My father thought he had three boys.

As I think you know, I am a fairly modest individual. I don’t take any pleasure in blowing my own trumpet. I need hardly tell you that on mentioning that to Sylvester he trotted out some trite comment. He really can be quite coarse at times.

With the small amount of celebrity that I have garnered over the years there are naturally moments when I am recognised and photographed, when out in public. I don’t resent this. I accept that it comes with the territory of being a transgendered account executive at Canada’s seventeenth most awarded advertising company. Apparently, with great power comes great responsibility, to quote Maya Angelou.

It was during the Pride Parade in Vancouver recently that a flock of paparazzi recognized me and descended upon me flashes flashing and video videoing. I must say, in the centre of this light storm I found myself very lightheaded. Perhaps it was the hot weather, or maybe the noise of the parade, but quite suddenly I felt very feint. A moment later the world seemed to tilt on its axis and I was suddenly falling, falling, falling.

When I opened my eyes I found myself in an unfamiliar place. I was surrounded by mist, and there seemed to be no horizon. There was a soft white light, no walls and no floor. A gentle fog rolled about the place, a little like when Sylvester had that smoke machine in the car…