The Painted Lady

I've always hated tattoos.  I've never really understood why people would want one, particularly women.  I mean a dragon across your shoulders might be appealing to a rebellious, anti-establishment twenty year old trying to fit in with the rest of the uni crowd, but what about when you're in your thirties or forties, maybe with a partner who attends a lot of executive black tie events; surely your wardrobe will be limited on those occasions?  I'm sure there are lots of people out there, who would be outraged if they were reading this and absolutely adamant that tattoos are just another way of expressing your personality and shouldn't stop you wearing whatever you want to, so sorry if I've annoyed you, it was just never for me.  Hence why getting a tattoo had to go on the list!

At the beginning of August then I stepped into a tattoo parlour and took the plunge.  Well, that wasn't quite all there was to it, I mean I'd done my research first.  Thanks to the wonders of the internet I'd discovered that the nearest establishment to where I live had received mixed reviews, with some people saying they were very happy with the service and others saying their tattoos had faded almost immediately.  I then looked slightly further afield and checked out two tattoo parlours in the town centre.  One was near to where I work and I regularly pass it.  The window is not particularly inviting to a middle aged woman, being full of pictures of tattoos with snakes and skulls.  Their website didn't increase their appeal as far as I was concerned; I'm sure the tattoo artists were lovely people, but they were all men and all painted from head to toe with similar images to those in the window.  The other option was a smaller shop in the oldest part of the town, but checking their Facebook page revealed that the ex-boyfriend of one of my daughters was one of the tattooists.  Now don't get me wrong, he was a lovely chap, but I didn't really fancy sharing the site of my proposed tattoo with him or his colleagues.  I then looked at other towns in the area and settled on a place in Canterbury.  It had good reviews, looked clean and hygienic from the pictures on the website and had a female tattooist.  

So back to the start of the month.  I nearly chickened out, but I plucked up the courage and entered the premises.  The tattooist worked within a beauty salon, where there were various treatments on offer.  It was clean and in an upmarket area of the city.  The receptionist was very friendly and introduced the tattooist, who was also polite and friendly and immediately put me at my ease.  This was where it got interesting, as I explained what I wanted - a two digit number tattooed on my ass, and we're not talking donkey here!  She looked a bit unsure at first as she asked what two digit number I wanted.  Actually it's just occurred to me what number she might have thought I meant, which would account for the look on her face!  Anyway I said it was either 15 or 16, but I wasn't sure.  The poor girl's confusion multiplied so I decided to explain about the whole fifty firsts idea and that getting the tattoo was either the fifteenth or sixteenth thing I'd done.  Relief flooded over her as she realised it wasn't quite as weird a request as she had obviously initially thought.  My youngest daughter, who was with me, and I did a quick count up and decided it would be the fifteenth thing on the list and so the number was chosen.  We had a quick discussion about the size and position of the tattoo and the type of font required and then I filled in the consent forms while she got ready for me, because as luck would have it she had an appointment available there and then.

Just before going through to get my tattoo done, the tattooist asked me if I'd like a screen round me.  At this point my naivety sprang to the fore - she did her tattooing in a separate room off the reception area, so what would I need a screen for?  No, don't worry I say, I've had three children - you lose all your dignity when you're giving birth, so this'll be fine.  When I got into the actual room where the tattooing takes place, she introduced me to her partner in crime, a young guy in his early twenties.  Aah, now I know why she asked about the screen!  Still it was too late for that, so I hitched up my dress, revealed my right buttock and pointed to roughly where I wanted the tattoo, just below the top of my knicker line.  She put a sort of transfer onto my skin and then invited me to check the position in front of the mirror.  We negotiated moving it down slightly and then it was time to sit on her couch with my ass exposed ready for tattooing.  Oh you're thinking, it wasn't so bad then.  Well I should point out that throughout this the young guy is talking to me about my tattoo and why I'm having it done.  The whole tattoo process was surreal from start to finish: there I am sitting with my buttocks on show whilst someone puts a needle into my skin and then inks over the raw flesh (or something like that - you'll appreciate I couldn't actually see what was happening) whilst the three of us have a perfectly normal conversation about my fifty firsts and my daughter photographs the whole thing to put on Facebook and Twitter.  The tattooist explained to her partner why I was having a tattoo and then they wanted to know what I'd done and what I was planning to do.  Neither of them fancied skydiving and the young guy suggested stealing a Starbucks mug ought to go on my list; I'll have to think about that.  I got the distinct impression that they would spend the rest of the day, if not the week telling their clients about this woman who had 15 tattooed on her bum because it was the fifteenth out of fifty things she was planning to do for the first time to mark her fiftieth birthday.

