Year Dot.

"Year Dot" is how my mum explains a slightly unquantifiable date in the long-forgotten past. And how I try to make points to her. Such as 'Mum, I think you'll find people have been getting tattoos since year dot'. Yup, even Ötzi the Iceman. It's a fad which has been around for at least 5,300 years; Since 'Year Dot'.

Last night, after watching he who I shall affectionately refer to as J (the husband) pore over the blog of the fantastic Copenhagen-based tattoo artist Uncle Allan, I figured I might just get me a blog.
The point could easily be argued that my day-to-day life is not really that stimulating, especially compared to an internationally renowned tattoo artist, but then the point could also just as easily be argued that no one has to read the damn thing anyway. Problem solved.

I'm really not sure what I'll be posting here. I'd imagine..music videos I'm quite enjoying, everything else I'm also enjoying, ranting about things which bother me..the usual.

Let's begin with a song that's stuck in my head right now. It's 'Boyfriend' by Best Coast. I really don't know much about them, besides the fact that I think their lo-fi, 90's sound makes me wish it was summer.

Yesterday I spent about 3 hours under the careful needle of our lovely buddy Jesse Rayner. I feel like I'm singlehandedly bringing back those 80's tattoos of dreamcatchers and Navajo Indians.. I got some sort of feather / bird skull / beads number on my leg which now feels like it's on fire. As I get older, I get more wussy.
There'll be a picture once it's not so slimy.

I'm currently inspired by bohemian interiors and Romany gypsy caravans. We're redecorating a little, and the bedroom will become a den. Don't you sometimes wish you could build a tent with bedsheets in your lounge, and sleep in it? I do. I'm sure you're safer in there. Everything is awash with olive green, accented with raspberry. It's my favourite colour scheme; Pseudo-1950's, but stronger. Maybe a little mustard.

This is my idea of heaven - floor to ceiling books, heavy, draped furniture. Tapestry, paintings, low lit and opium heavy. At least, that's how it feels. {source}

If someone could buy me a Regency townhouse in a crescent I'd be eternally grateful. Oh, and a few million to get the interior just so..