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The next seven years passed by in a bit of a fuzz. I had a number of jobs, gradually increasing my salary and getting more important positions. But my health was suffering. I was still getting plenty of migraines and had no social life at all. My mental health was getting worse and worse and my gender problems were becoming stronger and almost taking over my life. Finally I decided I had to do something about it and went to my GP. I covered the gambit of anti-depressants, Limbitrol, Valium and Nobrium, often in crazy mixes, but nothing helped. I was refered to a psychiatrist who managed to mis-diagnose my problem. It took another twenty years before the real diagnosis came to light, but at the time they said I was a transvestite and tried to cure me. I assumed that they knew what they were doing and believed that that was what I was. It led to two years of weird experimental group therapy. They put five men who cross-dressed in with four women. At the time I had no idea why this strange mix and what the women’s problems were. It soon became clear. One of the women left her husband and went off with one of the male patients ... and I had affairs with two of the others. They were obviously nymphomaniacs! The psychs were trying to cure our problems as if it was something to do with sex, but I had no problem in that area as I was strongly attracted to women. Finally they obviously decided the experiment wasn’t working and just dropped us like a hot brick. I often wonder if I should have sued the NHS for ruining the next twenty years of my life? But not everything in my life was bad. A colleague at work set up a blind date between me and a friend of hers and we hit it off immediately. We first met at a staff do in February 1977 and by December we were married.