I've found myself pondering, wondering and considering an irreversible decision.
A tattoo. Yes, I know - at my age.
Well I kind of think that at my age I'm past keeping myself for best - if I ever was.
I'm not contemplating a gigantic floral display on my arse like Cheryl Cole, nor anything with my children's names, dates of birth or places of conception (most days I can remember).
But I do fancy something; maybe an elegant circle of swirls around my wrist, a design with pleasing symmetry on my inner arm.
There's not much point getting a tat I can't see - I've got one of them already. And that means that, generally speaking, except the Panther, no one sees it except perhaps one of the kids that's come to talk to me while I'm in the shower. "Oooh, mummy a lizard!"
So what then. Not something big and brutish or one that instantly shows which tribe's card I carry. I'd prefer to keep them guessing. No dolphins, fairies, cartoon characters or unicorns.
Just something, well, decorative. Perhaps I feel a bit drab and a spot of inky perma-bling might perk things up.
Journalist, writer, blogger, mother, wife and, occasionally, whole person - also interested in food, fashion, feminism and folk music (less the last one but the alliteration works)
Blogs at: In a bun dance