Lydia, oh Lydia, have you seen Lydia?

Lunch time in the staff room and they're comparing their tattoos, or at least those ones on body parts that can be shown in the staff room. One of my friends often wonders how all these young girls with tattoos will fare in later life when their skin is less elastic. Well I know now. It has to be said that the onset of bingo wings brings a certain abstraction to even the most clearly delineated image. Common sense prevails and I don't ask if it's Elvis or Frankie Howerd.

I remember the days, not so long back, when the only people who had tattoos were sailors and war criminals (well that's how they always identified them in the movies; must have been a major drawback to their incognitos, like burglars having to wear stripey jumpers and carry bags marked "swag"). I've come to the conclusion that half the women I work with used to be in the Merchant Navy. Thank God they're not likely to be reading this!