Judy Steel has been talking about her tattoo. The wife of former Liberal leader David of that ilk caused rioting in several rural areas on revealing she'd had a pink jaguar inked on her shoulder.
Not jaguar as in car, but as in animal. It's off her hubby's coat of arms, he being a Baron an' all. Wee Davey, to give him his Sunday name, doesn't approve of Judy's tattoo.
His wife is 70 and having a tattoo indicates immaturity in some eyes. Not in mine, which mist over at the thought of a tattoo.
I'm still dithering about it, but I fear the worst. Looking back over my life, I conclude with wise maturity: "Not one ruddy thing went right."
Why should a tattoo be any different? If I got a fierce animal tattooed on my forehead, it'd come out as one of those daft ones you see with the smiling cartoon expressions.
My mate, a lover of all things Roman, got SPQR tattooed on his arm. If I got that, it would come out as SPAR, and everyone would think I was advertising the grocery chain.
Judy's jag actually looks OK. She says she's past caring and will do what she wants. You know, I think I'll wait till I'm 70 to get mine done.