In other pool news, the bad tats on display. It seems that everyone went out and got tattoos while I was asleep. OK, my opinions on tattoos are broadly negative, since they so often look like someone has been attacked with a leaky biro, probably by someone graphically expressing their anger at failing their art GCSE. OK, I can admit that something simple and well-done won't punch my sense of aesthetics in the face. I can sort of understand something grandiose and extravagant if well done. And I'm not going to argue with an Hell's Angel. My dad has the swords-through-skulls-with-snakes type, which at least were done by someone who could draw. But the pool seems to expose acres of flesh marked with random, half-hearted scrawls. Occasional letters (gothic scripts seem to be the thing, and don't get me going on the awful kerning, and I live in fear of seeing one in Comic Sans), random Chinese characters (probably meaning 'white devil monkey'), and animals that appear to have stepped out of those dreams you have if you eat too much cheese before bedtime. Is that a griffin or the weird offspring from when a lion loves a taxi, a love that really should have no name, and certainly no accompanying tattoo.Even yesterday's guest receptionist was is in on the act. She was wearing clothes, as receptionists so often do, but as I glanced down over the counter to chirpily announce 'swimming please!' I noticed a wild animal. Now I wasn't merely trying to roll my eyes like marbles down her cleavage, but right there was a giant elephant emerging from her top. Pretty extravagantly done. I'm not sure who wakes up one morning and decides they'd like an elephant sat right on their chest, ready to emerge as necessary from their décolletage. I suppose you'd really need to like elephants. Dumbo never emerged from a lady's top. I'm sure I would have remembered that.
