of the holiday was right here, when the Uber we’d booked failed to turn up, causing us to miss our coach from Victoria to Luton. It was a classic case of drivers dropping you after accepting you because they found a more valuable ride instead. As I’m sure you could imagine though, standing in the street with our suitcases at 4am, this was particularly infuriating. Eventually we got a driver who turned up, and who had travelled from the other side of Brixton to meet us as we watched the car icon crawl across the map on my phone.
We arrived just after the coach left, and had to buy new tickets, but luckily everything was smooth sailing from here. Perked up remarkably by the hilarity of that Ozzy Osbourne interview, we arrived at Luton in good spirits, got some breakfast from Pret and boarded our flight to Heraklion, which took off shortly after 8am.
Our tiredness had mostly been forgotten by this point, so we started making our way through the books we’d brought with us for the holiday. I started with Bad Habit by Alana S. Portero, a trans novel about her growing up in working class neighbourhood in Madrid, which turned out to be very poetic and moving, and one of my favourite novels I’ve read this year. Especially the character Margarita, who made my cry when I read it by the pool the next day…
We landed into the Mediterranean heat of Heraklion, a welcome change from the chill early morning grey of London. A short coach transfer – during which I took this hilarious picture of Molly- took us to Agia Pelagia, the coastal village where we were going to spend the duration of our holiday.
Before heading to the hotel we stopped at the supermarket, picking up some essentials like coffee, olive oil, some Raki and Greek lagers.
Arriving at the hotel, we were immediately delighted by our choice of where to stay. The place was so luxurious, easily the most luxurious place with a pool I’ve ever stayed. We’d specifically picked a smaller hotel, one with only around 12 rooms, as well as an adults only policy.
Inside the room, we put the air-conditioning on and cracked two cans of Mythos to celebrate the beginning of our long awaited five days of rest and relaxation. An excitement gripped us, and we began animatedly discussing all the times we had gotten drunk in our youth, which was great fun and a far cry from from the manic exhaustion of the very early morning.
Everything- the supermarket- the beach- the souvenir shops- the restaurants- was within a 2-3 minute walk of the hotel, the vast majority of the town’s restaurants being clustered along the shoreline, replete with sea views. We went for an unfashionably early dinner along the waterfront: tzatziki, bread, dakos which is a Cretan Bruschetta and some obligatory gyros. We’d both been learning Greek in advance of the trip, and it was here, very tired from a day of travelling, that Molly made our fullest attempt at speaking in Greek to the locals: Θα ήθελα ψωμί, ντάκος και γύρο κοτόπουλου παρακαλώ. If anything, I’m just glad I’ve come away from it being able to read the letters.
We sat, taking in the environment, and looking out to sea. The food was good, though the gyros was mid as it so often is, and the big glasses of beer hit big. From then on we mostly ate whatever fresh fish was on offer.
After dinner we came back to the hotel, went to bed early, and slept BIG. It was a most tremendous schlir.
The next morning we were right into it, and a routine began to form.
I made coffee for us both as Molly roused. We went out onto the balcony around 8:30-9am with coffees (we’d brought the aeropress with us which was a huge win) as well as Greek yogurt with honey and cherries.
After breakfast we got got into our new swimsuits- bought especially for the trip!- and lathered ourselves in suncream. Then we went down to the pool, which was just outside the room, and set ourselves up on the sun loungers, ready to read.
This was how we spent most of the holiday, reclined by the pool, reading and sunbathing- and it was totally glorious. Just what we’d dreamed of and wanted all that time. We chatted about what we were reading, swam around in the pool to cool off, and generally just had a very idyllic time. There was no competition for sunbeds whatsoever, no reserving with towels like they do at bigger more family oriented resorts, and on many occasions we were not only the only two in the pool but the only people around the pool. There were two pools of similar size, for around 12 rooms, so there was more than enough space for everyone.
Another bonus was that all the other guests at the the hotel were from other European countries, not the UK, which was nice! It felt a bit like sunbathing on the tower of babel.
At lunchtime, we’d go back to the room, make a Greek salad consisting of cucumber, tomatoes, feta, olives, olive oil, honey, salt and pepper, and have some kind of feta omelette on the side. It was always totally delicious, enjoying it on the balcony sat across from Molly, drinking down a few glasses of ouzo or raki.
