A no-good very-bad tattoo experience.

Pity the artist was such a dick, I do like this tattoo

Before I begin, a few caveats.
Perhaps the artist & I just didn’t get along.
I haven’t heard anyone else complain about him. The studio is still excellent, this was a guest artist. I’m not sure I want to name either of them.

I’d seen the artist’s work on Instagram & as soon, literally as soon, as I saw that he was booked to do a guest spot in NZ I was sold.

I sent an email asking if he could tattoo me, if he had any time on the Friday or Saturday of his visit as I would be flying up to Auckland, not the easiest or cheapest thing.
I also asked if he was keen to do the kind of tattoo I was after, a symmetrical flower similar to ones I had seen in his portfolio but in bright “feminine” colours like pink and purple. I told him I was looking to get it done on the back of my neck.

He seemed to have no queries as he emailed me back and set up an appointment.

I arrived at the studio 10 minutes before our appointment time (I am punctual to a fault). The first thing he asked me was where I was getting the tattoo again. He seemed annoyed the back of my neck was so small.

He huffed about the place shrinking it down – telling me about how he would have to simplify what he’d shown me, and that if he made it too small it would look “shit.”

From the outset I told him that I would trust his instincts as he was the artist and if he had any other idea about placement, I was open to it.

After trying to put the stencil on a few times, barely saying anything or telling me what he was doing, pushing my head this way and that, we had the following conversation:

Him: I can’t make it fit. I’ve already shrunk it about 20%. If I do it any smaller it’s going to look shit. I’m not sure what you want to do …
Me: Oh.
Him: Yea. This won’t work on your neck. I’m not sure what you want to do.
Me: Uh. Well I don’t want to just leave it, I flew all this way …
Him: ………..
Me: Ummm. Would it work as a shoulder cap?
Him: uh yea, I suppose.

So we did it as a shoulder cap and halfway through the tattoo he disappeared.

Stings

He’d just finished the outline when he put down his tattoo machine, took of his gloves, and left the room. He didn’t say anything to me or to either of the two artists in the room and just left me there. He came back, eventually.

He asked me what colours I wanted I told him “like I said in my email, girly colours, pinks, purples, turquoise, yellow, unexpected colours.” His petulant response?
“Oh. So all the colours I don’t do.”
He stormed around the studio making a big show of borrowing colours from the other artists. I was such an imposition.

It was at this point I wanted to tell him to just forget it, that I would get someone else to finish it, but I’ve never done that before. I’m pretty sure that’s something that’s just not done. I was also pretty sure I would burst into tears if I tried to talk, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

If I had any kind of hint when I’d emailed him that he would be anything other than pleased to do this tattoo? I wouldn’t have flown to Auckland. I wouldn’t have done all of this. I could have avoided this whole stinking mess.
I could have a tattoo that I just like, not one where I’m reminded of a jerk.

When he was finished he didn’t even take a photo, he barely let me look at it, wrapped my arm, told me about after-care, and I got out of there as quick as humanly possible. On the street I called Craig and sobbed.
Shortly thereafter I unfollowed him on instagram.

Post-tattoo, post-crying jag

There’s no moral to this story, I haven’t really learnt any kind of lesson.
I guess some people are just jerks.

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As if the post-show blues weren’t enough …

Photobucket

This is the latest straw piled on top of me.

The package includes possible moves to prevent the families of skilled migrants working in Britain and restricting skilled migrants to taking jobs only in occupations with shortages.

Smith signalled that raising the qualification levels for tier 1 – the most highly skilled migrant route – could cut the numbers from 26,000 to only 14,000 a year. The new criteria will require a master’s rather than a bachelor’s degree and a job offer with a minimum salary of £20,000 rather than £17,000.

Craig and I will be effected by these changes. Wholly and completely. They will make it near on impossible for us to get the visas we’ve been dreaming about.
I have a bachlor’s degree, not a master’s, and Craig would be applying as the family of a migrant. We would be ineligible.

We are ineligible. I cannot think of this as something which might not happen. I can’t deal with the hope.

Perhaps we can apply now, before the changes get rolled through, and just wait …

Either way we have to reassess what we are going to do with the next five years of our lives, where we will live, what we will fill our days with, how I will cope being in New Zealand when everyday already feels like torture, like a waste.

And personally, while I can stand objectively and say that I understand the changes that are being brought forward in light of the economic climate, I think the reason they are tightening the points-based system has a lot to do with the European Union

The points-based immigration system does not cover the movement of workers from within the European Union to Britain but official immigration figures to be published on Tuesday are expected to confirm that the number of Poles and other eastern Europeans coming to work continues to fall, especially since the decline of the pound against the Euro.

They can’t touch the European migrants and so have piled it all upon the rest of us.

Britain seems to forget that Australia and New Zealand are part of their commonwealth.

Train Breakdown, Twitter Breakdown!

Sometimes Twitter is very very good, like when @stephenfry is stuck in a lift, but when it is bad? it is horrid.
I tweeted away this evening as I was stuck on the train, and they have still not arrived on twitter itself.
Sigh.

Train Breakdown! Twitter Breakdown!

Stuck at Ngauranga

At least the view while stuck at Ngauranga was quite nice.

Train Step

So, naturally, I amused myself by taking photos.

Dry Patch

Taunting us

Leaving now???

Pauvre broken train

Four trains and 1.5 hours after getting on the train at Wellington, we made it home.

FUCK.