So here we are. One year of Wildblood and Queenie’s Outfit of the Day. A year of almost doing the same thing every day (the reality of meltdowns and burnouts permitting) and creating a difference in our lives. A year of saying hello to strangers, of likes and loves and hidden words, of charity shops and must-haves, patterns breaking, confidence building. New special interests and finally looking down that lens. Of eating cake and falling over, friendships and aunt life, sandy cracks and pebbled arses. Of Gaga and gardens, shed life and walking the dawg. Breaking routines, finding harmless stims, of placards of protest, electrifying railways and Welsh mountains. Of coffee and coffee and more coffee. (Oh god, we love coffee). Of favourite cakes and Arnie wiggles, Barbra photobombing and endless grinning. Of Trans Pride and more Trans Pride. Of garden trews and sunhats, nightshirt and jammies. Of Arsenal and West Ham, of seeing off the haters and bringing in the love. Making connections, meeting cuties, 10k and counting. Influencing nobody but showing up when we can. As trans allies, queer elders, neurodivergent honesty, as us. Campaigning and collectors, proud as. Of festival heads and blurry mornings, of AF adventures and 1BTN, new barnets and Mooching, of lesbians and more lesbians. Of squeaky decking and crunching pebbles, beach life and Patterns resident life and dogs and their dykes life. Of National Trust days and He.She.They., our Sunday Almanac darlings, being Block heads and flying high with Concorde 2, of BMC and totebags and existential DJ crisis’. Of Zap kids all grown and secret Soho House poolside shoots. Of life where love is always the message. Of Dyke on Decks and The Tempest, sticky buns and cheese straws, Queer Heritage South and maps of seductive memories, of Whippy’s and hard, Norfolk and Essex, Margate and Birmingham. Of heroes and heroines, Leigh and Sue, Charleston and Lewes. Dry robe bankers and The Chill Out Tent, the Emirates and Horse Meat Disco. Mr Wilson and our Fat Tony, 1BTN and the family, IWD and that Pride Village Party Sunday – our Borderline complete. The Fortune of War and Faro and Becca, of Helene and Wesley and Dexter, and those always remembered We Are Love dancers. It’s been a ride. It’s been a joy. It’s been at best 60 seconds of every day, and we’ve loved it. Time to go again?