I stand by my contention that Greek salad is the best that the cuisine has to offer. It is totally world class.
For the afternoon, we’d go back to the pool for a few hours, reading, cooling off, the blue oblong of water shimming in our peripherals, and the sun warming and tanning our skin.
I’m really happy with the new new black swimsuit I bought, and it’s probably my favourite one I own now. I got it from Tala, having caved in to all the alluring ads on TikTok that kept showing up on my feed. It’s very flattering, and thong-backed, which is not usually my style, though I’ve really liked it and it’s clearly in fashion at the moment.
My book selection for the holiday had been purposefully eclectic: from my bread and butter trans coming of age novel, Bad Habit, I moved on to a pretty racy accessory, Second Skin, by Anastasiia Fedorova. I’d picked this book largely because I liked the idea of reading a book with such a stylish and outrageous cover by the poolside, having seen it advertised in The Common Press in Shoreditch that summer. The book is a mix of memoir and non-fiction, and was really fascinating, especially the chapters on things I know next to nothing about/ am not into.
I thought, with this book as my accessory, I’d safely be the hotel guest with the most outlandish reading tastes, but was one upped by a butch lesbian who was reading literal printed pornography in a magazine with full colour images lol.
My third and final book was Funny Story by Emily Henry, a vaguely trashy romance novel that’s very popular at the moment. I said it was eclectic! I really loved the book, and will definitely be reading more from her -she’s a great writer and this kind of stuff is seriously up my street. It was surprisingly funny, and I had a lot of fun reading it, its twists and turns, and it’s inexorably happy ending. (I’ve realised, recently, that my favourite sections of novels / art is so often at the moments when the romance of the book is at the centre, and before anything bad or arty or ‘realistic’ can get in its way. So I thought why not read an actual romance novel! The first of many I hope.)
Around 4pm, we’d go back to the room, peel off our wet swimwear, shower off the suncream, and rest in the bed together for a while, maybe having a nap. At 6pm, we’d get ready for the evening. Ah, the joys of a fully regimented schedule!
A few of the nights, Molly played music from her speaker as we got put on our makeup. ‘Summerboy’ by Lady Gaga, which is the song of the summer for me, along with ‘The Sofa’, a new, and really good song by Wolf Alice- seems like they’re making a comeback! We also listened to a lot of Chappell Roan, especially her newly released song ‘The Subway’, which she released while we were in Crete, and ‘Guilty Pleasures’, which we love for the yodelling.
Molly had gotten into the Cocteau Twins, and played the last song on their classic album Heaven or Las Vegas, ‘Frou-frou Foxes in Midsummer Fires’ which is a totally brilliant song that I highly recommend you listen to it. It has a real dark and hypnotic sense of something I want to call emotional opulence- perfect for the occasion, then! I’d been a fan of the band as a teenager, but clearly had never paid enough attention to that song, which I think might now be my favourite of theirs.
It was so lovely, listening to music, chatting together, and getting ready to go out each night. I felt very lucky to have such an adored friend.
On the balcony, we’d watch as the last people left the pool, and the heat of the afternoon dissipated in the air. We’d drink a can of Greek lager, eat a few olives and have a few glasses of ouzo, made opaque by a splash of cold water. At this point, a black and white cat we named Gata (the Greek work for cat) visited us, having climbed up the the first floor and onto our balcony. She was very beautiful, identifiable by a tiny notch missing from her ear. She took to us very quickly.
We’d stroll into town for a drink before dinner at ICE bar, which was our favourite bar along the waterfront. By the end of the holiday, the waitress always recognised us, and knew our order, which was often two Aperols. I drank a lot of Aperol and Campari Spritz there- it was just so delicious, and such a beautiful location, with lofi beats in the backround and the early evening sea lapping at the shore.
For dinner, we generally had a lot of fish – sea bass, red mullet, sardines, swordfish- which was all really fresh and delicious. One stand out was a pasta dish called the ‘Village Pasta’. We’d drink beer or wine with the meal, and afterwards smoke menthol cigarettes at the table, lazily drinking raki or whatever free drink then gave us at the end.
