A classic, in terms of challenges, - but quite a big one for someone of my years and delicate pain threshold. I had my lovely friend, Monica, there to hold my hand, though I suspect she was more nervous than I was. My preparations were as follows:- planning the tattoo - quite easy as I was going for the 'plastic paddy' look
- planning where it would be - quite easy as I wasn't prepared to reveal any part of my body that had not been on public display for the last 5 years, and also quite easy as I didn't want it on show at family weddings, christenings or funerals.
- listening to every other tattoo-ee about how painful it was going to be (rather like childbirth)
- 2 paracetamol
- 2 ibuprofen
- 2 large swigs of brandy (courtesy of Monica - she knows me well!)
The experience of being tattoo-ed was painful - sharp and stingy as you would expect - but strangely enjoyable, thanks to the support and Australian wit of my companion, to the large intake of brandy, and also to the skill and all-round loveliness of my tattoo artist, Becky. She made me feel as if she tattoos eccentric geriatrics every day of the week, and made me feel comfortable and at home in a very alien environment. I got a slight adrenalin rush from the experience and felt wonderfully rebellious and somewhat young. Just for the record, she also said I had wonderful skin for tattooing, and that I was exceedingly brave. I agree!
I love my tattoo - it is now part of me - and a permanent reminder of my year of fun, adventure and madness. When I am old and do-lally, and receiving a bed bath in some nursing home, I shall glance down at my tootsies and be reminded of a life lived well and enjoyed to the full - and a little smile shall cross my toothless gums! Job done!
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