Perous Secret Diary - Keep Out: October 12, 2006

yes its fucking political

running errands in our local seaside town, decided to nip into the high street tattoo parlour (and support local business).
i shouldn't have...

i forgot my own first rule of tattooing:

'MAKE SURE YOU ALWAYS GET TATTOOED BY SOMEONE SOUND (as they transfer some energy when they tattoo you and you have spend a while with them)'

i knew the tattoo i was getting was impossible to mess up...

z's belated mark on my arm.

this was actually shot last night, at the party i was at...but it seems more relevant/poignant now:

z

i should have left at the point when i sat down, after when the guy started and he said 'where are you from then?'
and i said 'hackney'
he stared me in the eye and said, 'no you're not: you're not black...'.

needless to say, he was a member of the B N P and spent 15 minutes regurgitating far right wisdoms on how to save this country from further going down the pan.
which amongst other things included:
pulling out of the EU because it costs us £50m a day to be a member.
bringing back the death penalty
legalising drugs and then after a while when everyone's comfortable with the system, poisoning all of the junkies (to death)...etc etc...
he also made comment about there only being a few black people in this area but that they were ok because they were white blacks: which apparently means that although they are black, they support the monarchy.

WHAT THE FUCK??

the last time i crossed the B N P was in bethnal green in 1991 when some some skinheads offered to kill me for a) wearing an anti nazi league badge, b) because i 'had the colours of the african flag' on my bag (red, green and gold?) and c) because i was tolerant scum (despite also being a white skinhead) and people like this guy's grandfather had fought in the war to protect this country from the jews etc...?

i can't remember the last time i have felt so uncomfortable (today).
i was sweating on the chair and left feeling sick, wishing that somehow i could immediately wash off this tattoo that was always supposed to remind of my lovely second son.

i ridiculously phoned a tattoo advice line, who like samaritans, talked me down and explained that the tattoo is ink and it's about me and the significance of the ink and i really shouldn't be worried about the tattooist.
i don't want to regret this tattoo.
i just want to forget about who put it on me as quickly as possible.

i'll get over it.
kevin quinn was great enough to put my sleeve on for me, and it was more than a pleasure to spend 28hrs with him.
but remembering where i got maximum's and mrs.perou's names done (a stoned mexican's in LA) and my own name (tattooed in a dodgy back room in soho in 1991) it will be ok.

i'm just really glad it was only one letter (and a relatively short tattoo).

mick and ginger have been at the farm all day sorting out 'stuff' and there's now a fire going in the dining room: it's GREAT!

we've had the pool shut down for the winter/spring.

and neil came down to see taz.
good to see him.
another sunny day.

must stop bashing my own head on the inglenook fireplace...