Wino Forever

One of the many ways I didn't mispend my youth was in neglecting to get a tattoo. It's not that it never occurred to me: I just never wanted anything in particular badly enough for long enough to go through with it. More importantly, I never got drunk enough close enough to a tattoo parlour in persuasive enough company to end up with dolphins gambolling round my waist or a bluebird anklet or even a big arrow pointing towards my nether regions. (Thank goodness I don't drink near tattoo parlours.)

Occasionally, when I see a particularly beautiful piece of body art with lovely colours on some trendy firm-fleshed urbanite, this is a source of regret. But then, I've seen enough faded tats on saggy arms and tummies and legs to realise that even though they're there forever, they might look like crap in ten years when the infrastructure wears out. And not all of them can be as imaginatively edited as Johnny Depp's "Winona Forever" tattoo (to Wino Forever) after the break up.

Anyway, I'm just wondering what Jake Kovko's widow's new tat is going to look like in ten years and what'll it do to her love life. Will new boyfriends only think they're being taken seriously when their face is on her other shoulder? It's a dangerous precedent.