Hello, I am Hunter! You might know me as the vertically challenged pocket rocket who works in Paradise Garden, or you’ve been a victim of my chronic hugging and endless flows of word vomit. Or maybe you know me from one of many chapters of my life… but let’s just say if you were to set eyes on the book of me it would be a wild read.

I will spare you all a long woeful story of my life so will try to make this brief, but feel it’s necessary (yet extremely terrifying) for me to be transparent about my situation. Growing up I was a little dirt kid that would spend 99% of my time up a tree or galavanting from dusk to dawn in our council estate in Swindon (shh… I told the census I’m Welsh now ). Then in my formative years, having to drop out of further education, due to lack of funds to support myself, I naturally became a slave to hospitality and away I went. Undiagnosed (at the time) ADHD and no one holding me accountable other than me, I screwed the pooch when it came to finances. Rich in memories, but poor in pocket. As a bit of a Lone Ranger, from the age of 15 I just drifted with wherever life would take me, and far away from home, I tried to survive the wonderfully terrible world of growing up.

No guidance and support during this time led to poor life choices, financial choices, addiction and a lot of dormant emotional baggage.

This all came to a head in my mid 20’s and I worked so fucking hard on healing, righting my wrongs, slowly shedding the layers of masking that I had come accustomed to, scraping the change jar to pay for consistent therapy and started to be more honest with myself. There’s a reason I had zero confidence in myself, a reason that I hated that person I saw in the mirror, a reason that I yearned to be “so androgynous that nobody knows I’m a girl”… because honey you’re just a little boy that didn’t cook for long enough.

A year and a half ago, after a very long spout of confusion, frustration, depression, loss, fear and loathing I finally opened up and took charge. I stopped fearing what I could lose and started yearning for the happiness it would bring to actually fucking like myself. And how that would project onto the people I love and the people I am yet to love. And with the support of my resilient, beautiful wife Marley, a new job in PG and Cardiff welcoming me with arms wide open… I started on this wild ride to becoming Hunter.

This is the final chapter of my journey, because since starting this transition I am the very best version of myself. Hunter saved me from a lifetime of ugliness and loneliness. And as much as I hate to ask for help, I can’t do this on my own!

For my fellow T boys, girls and they’s, you understand how difficult and expensive it is to access the care that you need. For those that don’t know, the current wait list - for the first initial appointment with the Welsh Gender Service - is 20 months, plus however long it takes for that GP referral to make it to the gender service (for me an additional 9 months). My HRT is acquired through an online service called Gender GP. Gender GP (although making HRT accessible legally) is essentially a money making scheme that takes advantage of the position that people like me are in. I initially paid £195 just to access this service, a further £65 for consultation and since, an additional £30 subscription + cost of prescribing and medication MONTHLY. They charge you if you want to chat to them about anything, they don’t monitor anything (since being with them I have never submitted a blood test) and pretty much just a glorified and legal drug dealer.

Once my name is called and I get my first appt, then I will go through whatever vetting they need and will then be put on additional 12 month waiting list for the opportunity to get the bastard bean bags off my chest. And to the untrained eye you might say, “Hey Hunter, you don’t look like you’ve got a set of melons under there, only an 8 pack and pecs of a Greek god”. Well actually it’s more like small saggy chesticals that I have to miticulously strap to my back with tape or flatten with a very unflattering and sweaty-gross binder. This summer killed me, the heat, the sweat, the blisters, the pain, the ITCHINESS. I don't just want this, I NEED it, it’s the one thing standing in the way of pure euphoria. To feel the breeze on my chest, to wear whatever I want without fear of detection, to spend a lazy day at the beach with my 3 chest hairs on proud display. It’s a dream that is only possible with the generosity of others.

The cost of private top surgery is a hefty £10,000 schmeckles. An insane target I know. I am understanding that this may not be acheivable before the NHS take over my care. In the event of this, outside of recovery, I will donate remaining funds to directly support those in need of gender affirming care.

Now I don’t have much to offer in return, however, we are putting a fundraiser on in Paradise Garden on Sunday the 28th September 2025 (which happens to also be my 30th birthday) which I hope the people that can, will join me in celebration. We’ll be running market stalls in the daytime with some vintage clothing, items, custom made nails (courtesy of my gorgeous and talented wife Marley) and handmade bits from very talented beans. Leading into an evening of live music, vibes, love and a whole lot of booty shaking.

So if I’ve ever put a smile on your face, and you have it to spare, please help me rid of the only thing holding me back from peace!

Only give what you can, I am a frequent flyer of the ‘check the app before you tap’ club so understand that times are tough. Your support in whatever form means more to me than you will ever know.

No more fear and loathing!

Thank You, H x