My mother-in-law won a tattoo in a football club raffle. She was hoping for the sheepskin rug, but that was ticket number 2624. Anyway, she's already point blank refused to enter into the spirit of things and get inked up. She says at age 71, it's ridiculous. But if it's good enough for Dame Judy Dench, it's good enough for Granny Ruth, so the rest of the family have been trying to persuade her to go for it and have put forward a few ideas. 

 

She's originally from a place called Cowdenbeath in Fife, so I thought a subtle thistle might be cute, though you'd have to think carefully about location as sagging issues could render it like ragwort. Having had a good Google around, I see artists can do wonders with tartan patterns. There's an array of options from a jaunty ribbon around your finger to a sgian dubh poking out of a Pringle pop sock. You could even get a full set of McDuff bagpipes resting on your midriff. 

 

The grandchildren suggested getting all of our favourite recipes written on her forearm, so should she become forgetful in her dotage, she'd still know how to knock up a good sponge. Even more useful could be directions to the bus stop or likely places where she may have left her glasses. I'm thinking of adopting a similar plan by having all my passwords scrawled somewhere secret. The only snag being, it could look weird if I check under my bra every time I'm at the cash point.   

 

I've heard of people having Do Not Resuscitate on their chest, but it's not a good look on the beach in Lloret De Mar and frankly, a bit macabre, even if it does mean you dodge being brought back to life by Mr Halitosis in a mankini.   

 

A tattoo should say something about you and your tastes, so we wondered about a collage of all her favourite things: the sunshine, her cat, a pair of comfortable Clarks sandals, a bowl of soup or an éclair. A Scottish proverb in Sanskrit could be chancy though because how can you be sure the artist is really scrawling what you want? It could be years before someone points out that instead of 'dinnae teach yer granny tae suck eggs it says 'don't eat cheese after six o'clock in the evening'. 

 

It's a shame she didn't win the rug, but that's the nature of the gamble I guess. The joy of a raffle isn't so much about what you win, but the fact that your ticket beat all the others out of the hat. And if you don't like what you've won, you can always donate it to the next charity looking for prizes.  

 

So next time you enter a raffle, beware, because unless my mother-in-law suddenly backtracks and decides to do a Dame Judy, you could be the next winner of an hour's session at the tattoo shop.