Back to work and tattoos.

Well, I'm back at work after my holidays and joy of joys, I discover they've WebSensed all the Blogger blogs. Great. I can still post at lunchtimes, but that doesn't leave much time to check out all the other stuff that I can't view either. Oh well.

While we're on about holidays, loads of people have those not-quite-a-celtic-knot-more-of-a-twisty-thing tribal tattoos. Why? I mean, traditionally, you got a tattoo because it meant something, not because everyone else has an identical one perched over their arse cheeks. Not only will it spread and look terrible in ten years time, you're stuck with it looking like that 'til you rot.

Of course, the best thing about going abroad with loads of other British people is that there's always someone fatter, spottier and paler who looks worse in beachwear than you. Just don't sit next to any Italians, who all look far too fit and healthy for the serial chain-smokers they inevitably are.

I wonder if people from places like Ibiza come to places like Manchester and then complain when it doesn't rain enough? It would feel like you'd missed out, I suppose. Anyway, we had great weather and apart from some dirty sod leaving a turd in one of the hotel pools one morning and some truly horrible children, (just because you're on holiday doesn't mean you stop being a parent and deal with your spoiled rotten little brats, come to think of it, it was probably one of them that shat in the pool,) I can't complain. Well, apart from being back at work, the restricted internet access (yes I know it's their time and their bandwidth, why open the sweetshop if you're only going to offer the penny tray, I say,) the sun's out again, so it can't be all bad.