Tattooed grannies
I ended up on a shit camping holiday in South Wales.

The camping part of it was fine, always enjoyed it when I was a kid and still do - though these days we posh it up with a campervan instead, less "leaky" and much more comfy.

The mistake I made in South Wales was that money was a bit tight so we had to stay in the more affordable sites, plus of course we were in Wales.

So I found myself watching the exciting events of a charity auction being run at the site, there were a whole host of prizes from the best pound shops in town and of course the grand prize - a voucher for the local tattoo shop. Yep, you could win a tattoo - classy.

The event was an assortment of plastic chairs and small stalls with your typical rubbish attempt at a DJ using a karaoke machine for a microphone and a home stereo - think worlds worst school fete.

I watched as the crowd seemed to consist of grannies with skin like an old leather arm chair and overweight bare chested men already covered in tattoos and sufficiently smashed on Stella that they couldn't really stand or raise an arm to bid in the auction anyway.

So it came about that the auctioneer come DJ was desperately trying to drum up some bids from the canny eyed grannies, most of whom sat on mobility scooters despite "fat" not being a disability worthy of such transport. The bidding was slow, £2... £4.... £6.... eventually plateauing off around the £15 mark.

Faced with this terrible lack of enthusiasm the auctioneer bellows into his argos microphone "Oh come on! It's got a £60 value!!!". It was like someone lit a fire under the grannies feet, how could they let such a bargain get away!? No way Mavis would scoop that bargain of the century thought Betty as a flurry of bids were made.

I watched open mouthed as the biddies (lol, see what I did there?) sought to out do one another and the bid climbed and climbed, as if by magic the hallowed grail of a £60 value must have been in their minds as the price tailed off and it sold for £58.

I cannot imagine the thought process that goes on to inspire someone to bid £58 for a £60 tattoo voucher which must be used in the one and only tattoo shop by a shitty Welsh camp site - for all they knew the tattooist could be cross eyed with 6 fingers on one hand and thalidomide arm the other - but hey, they saved £2 eh!?

By teatime the undercooked sausages from their fast food stall had given me the shits. All in all it really put me off Wales and I've made a good job of avoiding the place since. Must be why they charge on the bridge to go into Wales as they know you'd tell them to fuck off on the way out.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 15 Aug 2014, 11:30, 1 reply)

Since the demise of The Valleys
The South Wales tattoo industry is in serious decline. Tragic.
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Fri 15 Aug 2014, 15:26, closed)