The day after his recent 18th birthday, my lad got an impressive tattoo of a rose with a musical symbol stem.
I’m perfectly fine with it, providing the rose doesn’t grow into a popular monstrous full tattoo sleeve where it’s often impossible to distinguish where the tattoo ends and septicaemia begins.
It’s a little-known fact that Henry VIII wrote Greensleeves as a homage to Anne Boleyn and her impressive arm tattoos.
I have never had a tattoo, although as a teenager, I did, like many at that time, have my ear pierced, which left my dad weirdly questioning my sexuality for years, until I finally got married.
For me, there’s always been that question as to what to have inked on me for life?
A lot of people have their favourite animals. I quite like dolphins, but they are massive and that is gonna seriously hurt having one of those etched on my chest. If only I was fond of wasps.
I’ve never been convinced about having a tattoo of your partner’s name because, much as it’s great to publicly show off your undying love for each other, that whole world can shatter in a heartbeat leaving you to find a partner with the same name as your ex – which is tricky if they are called Gertrude or Seymour – or pay for a cover up or expensive removal.
I’m not sure if I like the idea of a stranger writing all over my back. I know my girlfriend hates it when I wake at 2am with inspiration and, in the absence of a bedside notepad, write an entire newspaper column on her back – especially as she can’t have a bath until I’ve typed it all into the laptop the next day.
If I were to have a tattoo, I think I’d simply have the word “Dad” on my upper arm. Firstly, in tribute to my own remarkable dad and secondly because I don’t mind the public knowing it’s the best job I’ll ever have.
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