Well. Freshly 18, in the first flush of post-exam euphoria, and on a frantic student camping holiday with my crew, to Newquay: the UK capital of sun, surf and debauchery. It was the perfect breeding ground for my self-modification urges.
At A Glance Author Frances Contact Frances@bme.anon When It just happened Location Newquay, UK I don't really know why, but I just felt I had to come home with something. First, I bleached my hair... not only did it look pretty poor, but it didn't quell the urge. I toyed with the idea of a piercing, but I'd come home from my last Newquay trip with a nose ring and I needed to ring the changes.
I never really intended to get a tattoo. I hadn't put enough thought into it, I was broke, I was too lazy to make appointments and do background research, and my mum would kill me. But on the last morning I woke up and thought "I'm going to get a tattoo today."
I spent all morning having a big old debate with my excited pals about what I should get inked, and where. We went through a LOT of ideas. Eventually, I decided on a pair of backward speechmarks... like a flipped, bubble-writing 99. It meant freedom of speech, and love (because there were two of them spooning), and I've always been anal about grammar and punctuation, so it all seemed right. I wanted it on the non-veiny side of my right wrist. I drew it out on a page ripped out of a magazine, and got a bus into town.
What I didn't consider was that my mind, and pen-wielding hand, were addled by drink, sleep-deprivation and malnutrition. I also didn't consider that Newquay is get-a-tattoo-on-holiday central, and all the decent places have lists of appointments as long as my about-to-be-tattooed arm.
So, I wound up at this crap backstreet walk-in place. I queued for about two hours, watching this guy Steve do tattoos through a glass panel. I watched every stage of the process... the making of the transfer, the deodorant application, the sticking and peeling off of the transfer, the needle and ink prep, and the job itself. I studied the expressions on people's faces and watched the WHOLE of The Pick of Destiny on the little TV. He did seem pretty skilled, and all of the customers seemed to walk out happy (but then, they were all having flashwork...)
I was scared and unsure... the place was pretty grotty, and "Steve" was a complete caricature of the skinhead, inked-up tattoo thug. But by then it had become like a rite of passage thing. My friends had all been waiting for hours in the searing heat, and I couldn't chicken out. This was stupid of me, I should have properly thought about the permanence of what I was about to do to myself.
I even re-drew the tattoo on different paper, crouched over the tattoo studio waiting bench. It was pretty badly drawn but I figured he'd neaten it up during the tattooing. I'm so silly. I was so scared about the pain, and just wanted it to be over, so when it was finally my turn, I walked shakily into the gaffa-taped leather chair, showed him my crappy drawing and roughly where I wanted the tat. He didn't even question my little scrap of paper and vague gesturing. I should have noticed, when he stuck it on, that the placement was all off, but I was so scared that I didn't even look. I thought the tattooing noise would be really awful, but I think I had fear-deafness... plus, I'd been listening to it so long in the queue that I was desensitised.
I braced myself, and gritted my teeth through the sharp pain, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I was so relieved it was over that I didn't even bat an eyelid as Steve stuck a folded piece of kitchen roll over my wrist with sellotape (no cling film, no aftercare advice, nothing)
Even though I was stupid and made a lot of mistakes, it looks okay. Kind of cute and cartoony.... my best friend said, "It's not perfect, but then neither are you!" (Nice...). But the fact that it's a little left of centre REALLY grates on me. And there's a weird little flat bit. And the tails of the "speech sperms" (a term coined by my friends) are sort of different sizes. But I like that they're different... I may name them!
It's healing pretty well and I'm glad I did it. I have caught the 'tattooing bug', but have learnt some valuable lessons about the dos and don'ts of inkage. It did hurt (my pain threshhold is pretty loooow), but I think it's like giving birth... you just forget how bad it was or you'd never go through it again).