on how i went out for a tattoo, nearly got into a fight and came home with a 1930's german camera instead

on how i went out for a tattoo, nearly got into a fight and came home with a 1930's german camera instead
the plan was - head off to my usual tattoo parlor for an new tatt... H. came with me as she was planning something for herself and wanted quotes.
we get there and there's the usual sort hanging-around hogging the flash, not having much idea of what they want and getting in the way... the shop owner isn't in - his smelly partner is running things today, i can hear him in the studio, coughing and sneezing germs all over the equipment and surfaces... it's kind-of blood-curdling to hear stuff like that in a supposedly sterile environment(i had a work-colleague who went to a dodgy seaside studio and got a tiny little rose tatt, that went septic and made her arm swell up like a big hunk of luncheon meat...).
not only to we have this putting us off going in... instead of doing any work, he's talking to someone in the studio about rummaging around in bins and finding maggots and stuff.
i've got the money and i really want to get one of their tattoos... but i don't want to catch hepatitis or something, plus i've had a tattoo off him before, which wasn't too impressive, and i come in on a sunday mostly to avoid him... so we walk.
lesson one in getting ink - if the vibe isn't there, or there is the slightest hint of infection in the air, leave.
i can wait till next week and go round some new places - which is always an adventure.
we walk to the local supermarche to get some healthy vegetables - and after being served by the usual sales-serf with elvitude(lip curling etc...), H. falls flat on her face on the way out, due to a matt on the floor.
i'm mad... i kick a cigarette bin into the street which clatters and all these people run out hoping to see a car-crash... it's about all i can manage to get away from the place - but if some store-hand had followed us, it would have been time to rauschambeau his ass.
on the way home to cool down, we stop off a local junk shop and i find a zeiss camera - very usefull for TTV, this one has variable focus(very unusual for an old camera), the film lense has a yellow filter on it, so it's safe to assume that back in the 1950's somebody used it to shoot landscapes with black+white film.
it's a bit knackered - but very useable...
we go home, and i reacquaint myself with the clash's sandinista - which i haven't played all the way through in ages... phoney beatle mania has bitten the dust.
saturday was a good day to flaneur though... raybans in the mail, wandering in the city early morning, seeing all the pallaver for the tory conference on broad street - barricades painted a friendly yellow colour to look inoffensive, police everywhere... i mentally lob a wad of phlegm at a banner welcoming the conservative party, bought a nice black/grey plaid woolrich jacket in the rag market from "paul's retro clothing" stall that i visit every other week...

rebel waltz/the clash:
I slept and I dreamed of a time long ago
I saw an army of rebels, dancing on air
I dreamed as I slept, I could see the campfires,
A song of the battle, that was born in the flames,
and the rebels were waltzing on air.

I danced with a girl to the tune of a waltz
that was written to be danced on the battlefield
I danced to the tune of a voice of a girl
A voice that called "Stand till we fall
we stand till all the boys fall."

As we danced came the news that the war was not won
5 armies were coming, with carrige and gun
Through the heart of the camp
swept the news from the front
A cloud crossed the moon, a child cried for food
We knew the war could not be won.

So we danced with a rifle, to the rhythm of the gun
in a glade through the trees i saw my only one
Then the earth seemed to rise hell hot as the sun
The soldiers were dying, there was tune to the sighing.
The song was an old rebel one.

As the smoke of our hopes rose high from the field
My eyes played tricks through the moon and the trees
I slept as I dreamed I saw the army rise
A voice began to call, stand till you fall
The tune was an old rebel one.

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