Anyway, back to the actual tattoo.  It took about ten minutes to do and wasn't particularly painful.  When it was done it was covered with a piece of clingfilm taped to my skin, which I had to leave on for about 5 hours.  I got given after care instructions, which basically involved washing the tattoo fairly vigorously for two minutes three times a day and then applying a particular brand of nappy rash cream.  I had to follow this until the skin either scabbed over or peeled like sunburn, which got me a bit worried, as I didn't have any scabbing and it took five days for the skin to peel.  I have had no after effects to report.  It has healed beautifully and quite quickly and there is no sign of any fading or patchiness of the colour, which was just black, for the record.  

I just look like a cow that has been branded!  But still, it makes for an interesting story ... now tell me, why do you have the number 15 tattooed on your ass?         

Fancy a date?

You may remember that a couple of weeks ago I said I had another fifty first to update you on.  On the other hand if this is the first of my blogs that you've read, you won't remember that at all, so if that's you, then just go with the flow and you could always try reading this post again in a couple of days or weeks time, when hopefully you will remember.  Of course that all depends on how long ago you read this for the first time and how good, or bad, your memory is.  Anyway, to get back to the point, about a month ago I signed up to an internet dating site, well two actually, but I'm jumping the gun, we'll get to that.

Now I know internet dating has been around for a while and loads of people do it, but in all honesty, I wasn't that keen.  I'd thought about it for quite a few years, but never wanted to give it a go and actually, if I'm honest, a big part of me still doesn't.  There's just something a bit weird about it, you know getting to know someone via messages.  Anyone could say anything at all and it's hard enough to spot the genuine ones when you're conversing face to face.  Then there's the photos, how do you know it wasn't taken ten years ago, or that it's actually them in the first place?  Now you're probably thinking I'm way too cynical for my own good and you'd be right, but I still think I've got a point!  But quite a few of my fifty firsts have involved stepping outside my comfort zone, so that seemed as good a reason as any to give it a go.  Plus, you never know, maybe the cynicism will abate due to meeting the love of my life and in any case I've got to have done fifty things for the first time by April 6th 2014, so I can't afford to miss any opportunities.

First of all I tried Match.com, as a friend recommended it and yes, as their advertising says it was free and easy to set up my profile.  A lot of it just involved choosing from the options available, you know for describing my personality traits and what I was looking for in a man.  All well and good, but  I only completed 40% of the profile, intending to go back and complete the headline, description and the rest of it the following day, having given a bit of thought as to what I wanted to say.  I also didn't get round to uploading a photo, but had ticked the box to say I was only interested in hearing from men who had a photo on their account - talk about double standards, but I did intend to go back and do my photo the next day, honest!  So the following evening I logged on and checked my emails before getting on to anything else and was somewhat stunned to discover that I had been checked out by several men and my profile was proving so popular that Match.com had decided not send any more individual emails telling me that a man aged whatever had viewed my profile.  But here was where it got even more interesting.  Now you can call me naive, and I'm happy to admit that I can be at times, but I was quite taken aback to discover that this free service required me to pay a monthly subscription for the privilege of seeing who had looked at my unfinished profile.  This was where the cynic in me rose to the surface, because I began getting messages to say that someone had added me to their favourites - this has happened eight times in the last month!  Really?  Without a photo to look at, eight men have decided I'm their favourite?  I'm not that naive!  Next I got an email to say that someone had winked at me, but again I had to sign up for a monthly subscription to be able to find out who it was.  And they winked at me without seeing a photograph?  Blind or desperate springs to mind!!  Or it's all a con to get money out of people and yes, I did watch the edition of Panorama on this subject.  Suffice it to say I have not and will not sign up - if I had the disposable income I'd rather spend the £29 per month subscription propping up a bar somewhere in the hopes of meeting someone I could talk to face to face.  The daily emails have continued to arrive; today for the first time there were slightly fewer men checking out my profile, but I wonder how long the 'interest' will last if there is no sign of my debit card appearing.  As a short aside, whilst writing this blog I checked my account at Match.com to check the stats were correct and in that twenty minutes or so two people have viwed my profile and aother person has winked at me without seeing what I look like.  

