Tag Archives: tattoos

Doctor Who week


Oh I am in bliss! We are in the countdown to next Saturday and I am enjoying the excess of programmes on TV celebrating …

50 Years of Doctor Who!

All my other interests will go to the wall this week as I watch the many offerings on the BBC and WATCH TV channels. I am already immersed in the music as I play my collection of soundtracks from the various ‘new age’ series and specials from the 9th to the 11th doctors. My all-time favourite tracks are the theme tune to the Pandorica, River Song’s theme (I so want to be her), Vale Decem from the 10th doctor’s regeneration, and the theme for Gallifrey. This will mean absolutely nothing to anyone not interested in DW but so what, it’s my blog and I’ll write about whatever I want – you’ll just have to humour me – it will only be for a week till the 50th special programme on Saturday 23rd November 2013.

389 my Gallifrey tattoo (on back of lower left arm and linking to my Stardancer tattoo – see earlier post); an interesting fact is that the tattoo is an ambigram – it reads the same both ways up and front to back.

People ask me who is my favourite Who? It’s a really hard question that as they all have their strengths. I suppose in the old series from my childhood to my children’s childhood (gosh a whole generation’s span, in itself) my favourites have to be Peter Davison (the 5th doctor) and Tom Baker (the 4th).

Don’t ask me about companions though – I can’t remember who went with Who except for Sarah Jane. I’m not that much of a DW geek – I can’t tell you who played what in which episode and how many weeks was each storyline etc etc. I just like the bigger picture – the adventure, the wonder, the science, the monsters, the magic, and I’ve watched every episode, at least once – more in recent years due to DVDs and record-plus etc.

If you’d asked me who my favourite modern Doctor was a couple of years ago then I’d have said categorically David Tennant’s ‘icon of cool’ 10th Doctor, but I’m not so sure now. I love Matt Smith’s wacky mad 11th Doctor who is so lonely and sad inside; just as I was wowed by Christopher Ecclestone’s northern leather-clad 9th Doctor. Let’s face it – I just like the Doctor – the idea of the Doctor – our own private protector of the Earth – more vulnerable, more human yet oh-so-alien superhero who never fights, and more approachable than the Marvel superheroes. Who wouldn’t, given the chance, step right into that beautiful blue box if they heard that familiar whooshing as it landed in their garden one night (I’m still wishing and hoping and waiting).

10th doctor   two fab pix my Grandson photo-shopped for me  doctor opie

Going back to the science of Doctor Who – wasn’t Proff Cox’s programme last Thursday excellent? Oh not the science – he didn’t really tell us anything we didn’t already know from watching Wonders of the Solar System etc. But the interplays between the Proff and the Doctor in the Tardis scenarios were priceless. Wouldn’t Brian make a fab companion? Just imagine the pair of them off exploring the wonders of the universe for real. Whoever came up with the idea (and I suspect it was Proff Cox who wrote and produced the programme, I think I read it somewhere) was sheer genius.

I am so looking forward to a weekend of monsters, then discussions and readings on the radio, a play about how Who came into being, showings of ‘old’ episodes, all culminating in the big 50th programme on Saturday. What will I be doing? I know many people are planning Who parties but for me it’s just – my sofa, some chocolate, my TV, the Doctor (well three of them actually) and me!

Right – the series 6 CD has finished – which soundtrack shall I listen to next … erm … yes, I know – The Christmas Carol special, the one with Kathryn Jenkins singing (wasn’t that an enchanted episode – fog swimming fish!) – double wonderful.


Painted Nails, and all that Glitters isn’t Gold!


Once upon a time I would never have described myself as a lover of Bling. Well I’m still not, not in the accepted sense of wearing lots of cheap glittery jewellery and tiny sparkly tops, anyway. But I do like a few sparkles: the odd one of my home-made bracelets, (that I wear in multiple bands on each wrist – a kind of signature feature which I make in many colours to match my ‘colour style’ of ‘summer’ plus some neutral ones in Autumn colours and, of course, black) made of Swarovski crystal beads, sparkly eye make-up courtesy of Barry M and, especially, sparkly nails. It often bemuses even me that I feel able to paint my nails so brightly, whilst the rest of me is still struggling to rise, phoenix-like out of the ashes of expectation, and blossom into the dramatic and creative persona hiding inside.

But thinking back over the years there has always been one particular aspect of my dress/style that I let stand out – to speak out for my inner extrovert – ha ha! In the 70s and 80s it was large drippy earrings. In the 90s it was drapy scarves. Since the 2000s it’s been my bracelets. Now – it’s gorgeous, brilliant, rainbow coloured nails (oh yes … and tattoos, I forget). (I don’t remember much about the 60s – we were too busy breaking down all conventions from miniskirts and hairstyles to music and the sexual revolution).

