Celtic Roots

All drama at the moment. Aside from grappling with the electrical layout of the all terrain mobile vet hospital – or not – as the case maybe – I decided to invest in a packet of transfer tattoos.

Probably, I should have been agonsing over the spec of various oxygen generators to install into the operating theatre, the positioning of the x-ray arm or how on earth we are going to plug Indian appliances into endless amounts of English plug sockets – but the lure of glow-in-the dark Celtic tribal markings proved too much.

It was a spontaneous purchase, a moment of weakness when I should have had my mind on other things, but you have to roll with it. ‘Seize the Day’ I tell my children. And so I did. And then they did. And that’s how the drama started.

Admittedly, having bought them, I shouldn’t have left them on the kitchen table. But considering it had taken me 10 minutes to unwrap them, and I was out the room for approximately 30 seconds, who would have thought Noah, aged 5, would have applied most of the packet to his legs, arms and face. Sheba, almost 3, had a couple (legs and arms) and it was only down to my pure ninja-like reflexes, leaping across the room on my return, that prevented baby Gideon being initiated into our home made pagan cult.

Again, this was about my only shift of sole parental charge in the week. It was a humbling moment. I did what any decent Dad would do in that situation and applied the last remaining tattoo to my face in a show of complete solidarity with my hysterical children.

Nothing like a bit of harmless fun. Or so you’d think. Except these tattoos were crafted by the manufacturers of Araldite (other super glue brands available). Not geared for kids in the slightest, these tattoos, it transpired under closer inspection, are designed for all night raves, capable of withstanding sweat, nail varnish remover or considerable amounts of friction.

And so Noah has had an interesting week at school. I have had to apologise to his teacher – who looked hard at the massive raw graze down the right side of my face – and rolled her eyes – and I have taken endless stick from parents who know better. Life goes on, best get back to focusing on rabid dogs…