So, in 1984, when I was 19 year’s old I went and got a tattoo. It was in a hole-in-the-wall shack in Salt River; a real sailor’s tattoo parlour, and I paid 50c to have the "little prince" star tattooed on the inside of my ankle. Tomorrow I’m turning twenty five years older and I have an appointment at 11am for tat 2. Things have changed. I am booked into a swanky parlour on Blauwberg beachfront, it’s costing a fortune, and I’ll listen to metal while I lie on a special bed and have expert attention. I am so scared. I can’t stop thinking about it. Eeeek.