388 the Stardancer tattoo – my first and most loved – situated on inside of my left wrist

It seems that, ‘that hidden me’ has to peep out of the cracks somewhere; and those single decade-specific items are slowly adding up increasingly to more of the inner me being exposed – minus the drippy earrings. They died a death when the sheer weight of them left rather large jagged holes in my ears that will now only take a complete hoop earring, otherwise they just fall out. It doesn’t stop me hanging charms from one of them though – latterly a tiny goddess figure with a moonstone belly, now – wait for it (mad Stardancing Grandmother rises again) a tiny silver sonic screwdriver. Well, what else would a lifelong Doctor Who fan wear in this, the programmes 50th year? Anyway, it matches the silver Tardis on a chain around my neck, and the Gallifrey and Stardancer tattoos. Torn ears didn’t stop me getting second piercings either, that now have rainbow-coloured sparkly stars in them, and occasionally, a long drippy earring as well (yes two in the same hole)to counterbalance the charms dangling from the opposite silver hoop. Told you – mad grandmother rises again!

Going back to my bracelets; making my own from coloured glass beads and silver charms means that when I’m fed up with them I can un-make them and transform them into something else. Or when I have a new outfit I can make something that exactly matches the style or colour, and then re-use when that outfit has been discarded. Making them is also incredibly relaxing. I sort of go into a meditational state and time passes without noticing it. So double benefits.

Later: I attended my eldest daughter’s and son-in-law’s joint 40th party recently, wearing a fab new Italian vintage looking dress in anthracite and amethyst silk and lace, with sparkly violet nails and my hair curled into ringlets (that lasted all of 5 minutes due to the fact that it was raining – of course it was!) What struck me most at the party were two things – firstly the lack of colour with almost all the women being in some version of the ‘little black dress’ although, thankfully, my children have learnt from their mother who taught them about wearing colour when they were children insisting on them wearing colour-coordinated Clothkits (anyone out there remember them). The second thing, oh dear, was that all of the guests (other than my grandchildren) were middle aged. Er this was so wrong, wasn’t it – it looked and felt more like a party for my generation till I realised that I was part of the older generation, not the middle-aged one! Bump and down to earth I came. My generation was represented by myself, my son-in-law’s mum and dad, and a soon to retire colleague of my daughter’s … just four of us. Still I had fun catching up with some of my daughter’s friends that I knew from the 80’s when I ran the local youth club. Apparently I haven’t changed. That’s funny because they have … they look older!


Just another canvas – how it started


Image“What made you do that?” asked a (so called) friend after I’d had my first – well second, er third – tattoo. I’m 62 and according to this acquaintance, I should know better at my age. “I didn’t think you’d be into that kind of thing, “she added. Thing I thought, slightly bewildered? Just goes to show, doesn’t it, how people you’ve known for years:

  1. Never do really know you, and
  2. Are happy and quick to judge you

I’ve had ‘get a tattoo’ on my ‘list of things to do before …’ for years but never dared to be vulnerable enough to flaunt convention and just – do it! Then I got fed up of being ‘the someone’ that other people expected me to be, or approved of. You know … the dutiful daughter, the loyal wife, the caring mother, a compassionate friend, an inspiring teacher, a conscientious social worker, a creative therapist?  But just who am I really? I’ve never really known the answer to that question.

Once upon a time I was going to be an artist, a writer; lead a bohemian lifestyle (I always adored the Victorian poets and Pre-Raphaelites – I really feel I belong then)  but … time, relationships, job commitment – well, they get in the way, don’t they.

Once upon a time I was a rebel – a hippy flower child, born in the 50s, spending my developing years growing within the creativity and emerging freedoms of the 60s. Where did all that courage, rebellion; all that energy, go? How did it all get so lost in time?

To be honest, I’m quite a young-looking, creative and visionary person who has inspired others to do all sorts of marvellous things but never really explored my own Self.  I have flaws, I freely admit – laziness vies with ambition; my voluptuous curves belie an interest in healthy lifestyles and environmental responsibility; a love of beautiful things, including clothes, strains a fixed income. Being born within the sign of Gemini (the Twins) is so hard to live with; especially as it also results in an extrovert/introvert confliction.

Well no more. I will bare my soul for all to see – revel in my almost waist long, blond from a bottle, I won’t put up with grey, hair, dress how I want whether that be vintage, gothic or just a baggy old sweat shirt and jeans. I will do what I want – stay in bed reading till lunch time or practice kundalini yoga in the garden; run Goddess workshops for like-minded women; sit goggle-eyed at my laptop till time disappears writing my stories, poetry, the novel; paint all weekend long; or just sit and daydream to beautiful music; or eat cream scones in a countryside café with my friend.  And to my critical friend, let me just say about my three (er four, no five, with one being a work in progress ) tattoos …

My body? Its mine! It belongs to me; and I am after all, an artist at heart … so, my body is just another kind of journal or blog, to decorate, and assist me in telling my story – in other words:  it’s just another canvas! My body has become a metaphor for change. “Bring it on,” I say. What do you say?