This had been the first time we’d smoked menthols since they were banned in the UK in 2019. We had loved them at university, and they represented a new kind of freedom at the time. I don’t even like normal cigarettes, but I LOVE menthols. Literally fucking adore the little bastards. So beautiful, so elegant. And of course they’re only 3 euros 90 in Greece- which is crazy.
It’s totally insane to me how somehow the UK feels way more transphobic than Greece. In Greece, no one gives a fuck, because we don’t have the visibility there at all, let alone the constant onslaught of the trans eliminationist press. In Greece, no one even knows you’re trans, or cares. If you ask for the toilet, you best believe they’re sending you to the women’s. Which is true of the UK generally, but it feels so much more toxic there. I love being invisible. Visibility is overrated.
After dinner it was generally back to ICE bar for a last drink and cigarette of the night. The night wore on quickly, chatting with Molly, our semi-literary conversations, it was very glorious.
The town we stayed in, Agia Pelagia, either by chance or divine ordination, had a queer historical connection. It took its name from a chapel to Saint Pelagia, who was a trans / queer / lesbian Saint. Who knew!
So, we lived four days like this, which was everything we could have asked for. When the day came to leave, and with our flight not setting off to Gatwick until almost midnight, we chose to spend a day in Heraklion before heading to the airport.
We were unused to the heat of the day when fully clothed, having become accustomed to spending most days in swimwear and next to a pool. We dropped off our suitcases at a hotel and explored the city, visiting the archaeological museum, which featured brilliant frescos from the nearby Minoan Palace of Knossos. Frescos are one the main things that Greece tends to lack compared to Italy, so it was really nice to see them, and stand in slight disbelief at just how ancient they were.
It always gives me some hope, the idea that whole civilisations have been and gone before us. It makes me think that whatever catastrophe we are headed for will at least go one to bring new life in the future, a long way down the line. The great palace cities of Minoan Crete were already in ruin by the time of Classical Athens after all. It makes you think how weird it must feel, living in the ruins of a once great civilisation, and watching new ones spring up in their wake.
The Minoan civilisation took place in the Bronze Age, which sounds crazy to me, but it was astonishingly developed, the size of the palaces and cities they built go far beyond much of what was produced in Europe for the next many thousands of years. There, they developed some of the earliest forms of wiring, such as Linear A, which is still yet to be deciphered. They traded olive oil, wine, played games, worshiped goddesses, lived whole lives. Then, in the twelfth century BC, came the ‘late Bronze Age Collapse’ – a mysterious phenomenon that no one seems able to explain, making it all the more fascinating. Wikipedia is only able to say:
“The collapse was sudden, violent, and culturally disruptive for many Bronze Age civilisations, creating a sharp material decline for the region’s previously existing powers.”
I find hope in this fact, that something may come of all this after all, a long time in the distant future.
After the museum, we hanged around the city until evening and walked through the market before going for dinner. Heraklion is not an especially pretty city, but there are moments when it feels lovely.
At the airport, we were hit with a 2 hour delay, making the whole journey back slightly hellish, though we were generally in good spirits like we had been on the way there. Our three hour 30 minute flight home became a night flight- taking off a 1:40am Greek time and landing at around 5am Greek time, by which point we’d not really slept the whole night. Luckily the Uber home to Peckham was very painless, and only cost £46, which is an excellent deal if you ask me. We got home at 5am UK time, and slept.
I’m back to work now for the next few weeks, but am really excited for a trip to Bristol to visit Glen next weekend, as well as the usual week in Cornwall with Molly, my Mum and brother at the end of August. And I’m going to a big barbecue in Clapham Junction tonight.
I want to thank lovely Molly for being such wonderful company on our holiday to Crete. It really was a dream brought to life for me, and I loved every minute of it. It was time of utter naturalness, warmth and ease. We had so much fun, and laughed so much. This was a our first big abroad holiday together, and already I want to go on more trips together! Cornwall is in only two weeks I guess, which will suffice.
So, that’s been my last few weeks, including the Crete Holiday. I’ve had an amazing time. Feeling #Grateful.
To conclude I want to return to the Ashbery poem, The Ivory Tower’ which has an ending that I think is more than apt for this:
All has been so easily
Written about. And you find the right order after all: play, the streets, shopping, time flying.
9/8/25
Freya-Onions-report 
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