Gods Rest Ye Jerry Mentalmen

Those of you that are on Facebook will no doubt, at one time, have been the victim of one of those chain message things.  You know the story… Where one of your 4 billion friends updates their status to be their favourite flavour of sandwiches, or tells you how the nearest object to their left hand is their only weapon for the entirety of the coming zombie apocalypse.

(My iPhone headphones, should you be at all interested)

Normally, I would run away from such shenanigans with such speed as would emasculate a ferret, but my friend, and fellow celebrity blogger Tattooed Mummy has ‘nominated’ me to answer some questions about myself, and since I once used one of her nipples for something for which it was not originally designed, I feel that I somehow ‘Owe her one’.

It’s all very festive.

(Hey girlie, if you’re reading this, We’re even now… Actually, come to think of it, you still owe me for that whole ‘thing’ with the 99p Store)

Here are the questions that she asked, and my answers.

1.       Favourite Festive Food.

Well, I’m a sucker for a goose-fatted Hasselback potato… What? You’ve don’t know what one of those is? It’s… It’s… Well, it’s sort of like a roast potato, but cut into the shape of a woodlouse.  It’s better than it sounds, here’s a picture.  Mmmm – Tasty. Moreso even with bacon.

2.       Favourite Reindeer.

Favourite… Reindeer…? Who has a favourite reindeer? – Maybe a Laplander? And then I’d have to looks at them pretty askance to see exactly why they’re the favourite one.  So, what are my choices?

Dasher – No, I don’t like animals that move too fast.

Dancer – No, I’m all Strictly come Cottaging’d  out.

Prancer – Seriously? Who even prances?

Vixen – Hmmm… Vixen’s a contender.

Comet – At Christmas? Electrical goods? Hardly.

Cupid – Little naked fat baby? My favourite? Not in this day and age thank you very much – Not to be confused with Cherubs, which is short for ‘cherubim’ which are described in the Bible thusly: “Each of them had four faces and four wings, with straight feet with a sole like the sole of a calf's foot, and "hands of a man" under their wings. Each had four faces: the face of a man, the face of a lion on the right side, the face of an ox on the left side, and the face of an eagle”

Donner – Thunder? No.

Blitzen – Lightning? See above

Rudolf – Added to the list over a hundred years later by the nice people at Montgomery Ward as an advertising character.  Now, I’m all for ceaseless consumerism… But at Christmas? That’s probably toevah or something.

So, I’m going with Vixen, Because the word reminds me of shiny PVC, which can’t be a bad thing.

3.       Favourite Day of Christmas.

The fifth, because who doesn’t like yelling ‘FiIIIiIiiiiIiiiIIIIIIiVe Go-OOoOOoOooOOooooLD RiIIIiiIIIIiiiiIiIngs!’ every thirty seconds at the top of their voices?

4.       Favourite Christmas Song.

Erm… I’m not aware that I’ve actually got one, but if I were to be pushed, I’d have to say the Bowie/Bing version of ‘Little Drummer Boy’ – I’m a softie, leave me alone… Although I still say it’d be better if he’d done it as ‘The Man who fell to Earth’ (You were expecting me to say that Pogues one weren’t you? Admit it)

Parup-pa-pumpum!

5.       Favourite Present.

Obviously, this is going to be from my dim and distant youth. So I’m going to say, from about 1979… ROM the Spaceknight – In fact, I got two of these, one each from my Dad and my Brother (Yes, the one that lives in the hollowed-out volcano in the Med) They were brilliant, like armoured robot Action-Men (GI-Joes) that had flashing lights and beeping and everything.  I remember swinging one around my head once and cracking myself in the temple with it… Good times

6.       Favourite Festive Film.

Scrooged, with Bill Murray – If you’ve ever seen it, you’ll know why… If you haven’t, the line ‘Well, I'm sure Charles Dickens would have wanted to see her nipples.’ Will tell you all you need to know.

(I’m sensing a theme today, is anyone else sensing a theme?)

7.       Favourite Festive Cracker Toy.

Easy, Bottle opener, I currently have on my keyring a bottle opener in the shape of a fish skeleton.  You’d be surprised how often people ask to borrow it.

8.       Favourite Cracker Joke. 

What do you get if you eat Christmas decorations?


Tinsilitis!

Last Christmas, my son used to tell this joke about every 7 nanoseconds, right up until the point where we bricked him up in the cellar.

9.       Favourite Christmas Decoration.

There’s a star that we have on top of the tree that’s sort of made of silver fretwork… Not sure where it originally came from.  But it’s hollow, you can put a few of the twinkly lights from the tree inside it.  When that gets turned on for the first time, it’s officially Christmas.

10.   Favourite Christmas Candle Scent.

Well, I just haven’t got one of these… Because I don’t know how to co-ordinate scatter cushions and I do not recognise ‘puce’ as a real colour, but my least-favourite is vanilla, the smell of it makes me boak in a projectile fashion.

11.   Favourite Christmas TV Advert. 

I don’t got one of these either, but last year’s John Lewis one was quite cleverly done.  Was there a bear and a donkey? Possibly a rabbit? Or am I thinking of a different DVD all together?

12.   Favourite Festive Tradition.

When the Dandies became their own family, we decided to start all new traditions… They’re pretty normal for the most part – Home-made mince-pies, shooting at the kids riding past on their new bikes with our bows, trying to get an arrow to stick in the spokes of their front wheels etc.  But my favourite is that the adults get to open one present each before they go to bed on Christmas Eve.  It can be addressed to anyone, but it becomes yours (which reminds me, does anyone like Hexbugs?)

