Thursday 23 February 2012 – When you’re living in someone else's space, it’s difficult to function normally, I miss having my music playing, and also being able to do the things I normally do; mostly due to my life and possessions being split between Italy, Jumbo storage and the back of my van. So, just to get away from it all we go into town, there’s nothing we need there, but the need to escape is strong.
My OH keeps coughing; it’s been driving me mad for days, so I suggest we go to the local ‘walk-in’ clinic. We are sitting in the reception, waiting for OH to be called through, when the light is blocked by a huge man who has hobbled in; his bulk supported by a walking stick that looks unable to bear his weight. He’s wearing half mast shorts and red slippers, and his legs are covered in tribal tattoos, as are his arms and his face. I look across at him and spot his hands; on the fingers of his left hand is inked in capitals ‘LOVE’ and across his right is ‘HATE’.( I thought the popularity of these tattoos had died out in the seventies). His wife appears; a diminutive woman who’s also covered with tattoos, vines creep along her forearms, flowers bloom at her wrists and butterflies flit across her shoulders.
They are an odd looking couple, her inking is serene and tranquil and his is confrontational and malevolent.She looks like she’d not be out of place in a circus back in Victorian times, and he looks like he’d fit right in on a anti-political demonstration.
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