Posted tagged ‘mark ups and t-shirts’

Had to get this one off my chest

June 8, 2012

Looking to pick up some bargains I ventured to the Boxing day sales last year with my oldest son. I noticed a large queue outside a shop I didn’t know. Further investigation revealed to me it was a tattoo parlour. The queue snaked along the street and was made up, mostly, of young people. I asked my son “What’s the story here? Is there a sale or something?”. And he answered a popular Christmas gift for those of a certain age is vouchers for tattoos.

Call me old fashioned or even a coward (I don’t like jags) but I’m in the anti-tattoo camp. For me skin is precious and there is nothing lovelier on a woman than pure unblemished skin. Furthermore, tattoos on well-muscled men like myself (liar, liar *sub-editor comment) take away the Atlas look. The bicep is ignored in favour of the dragon motif or whatever.

I’ve asked both my sons not to mark them selves up and so far they have resisted the temptation to be needled. No mean feat, by the way, as they are both heavily into rock music like me. The rock world, after sailors, was one of the first environments to embrace the culture of using indelible ink. A cursory glance through any issue of the Metal Hammer magazine (a stimulating, recommended read, says me) will bombard you with images of eternally-etched musicians. The above photograph, for the uninitiated, is James Hetfield of Metallica.

  An alternative always put forward is a T-shirt. You can’t go wrong with a T-shirt. I can well remember getting my first “ironed-on” Queen T-shirt as if it were yesterday. In those days you could only get “ironed” with what was available in the shop. Nowadays modern printing techniques can customise any design or slogan you want. And it is not permanent. After the novelty has worn off you can throw the T-shirt away. You can’t really do that with your arm, can you? Tattoo removal is an option, though there is still some scar tissue.

When I first met my wife she gave me her phone number that I wrote on my arm with a pen. The arm was the only thing I had to hand, so to speak; we were outside the disco at closing time and didn’t have any paper handy. I was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that night and as I was walking home I was terrified it would rain. Thankfully, it didn’t. Now here’s my type of Jags with a great little pop song that takes me back to the heady heights of the 80’s when I found the light of my life.