razzmatazz (part II)

the hour passed ridiculously quickly. we got there a bit early and alison was outside having a fag and she said she’d be some time, but i asked if it was okay for us to wait and she said it was. she actually started preparing for my tattoo around five, and took ages in getting everything sterile and tracing the outline of my tattoo and whatnot. then she beckoned me over (claire then took a ‘before’ photo’ which i need to post) and said i could ‘bring a friend’, so i picked claire and alison told me to straddle a red velvet stool. i’d decided i wanted it on my lower back, not too far down so you could see it if i bent over, because i thought that looked a bit cheap, so it’s a good three or four inches above my bum. i pulled my top up and she put the tracing on my back and i had to look in the mirror. everything seemed fine, so she told me to get back on the stool, lean forward and put my elbows on it. and then i heard the buzzzzzzzzz.

me: “will it hurt a lot?”
alison: “it’ll be well worth the pain.”

eep.

it’s only now after further research that i discovered the lower back in terms of pain is in the same catagory as groin area, ankles and head (??). the back of your shoulder is the kindest place but i wanted it somewhere more private, plus i know my back won’t stretch or get cellulite (hopefully!). stupid me didn’t realise that the needles would be putting untold pressure on my spine. and i’m not going to pretend to be hard here on my diary: it bloody killed. anyone who has it done on their back and says it doesn’t are lying.

claire was worried that i was going to pull my hair out, as my fingers were yanking at it with the pain. it’s a funny sort.. like a vibrating blunt knife slicing down your back. the outline was definitely the most painful, especially one bit where i felt it go right over the bone, and my vision went blurry and i thought i was close to blacking out. but she did it in bits so it was tolerable. claire was sat next to me, saying ‘you’re definitely the most hardcore friend i know’ which was nice to hear (although claire is terrified of needles). and when it was done, beautifully quickly, i’m proud to admit:

1) i didn’t scream
2) i didn’t cry

i let out a few self pitying whimpers at the worst bit, but on the whole i gritted my teeth and shut my gob. but i was with four southern friends so i wasn’t going to let them think i was drama queen; i’m not going to throw thousands of years of hard northerner heritage down the pan in ten minutes. i wasn’t nervous when i looked in the mirror (probably still a bit delirious) but i was delighted with it. that’s when i started to feel choked up, praising the almighty talented goddess that is alison and her magical hands. claire said the lovliest thing too, she said “oh, it’s so you, it’s just perfect.” even tony said ‘i don’t like tattoos but you seem to have pulled that one off really well.” someone mentioned on a review of the place that they have the knack of creating the image you had in your mind, and she did exactly that. she seemed pretty chuffed. she also gave me and claire a sweet and said i was ‘very brave’, which, coming from a woman with a large pink skull tattooed on her chest was quite a compliment.

it cost me £25, which isn’t bad considering the place’s reputation (but it is priced on time allocated for that tattoo rather than size). alison then covered it in cellophane and told me to buy some rescue cream from the shop across the road, but it was shut, but i managed to get to boots in time to get some. then i made the phonecall i was dreading: telling my parents. i didn’t tell my mother any of my plans, and i asked her if she was sitting down. she barked “whaaat? whhaaat?!” for a few minutes but then seemed as excited as i was. then we went to a south african bar that claire likes (she was born and lived in south africa until she was 12 but has since beaten the accent out of herself) and i had, what i think, was a well deserved malibu and coke. mmm.