The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Kinda.

I say that as by the time you read this, I’ll be off again.

On a plane, to a different country. But don’t get too excited because unlike the other recent trips, it’s only a few days so this blog – if anyone reads it – will be back on Thursday.

You’d think with all the time I’ve been away, I’d of had a chance to think up some new topics to write about. But quite frankly, the biggest news is the realization we’re now entering the last month of blogging for 2025.

How the hell did we get to this point of the year so quickly?

The thought that in just over a couple of months we enter the 19th year of this rubbish is mindblowing … though maybe I should say mind numbing, hahaha.

Anyway, this post is about tattoos.

Hang in there, it’s quite a personal post.

I got my first tat when I was about 41 years old.

I’d always thought about them but either was worried about the pain or not sure what I would want on me.

Things changed when I found myself in a tattoo shop in LA while on holiday with Jill, Paul and Shelly … and suddenly the opportunity to ‘go for it’ was just a head-nod away.

So, I did and almost immediately it made more sense to me than I ever imagined.

You see, for a sentimental fool like me, tattoos are a way to commemorate and celebrate all that is – or has been – important to me.

More than a reminder, but a way to keep these things alive in my consciousness.

Maybe that’s why I find having them peaceful.

Proper peace.

To the point I sleep through them rather than wince because of them.

So, while some can have any old shit inked onto their body, for me each is deeply personal and that’s why my arms are covered in a hotchpotch of weird personal references and deeply emotional significance … from toast with the Superman logo burnt into it to a mooncake, an owl, an octopus, a black heart with flowers and Ms Piggy right through to things like my old Nottingham post code and phone number, Rosie’s face, paw and nose and Otis birth date to name but a few.

But recently I had 2 more added that had a bigger impact on me than I imagined.

While going through some old photos, I found my parents passports.

As I looked through the pages, I saw their signatures and it really got to me.

Part of it was I’d not seen them for a long time.
Part of it is knowing they won’t ever write them again.
Part of it is because they’d written them with their own hand, so I felt close to them again.

It was an emotional moment and decided there and then I wanted them tattooed on me.

Now I have tattoos for Mum and Dad already [the Owl and Ms Piggy] but this was different and so when I talked to an artist near our house about it, she readily agreed and created scans she could use as a template to ink.

And this is the result.

They’re perfect.

Both in terms of how they look and where they are.

But more than that, they’re perfect in what they mean and represent.

I was gobsmacked when I first saw them because it felt so surreal to see their signatures written new again.

Yes, I know I’d asked for them, but these were ‘fresh and new’ and given Dad has been gone 25 years – and Mum 9 – it felt like they were part of my present, not simply my past.

Being able to look at my wrist and not just see their names, but their actual signatures is very special to me as it means they are now living in my world … but more than that, I’m taking them with me. Showing and sharing with them how I live and what I do. Having them on the journey with me rather than just in my memory.

I appreciate not everyone will get this and some may think I have finally – or officially – cracked, but I hope some people get it, because the point of a tattoo, at least for me, isn’t about branding, but living.