I woke up on Saturday morning full of vital energy. This was not the same as jumping out of bed ready to do the household chores; it felt much more earthy and wild than that. I was ready for climbing a mountain, walking 30 miles, running naked through the jungle or having wild unfettered sex rolling on a fern-covered river bank. This is from a woman, aged 48, who normally wakes up on a Saturday feeling groggy and ugly, and grumpily grinds her way through the day via a pre-made list of things to do, using sarcasm and disassociation as her main weapons. I tell you, this was weird-feeling day.
The family were happily busy, so I decided to take the long walk option, setting out to cover 10 miles in a couple of hours. The weather was fierce and unpredictable; moments of bright winter sunshine were blown aside by icy blasts of hailstones. I felt so bloody alive. Other folks along the way seemed alive too, a couple minutely examining a fallen tree, a bearded man in shorts cycling with a huge precarious plastic box under one arm, three teenagers with backpacks laughing so hard they could barely walk straight. I laughed too; a little human echo...
All the time I was brewing this idea of getting a tattoo. Weird, crazy idea. I've always hated body piercing and snottily looked down my nose at tattoos. I have always considered tattoos to be the mark of someone dodgy, from the underworld - to be avoided. When I used to go dancing with my mates as young teenagers, the horror moment came when 'Bridge over troubled water' oozed out of the cheap speakers, you approached some hot looking bloke, and then you spotted his tattoo. Toilet alert. See ya later. End of love story.
I frittered the time away once I got to town by parking myself in an organic cafe, eating a delicious three-bean salad and drinking jasmine tea. A crinkly old lady sat opposite me and we talked about her bus tour of the local area. I noticed her staring at me between utterances as if to wonder alongside me, whether I was completely sane. Is this tattoo business really such a good idea, she silently inquired with her kind eyes. Is this some sort of breakdown? Have you completely lost touch with all that is good and right and proper? What sort of a reprobate are you turning into? Then I noticed she was eating a huge pile of white buttered toast. Crazy.
...up the hill, round the corner, along the exposed and elevated pavement, the traffic went whizzing by. I walked past the tattoo parlour, peering in the windows. I walked back again. Then my daughter rang and I stood just outside the door to take her call. I didn't let on. What is a 16 year old supposed to make of this? I imagined all the parents from the kids' school driving past, pointing. What's SHE doing outside the very obvious, out of town tattoo parlour? Weird woman.
Then I knew I had to do it. This seemed to be an extremely important ritual for me. I was claiming my own skin. It was mine and I could do exactly what I wanted with it. The tattoo man didn't have quite the same sense of ceremony about the occasion. "What d'you want, love?" I looked blankly at him. He gestured to the thousands of designs that hung on the walls and dangled from the rail of samples. "I'm not sure - something small". "Well if you've got to mess about deciding, I'll come back out in 2 minutes" He disappeared back into the adjoining room, shutting the door with some impatience. I noticed there were others waiting; one man in his early 20s who was already covered in swirling hearts and snakes and Aztec insignia. He pointed to his lower arm. "I'm going to get this one finished off with a ring of thorns". Fair enough. I felt like small fry. My tattoo would be a trifle in comparison. Just a wee mark.
I flipped through the small-designs rail, ignoring the dead roses and the skulls, looking desperately for a swallow or a sunrise or something softer. I found a really cheesy looking seagull - or was it a dove? All the same it reminded me of the BT logo. Associations like that were a no-no. Then I saw a sheet of little astral picture; stars and moons and planetary signs. My body relaxed. I chose a curly star with a little trail. It was about two inches long - bingo.
The tattoo man wanted to get on with it. Sit there. Where do you want it? Take your t-shirt off, I can't tattoo through it, can I? I told him this was my first tattoo, and I was terrified. He was a bit warmer after that, telling me to relax, and saying that it wasn't painful. But it wasn't the pain I was worried about, it was the concern that I might not really be in my right mind. He placed the remains of the transfer in from of me while he tended to his art around my right should blade. I could feel the needle following the curve of the trail and the points of the star. Then he finished off with the little dots of the trail - zzz, zz, z. It didn't hurt.
Thirty five quid cash please. This mid-life crisis doesn't come cheap.
