So todays happiness came in the form of a Peter Alexander catalogue which is effectively a photoshoot of people that look like the Royals. Made me smile. Brilliant. But it was the Pink Cuddle Cardi that caught my eye.
Because I have something similar only its a disgusting khaki brown thing that I bought twenty years ago (literally) at a flea market when I went to have my ear re-pierced in it’s cartilage. Because that’s what you do when you are 24, recently returned from an overseas trip and have madness in your heart. (Just to let you know it doesn’t end well for the ear because it gets badly badly infected a few days later and it gets shouted at by the family doctor and then the bum attached gets three penicillin injections over a three day period. The ear doesn’t get re-pierced until 20 years later when madness again grips it’s heart whilst sitting waiting for soccer training to end on Bondi Beach and the Bondi Ink Tattoo place comes into view. It’s now about eight weeks down the line and the ear is doing well, in case you were worried.)
And then coincidentally a few days ago my sister in law posed a question on Facebook about looking for a brilliant tattoo artist. I of course did in fact know someone because I met him in the gym. But my experience with tattoos was sidelined about 21 years ago, you could say by an act of God perhaps?
The year was 1993 and I was
partying working on a kibbutz in Israel for a year along with my soul brothers and sisters from around the globe. Seriously the craziest bunch I have ever had the privilege to know. So, someone in a drunken haze came up with the idea of hopping a bus the next afternoon to Tel Aviv and getting our tattoos. Don’t even ask what tattoo I was getting because I hadn’t thought that far ahead. It was the olden days and I think you just arrived, looked at a book of pictures and chose one. Easy peasy. Only problem was that in the morning, my work schedule changed and I got a late shift which dictated that I only finished at 4pm and they were getting the bus at 3. And because we were in the grips of madness there was no going back because Lauren couldn’t get her work shift changed. So they got nicely sauced up on the vodka and off they went. Without me. Well, I bitched and moaned for weeks after while they proudly paraded their array of body art. But was not brave enough, once sober to actually go on my own. I was also mortally afraid of what my mother might do to me on my return to the home country.
So instead I went to get my ear cartilage pierced for the first time which led to me getting it pierced a second time because I took the first one out on my return home when I went swimming and forgot to put it back in. That piercing closed quicksmart – similar to the second piercing getting infected quicksmart. But enough about piercings and back to tattoos.
The Artist, Miss14 and I were in a
bar restaurant last night (I see some of you nanna’s frowning and head shaking. You are probably right) and it again seemed like a good idea for The Artist and I to go and find a tattoo parlour. There’s this saying that I found a while back. It says as follows:
I think perhaps another one could read:
Needless to say, I was not considered the voice of reason even though I was being a lot of fun and I had taken them to a really really cool place to hang for the night.
So we went to the petrol station and bought ice-cream instead. I hope you remember after all this that the story started over a pink cardi in a pajama catalogue.
Love and light