Fatties and tatties
Summer is suddenly upon us. Not just any summer either, this is the summer of the Jubilee and of the Olympics. These events have gone from being some sort of vague, distant, slightly routine disruptingly annoying event on the horizon to being, well, here an now, without any apparent lead-up period, which is why everyone has panic bought bunting. I'm not kidding, the whole country is swaddled in red white and blue - its almost worth invading somewhere because the decorations for the victory celebrations are already in place.
One of the reasons why summer has suddenly sprung upon us like a flasher from a hedge is that since the instigation of the hosepipe ban it's been raining so constantly that getting those two pandas for the zoo looked less like a way to secure tourism and more like a sensible precaution while the construction of an ark was completed.
In a country with a healthy Celtic population (except for those living in Glasgow) the return of the sun after a drizzly winter, that lasted until fucking May, has unsurprisingly been met with ritual. Goats and virgins breath a sigh of relief as the ritual in question is less about disembowlment and more about disrobing, as the British greet the reappearance of the sun by slipping into something that doesn't cover them up enough.
The first sunny weekend of the year is the one for the national audit of fatties and tattles, that is, who has put on weight over the summer but has still squeezed into, and in some cases is being squeezed out of, last summer's clothes, and who has got themselves a new tattoo or two during those long winter nights.
In terms of fat, it's good to see that at least one sun ritual persists, as it looks like the legacy of those pyramid loving coca munching sun worshiping psychopaths the Aztecs is kept alive by young maidens apparently gorging on toblerone all winter.
In terms of tattoos it's interesting to track the developments of fashions as new tats get their first airing. There are, of course, some classic tats, such as the small oriental symbol that a young woman has in a discreet spot and you usually only find out that she's got a tramp stamp when it's too late, that is, when she's taken her top off and you will now have to be polite about a symbol you suspect she does not realise features on the label of a popular brand of soy sauce.
Also popular are the names of loved ones and family members along the inside of arms in a font that the wearer calls classy, the Tatoo artist called copperplate and the owners of the coca-cola logo call 'tm'. This is replacing the former trend of Sanskrit tats which largely fell in popularity because the wearers habitually forgot what the tat actually read and were panicked into saying it was their hotmail password.
For men this year, large and swirly Celtic tattoos seem to be the order of the day. Big blotches of black that first appear in outline form, and largely stay that way. Because a lot of blokes appear to be walking round with the outline of the patterns traced thinly on their arms, as if they go to the tattoo parlour first to get the outline drawn and then any subsequent visits, should they be drunk or stupid enough to make any, are a sort of tattooing by numbers. Judging from the number of fellows wandering around with an outline but no thick, black, heavy colouring in, the first experience of the needle has been enough to persuade them that another six sessions of intermittent fainting and vomiting in a chair while the girl with the pierced lip on reception sniggers at you is not how they want to spend their weekends.
As for this year's trend, I predict union flags and Olympic rings for the blokes and for the girls - beloved children's teevee characters so that in future, when she slips her top off, you will have to both be polite, and remain interested, when confronted with Postman Pat as a black and white tat.
One of the reasons why summer has suddenly sprung upon us like a flasher from a hedge is that since the instigation of the hosepipe ban it's been raining so constantly that getting those two pandas for the zoo looked less like a way to secure tourism and more like a sensible precaution while the construction of an ark was completed.
In a country with a healthy Celtic population (except for those living in Glasgow) the return of the sun after a drizzly winter, that lasted until fucking May, has unsurprisingly been met with ritual. Goats and virgins breath a sigh of relief as the ritual in question is less about disembowlment and more about disrobing, as the British greet the reappearance of the sun by slipping into something that doesn't cover them up enough.
The first sunny weekend of the year is the one for the national audit of fatties and tattles, that is, who has put on weight over the summer but has still squeezed into, and in some cases is being squeezed out of, last summer's clothes, and who has got themselves a new tattoo or two during those long winter nights.
In terms of fat, it's good to see that at least one sun ritual persists, as it looks like the legacy of those pyramid loving coca munching sun worshiping psychopaths the Aztecs is kept alive by young maidens apparently gorging on toblerone all winter.
In terms of tattoos it's interesting to track the developments of fashions as new tats get their first airing. There are, of course, some classic tats, such as the small oriental symbol that a young woman has in a discreet spot and you usually only find out that she's got a tramp stamp when it's too late, that is, when she's taken her top off and you will now have to be polite about a symbol you suspect she does not realise features on the label of a popular brand of soy sauce.
Also popular are the names of loved ones and family members along the inside of arms in a font that the wearer calls classy, the Tatoo artist called copperplate and the owners of the coca-cola logo call 'tm'. This is replacing the former trend of Sanskrit tats which largely fell in popularity because the wearers habitually forgot what the tat actually read and were panicked into saying it was their hotmail password.
For men this year, large and swirly Celtic tattoos seem to be the order of the day. Big blotches of black that first appear in outline form, and largely stay that way. Because a lot of blokes appear to be walking round with the outline of the patterns traced thinly on their arms, as if they go to the tattoo parlour first to get the outline drawn and then any subsequent visits, should they be drunk or stupid enough to make any, are a sort of tattooing by numbers. Judging from the number of fellows wandering around with an outline but no thick, black, heavy colouring in, the first experience of the needle has been enough to persuade them that another six sessions of intermittent fainting and vomiting in a chair while the girl with the pierced lip on reception sniggers at you is not how they want to spend their weekends.
As for this year's trend, I predict union flags and Olympic rings for the blokes and for the girls - beloved children's teevee characters so that in future, when she slips her top off, you will have to both be polite, and remain interested, when confronted with Postman Pat as a black and white tat.
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