13.   Favourite Place to Spend Christmas.

I suppose the stock answer should be ‘At home, with my loving family’ – So I’m going to say that… I’m certainly not going to say ‘Somewhere hot, on a beach, surrounded by morally corrupt ladies who are allergic to clothes.’

14.   Favourite Christmas Fact.

The German word for ‘Mistletoe’ – Mistelzweig, literally means ‘Crap on a twig’

15.   Favourite Snowman Accessory.

In our house, some sort of heavy shielding… (You thought I was joking about the bows and arrows, right?)

So, finally, happy Yule to you all, this probably won't be my last post of the year (although it might be - I'm the first person to admit that I've not been hugely prolific recently, You know, real-life and all that) but if I don't see you before next year let me leave you with this thought...

The price someone paid for your Christmas present corresponds directly to how much that person likes you.

This is why I never seem to get very much.

Leviticus 19:28

Tattoos, they're great aren't they?

I realise that that might have sounded sarcastic, but no, I think they're great - I have tattoos, Mrs Dandy has tattoos, the Mini-Dandy wants tattoos. I've even designed the odd one (the very odd one in some cases)

Tattoos, tattoos, tattoos...

There are a few things that are still legal that are so divisive, there are two standpoints, you either love them or you hate them. No, hang on, that's Marmite... Marmite AND tattoos? Actually no, there are three standpoints, People either love, hate, or have no strong opinion on them at all.

Sorry, I came over a bit 'Monty Python's Spanish Inquisition' there didn't I?

Right, today's Blog's going well so far isn't it? Do you get the feeling that I haven'y really thunk it through?

Do you know someone with a tattoo? I don't mean one jabbed into their skin with a pin melted into a toothbrush handle by someone called Fat Malcky in the exercise yard of your local Government internment Centre during Exercise Hour. I mean a work of art, often costing hundreds or even thousands of pounds, performed by a qualified, registered artist under sanitary conditions with some degree of skill.

Is that person a baby-eating psychopath? Chances are that they aren't, chances are that they're well adjusted people who would not think twice about giving you their last carrot if you were short of one for your Sunday Lunch, or for use during a quiet night in on your own (Either way, they won't want it back).

So why the general vilification of the tattooed?

Well, I think it might be because the general populace, the huddled masses, Jane and Johnny Vanilla, can't tell the difference between tattooed people and people with tattoos.

What do you mean you don't know the difference either? C'mon people, work with me here!

Tattooed people are those who think about it first, ponder long and hard whether they should get some ink, think carefully about the content and placement, decide how it can be covered if that's a concern for them in their chosen sphere of employment, save up the money, listen to the artist's opinions and suggestions about subtle changes that can be made to improve the design, sit quietly and still, biting their lips as the job is done, then religiously following the aftercare instructions and ending up with a product that they're all to happy to show off.

People who have tattoos are those who, for instance, after Jeremy Kyle has finished, think 'I know, I'll have a duck tattooed on my eyelid'. Hunt down the back of the sofa, fail to find enough cash, raid their kids' piggy-banks for the fiver required to get it done by 'Our Sonia's boyfriend's brother' who does it in his bedroom at his Mum's house with a kit he bought from eBay, get the bus to some dismal Council Estate, wait for the shell-suited scrote to get back from scoring himself some weed, find out that he doesn't know what a duck looks like and then get convinced that what they really want is to have his thirteen year old, pregnant, girlfriend kiss your backside and then get it tattooed over, Manage to get the price down to three-fifty by showing him their cleanest Primark bra (But not doing what he wanted them to do to get it for free, because even they have standards), then going back to their council flat, letting it get infected and scratch at it until it looks like Nigel Lawson.

Easy mistake to make for the uninitiated I suppose...

-oOo-

As is becoming traditional, I leave you with a story told to me by a tattooist of my aquaintance.

One, quiet, sunny afternoon, a squaddie came into his shop and asked for his unit's insignia to be tattooed on or about his person. First of all, he didn't have a copy of what he wanted, so the artist Googled it and printed it out. He couldn't decide whether he wanted it black and white, or full colour, so the artist quickly did a black and white copy so that he could choose.

Then he couldn't decide where he wanted it, and after about three quarters of an hour, he decided to have it on his bicep. He took another half an hour to decide how big he wanted it.

After all of these questions, the artist thought that maybe a tattoo wasn't for this particular person and tried to convince him to go away and think about it, but try as he might, the squaddie was immovable, he wanted it done, and done now, so that it was healed for when he was sent back to... Erm... Afghanistan or wherever.

So an hour and a half later, the deed was done, the squaddie was happy, the artist was happy that the squaddie was happy, money changed hands and they went their seperate ways.

All was well until the next day when the phone rang at the studio.

'Hello, Circling Dragon Tattoos, how can we make you more attractive?'

'Oh, Hi, I came in yesterday and you tattooed my unit's insignia on my arm?'

'Yes, I remember... Is there a problem?'

'No, no, it's great, really, there's just one thing...'

'OK, what's that?'

'Well I've tried on my fatigues shirt, and it won't roll up high enough to show it off, so I wondered if you could move it down onto my forearm, .'

The tattooist was still laughing when he put the phone down, walked out of the shop, and threw himself under a bus.