If it’s a Wednesday then it must mean another trip to the tattoo studio.
Oh.
It was booking #2 out of #3. By the end of the day and booking #2 out of #5 was complete.
Whoops.
The bicycle ride into Sunny Colch was bloody brrrrr. I didn’t want to overdo it with the layers, fearing a striptease performance in the studio. RESPECT to the two Essex fellas walking around the town / city wearing shorts.
It was lively and very friendly session in the studio. All the artists appeared to be working with some heavy duty inking taking place during the day. The playlist in a tattoo studio is by far the best compared to other public space. You won’t hear hip hop meets metal in a Dr’s surgery.
Elbows are a BASTARD to tattoo. That was the opinion of my artists man, and also from myself come the end of the day. I grimaced through the morning session as the outlining was etched in.
I was BUZZING OFF ME TITS come lunchtime. I disappeared into Sunny Colch for a CD hunt around the charity shops. I came out with some Miles Davis, Nina Simone, T-Rex and, erm, Christopher Cross. Change from a grubby fiver as well.
There was two weird snow machines poking out of two separate shops on the same street. Both were pumping out some white shit that didn’t look much like snow. It was settling on the ground and looking a right bloody mess.
I saw some fella walking around with the most amazing quiff. I was half-tempted to grab a cheeky photo of him. Like I said – I was BUZZING OFF ME TITS on tattoo love.
The afternoon session involved the colouring in stage. I thought it would be less painful but I was wrong. There’s a lot of wiping down and clingfilm involved with tattoos.
We called it a day a little earlier than planned. I was feeling slightly dizzy. I left six hours after arriving feeling very happy. See you in January, fella. And June. And August.
It was a dark and bitterly cold bicycle ride back to Weird Wiv. I took it easy, given the delicate elbow situation. Colchester and cars go together like pigs and shit.
The Globe emailed, confirming details of the cast for the production of Titus at the Wanamaker next year. I’m already creaming myself over the bloodfest to come. It’s an all female production as well.
Our water bill dropped. I have been obsessively logging these every six months over the past seven years since we switched to a metre. We’re around £26 up on what we last paid back in 2014 minus the metre. We also smell.
In the absence of any midweek World Cup action we got sucked into the #lolspurs All or Nothing series on Prime. We polished off the Arsenal one in less than a week.
The format is very addictive telly. There’s the danger that you are routing for a team and a manger who you don’t give a shit about. I find it very hard to find any love for Mourinho and #lolspurs.
Links for Wednesday 7th December, 2022
Editorial: Why Labour selection stitch-ups matter beyond the party itself | Morning Star
A world of the weird and wonderful fills the Design Museum
