I couldn't look my father in the face. No one seemed to be saying anything. I could almost hear my own heart beating. Finally, my father said, "Mike... What is this, a joke? Why are you dressed like a girl?" I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. My mother said, "Tell your father why you're wearing a dress, dear." I said, "I like wearing dresses. I like dressing up like a girl." "Why?" he roared. "I just do." "Look at me!" I looked at him. He looked sick, like he wanted to. George Orwell didn't know the half of it.I had gone down to the ILLH to do some research on the building's top floor where it tended to be quietest. There was no piped music up there or excited toddlers and the loudest noise was the clack-clack of computer keyboards - although certainly not all the stuff you saw of screens as you passed was strictly of a literary nature!My chosen subject was Lucerne in Switzerland. But behind a large wall of guide books I had secreted the latest edition of. More

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