Tattoos at 30.

I arrived in Amsterdam for my birthday. I was so preoccupied wondering how I would or should be feeling turning 30 that I forgot my brothers had organised a ’surprise’ for me. They sold the tickets the night before as they didn’t think an electronic midnight rave was really my thing, even though dancing is. At breakfast on the day of my birthday, I stood up in the cafe and announced to anyone who cared, that today was the day I was going to get a tattoo.

I hate tattoos.

I walked along the canal, found a tattoo shop, went in and there was a space then and there for my inking. I trembled my way out of the shop, to scared to follow through. I ended up at a gallery, spent 20 euros entry only to realise I had already seen this exhibition a few weeks before. I sat in the gallery cafe and got creative. I let my imagination run wild as I thought that the possibility of having anything permanent on my body was probably a stupid idea.

I walked back past the shop and went in again. Shaking, I handed my design over. The women rejected it because it wouldn’t fit on my leg in the place I wanted it. My leg is that small?

After the fourth time I went into the tattoo shop I finally followed through. My brothers came with me.

One brother got a dinosaur and the other his spirit animal? a turtle on a skateboard. I drew both images for them but google image, page one got the vote.

The next day I left to catch the train back to London. I sobbed the whole way back wondering what I had done.

At least it wasn’t cursive writing I thought.

Love Oatie (Olivia After Tattoo Incredibly Exciting)

“Do it or don’t do it - you will regret both” - Soren Kierkegaard