Undeterred I enlisted the help of Mr Google in finding a site that was both free and could be accessed via the community wifi I use.  Interestingly, the Daily Telegraph's online dating service is blacklisted due to being porn.  I wonder if they know and how they feel about that?  I came up with Completely Free Dating, which is as it says, completely free.  There are of course downsides.  The website covers its costs and presumably makes a profit through the use of advertising, so there are adverts for other dating sites, hotels, etc all over the place, which is a little off putting, but bearable.  The other main problem is that there seems to be an infinitesimal amount of men (and quite probably women, but I haven't looked in that direction) who are obviously only there for cheap thrills.  Some are quite blatant about looking for no strings attached sex and I suppose, in a way, all credit to them for being open and honest about what they're after - at least they're not going to be leading someone on.  Since July 14th I have had 17 messages, with 5 men sending me more than one message.  Some have had no picture - that discounts them.  Some have written in text speak - that discounts them, as it's something I find particularly irritating.  There have been a couple of genuine ones, but their profiles and photos didn't make me want reply in any way other than thanks but no thanks.  There have been several from much younger men clearly after the older woman fantasy; not even thanks, just no thanks, particularly when they refer to cougars; I've nothing against being involved with a younger man, but I can't be the only mature woman who finds that terminology insulting, can I?  I suppose it could be construed as flattering in a way (the concept, not the terminology), but I'm a real person and not just here to be a tick on someone else's list.  And yes, I know that's a bit cheap considering that internet dating was a tick on my list in the first place, but that doesn't mean I'd chat to anyone or everyone whether I was interested or not.  The last thing I'd want to do is lead anyone on or use them to my gain and I'd be mortified if I thought anyone would think that of me.  There have been a couple that I've replied to, one particularly seemed quite promising - a very comprehensive profile, written in full English sentences with accurate spelling and grammar, a wide range of interests, many of which are similar to mine, lives locally and he seemed genuinely interested in my profile.  I suppose I ought to confirm at this point that it is a complete profile, with a headline and description, that I have tweaked a few times until I was happy with it.  I also uploaded not just one but two photos - one from my eldest daughter's hen night, complete with devil horns and drinking through a willy straw and one from her wedding, where I look much more refined.

Well, he was keen for us to chat and hoped to hear from me, so I replied last night, virtually straight away, but have had no further response from him, although he has viewed my profile again today.  Perhaps he's just a bit busy or maybe it was something I said ... I'll just have to wait and see I guess.  So, final thoughts on internet dating?  Someone else has just winked at me according to Match.con!  

You Tarzan, me Alison

Having coped with skydiving at 12,000 feet, last weekend I ventured off the ground again to have a go at Go Ape.  For the uninitiated amongst you, this involves being up to 12 metres off the ground and completing what can only be described as an aerial assault course.  Bizarrely, despite not being anywhere near the heights involved in jumping out of an aeroplane, this was way more scary.  There were seven of us in our group in total and the first task was to read the instructions/disclaimer reminding us that we were about to take part in a high risk activity, which could result in serious injury or death if we didn't follow the safety advice we were given.  A small part of the course was visible through the trees and we watched other groups being put through their paces whilst we waited.

Once our appointed time slot arrived we went into section 1 - the training zone, where we were kitted up with harnesses and talked through the safety rules.  Having been told and shown how to attach ourselves to various tree trunks and cables we then got to practice.  Initially this was at ground level and then a few feet off the ground, clipping first the blue D ring onto the cable, then the red D ring and walking around the tree.  Then it was hook the pulley over the cable, unhook the blue D ring and put it through the bottom of the pulley and then unhook the red D ring and hook that on to the cable behind the pulley before setting off to move across to the next tree, where the process of unhooking and hooking up again began once more.  We also practised attaching ourselves to ropes alongside either wooden or rope ladders, using the same system as before and also by attaching a clip to a green D ring on the belt of the safety harness.  Finally we practised on a short zip wire, using the pulley system, which barely gave us time to get down before we hit the ground.  Training complete, we were issued with a code to get into each section of the course, five of them in total, and set free to complete the course on our own.

Each section ended with a zip wire.  They were awesome!  I'd like to say that I finished each one on my feet, but I can't.  The truth is you swing around so much that it's difficult to control which way you're facing and I completed all of them on my back on the ground in the bark covered landing zone.  Inevitably I ended up a little dirtier than when I started and with some extra cargo in my jeans, with pockets full of bark, which also somehow managed to get into other more intimate places than my pockets!  So the zip wires were the best bits, it was just the obstacles that came before them that I found more daunting.  Each section started out with a rope ladder climb - that too was fine, however once up off the ground, getting to the coming down part was incredibly challenging and all the way round I kept saying to myself 'I don't think I can do this!' - luckily I was wrong.

There were a couple of Tarzan swings into cargo nets, which were definitely the worst thing to do.  I did the first one, but the second one, on the last section of the course, was much higher off the ground and included a much bigger net.  The cargo nets were probably the worst part, so I'm afraid I opted out of the second one, as there was an alternative route to take for a slightly easier option.  There were also several variations of logs and planks to walk across, some attached together and some swinging freely above the forest floor.  Most of these weren't too bad, although it has to be said that for someone of petite stature, it was sometimes difficult to manage the distance between either wood to stand on or ropes to hang on to.  I'm proud to say however, that despite being terrified for most of the time, I did not do a Helen Flannagan - there were no tears whatsoever.  Obviously there were some slight differences in the proceedings - I had chosen to do this, I knew when it was going to happen and I wasn't so high off the ground.  What I did have, however, were some lovely bruises on my upper arms, where I had been using them to 'grip' the plastic covered steel cables that were available to hold on to for some of the challenges.

