Soooo, I got a tattoo yesterday. I decided to get one Saturday afternoon as I was walking home from seeing Angela and Sean in Teacup (fantastic pork and fig sandwich). I felt blue so thought a bit of retail therapy would go down well during which time I figured, you know what I really need? What will really cheer me up? A needle scoring through my skin at a mega fast rate. So I went, picked a design, booked in et voila. My tattooist was Steve, a very pleasant and talented man who took the time to make sure I was happy with the design. Once it's healed I'm going to go back and ask for some shadows to make it look more like he's climbing on my shoulder.
Sorry about the dried blood, it was too fresh (read, painful) to wash. And for the record, it IS on my shoulder, that is not my breast for anyone who may be confused.
Next up: The Queen. Alien I mean. Not your royal 'I pay more attention to my nails than the GB team walking out during the Olympic opening ceremony' highness.
This lady's dome and body:
This lady's head and mouth:
This lady's colouring:
Beautiful ain't she?
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