At the end, there were certificates all round and I could quite cheerfully have gone back and done it all again!  I daresay I would have been equally terrified a second time, but I'd have known I could do it.  I definitely felt a sense of achievement, but I'll have to wait and see if I've managed to cure my irrational fear of heights.  Apparently you can climb over the top of the O2 in London, so I'm hoping to get that done later in the year and then we'll see whether I'm still just as scared!

Indiana Forsyth and the Ditch of Lyminge

This week I joined the Lyminge Archaeological Project (@lymingedig) for a spot of archaeological digging in Lyminge, Kent.  On Wednesday morning I spent two hours having an induction and finding out why there was a dig in Lyminge, where the dig was, what they hoped to find and how to get involved.  There was a site tour, which basically involved looking at different coloured patches of mud, which signified post holes, pits, ditches, walls or sunken feature buildings, depending on their size, shape, position or colour.  The project is investigating an Anglo-Saxon settlement in the village in the sixth to seventh centuries (approximately).  Hope I've remembered the date correctly!

On Thursday morning, which was a lovely, hot, sunny morning, I donned my shorts, T-shirt and walking boots, packed my lunch and set off for the dig site with my youngest daughter, who has been volunteering there for the last two weeks, as part of her degree studies.  The project is run by the University of Reading's archaeology department, which is where my daughter is studying, in conjunction with local organisations here in Kent.  Initially we listened to a finds talk and had a look at some of the small finds that had been unearthed so far, including a copper pin and some small fragments of glass.  My daughter had been excavating a small pit, so she carried on with that, whilst I got to dig out a section of ditch with another volunteer for company.  It wasn't nearly so glamourous as the movies would have you believe, but an incredibly enjoyable experience.  I borrowed my daughter's trowel, as she had progressed onto drawing a sketch of her pit, photographing it and completing various records of finds and the context - all very complicated!  Along with the trowel I had a bucket, a shovel and a piece of foam to kneel on.  Sun cream applied profusely and water bottle at the ready I spent several glorious hours sitting or kneeling next to a hole that got progressively deeper, perfecting my tan and making a small contribution towards uncovering history.

Of course the fairy tale would have me discovering something rare and truly amazing buried in the ground, but that particular version hadn't been written.  However, that's not to say I didn't find anything, just nothing particularly special.  I dug up quite a lot of shells, some were fragments and some whole, some were tiny, whilst others much larger and clearly snail shells.  Not modern day snail shells, these were about a foot down from the surface, so clearly the remains of someone's past repast.  Alongside the shells, was plenty of flint, which wasn't so interesting to the team.  All of our 'finds' went in a finds tray, which had a context number that matched the context label for our section of ditch.  Some of the pieces of flint looked as though they had been cut, so they went in the finds tray with the shells.  I also found some bones; the first one was like a miniature humerus, about 3 cm long and very thin, a bit like a tiny version of your average stereotypical bone from a cartoon, but definitely mammalian.  After that I found a few fragments of bone and then a larger piece, which could have been part of a pelvis or vertebra, and once again mammalian.  I found a couple of pieces of what could have been pottery, although I wasn't too sure, and there was lots of slag - the solid, black stone like residue left over from working with molten iron, which is a clear indication of the existence of metal working within the settlement.  Some of the other finds on site yesterday included the skeletons of two cows in another section of the same ditch that I was excavating, which created quite a buzz amongst students, volunteers and archaeologists alike.

There were regular breaks to sit in the sun or rest in the somewhat limited shade available - tea breaks in the morning and afternoon and a lunch break too, all of which were timed so that you never worked for more than 2 hours without resting and stocking up on food and water.  I learned loads - how to carefully scrape away the soil without damaging the finds, the importance of keeping a neat edge to whatever you were digging, how to record the dig in terms of context, soil type, finds, etc and how to photograph a particular excavation correctly.  I also learned that it's monotonous, back-breaking work at times, which doesn't detract from the enjoyment at all, but to say I was shattered by the end of the day would be an understatement!

I can't begin to explain how thrilled I am to have taken part in this project, albeit only a small part.  It really was something completely different for me to do and gave a real insight into the amount of hard work that goes into a dig of this nature, and Lyminge is a relatively small one.  In the evening I did my usual Facebook and Twitter posts to update my Fifty Firsts progress and I took the opportunity to thank the team via their Facebook page and Twitter account for the opportunity to complete another first.  I got a huge lift today to discover they had both retweeted me and sent a reply, which gave me another first: my first retweet and my first reply on Twitter.

All in all an excellent day in Lyminge - enjoying the sun, plenty of time to let your mind wander and forget the stresses of everyday life, burning some calories when digging, learning new skills and new knowledge and meeting new people.  If you ever got the chance to do something similar, I would heartily recommend it.