I have been ill for a couple of weeks so I decided not to have any more treatments until I was feeling on top form. Since I'm all better now I just called the clinic to book an appointment. They are moving premises and cannot operate again until the new space get a license from the Healthcare Commission. It may take some weeks they say, so alas, no more tattoo removal for me for while.

In the meantime, the scabs have healed on the larger section I had treated about four weeks ago and apart from a little bit around the edges there does not seem to be any difference. The area I had patch tested a year ago has faded considerably though, so I am hopeful yet.

I have begun to get a bit worried about scarring. The laser treatment itself doesn't scar but it does show up the damage caused by the actual tattooing. I know it would be too much to hope it would be gone without a trace but I have been wondering what kind of mess it will leave behind. Would it have been better to leave it alone?

Apparently it is the ink shattering that causes the pain, not the actual laser beam, and as the ink fades the pain gets less - don't you think that is amazing? That is, like, science in action. Anyway, I am pleased about the pain thing because I have discovered I am a complete girly wus when it comes to pain.

I had my first proper treatment last night. Sarah, the lady with the laser, did the top red squiggly bits and the two black side squiggly bits (pictures are on their way - I will synchronise blog posts and photos as time goes on, promise). It hurt. I broke out in a sweat. I breathed like I was in labour (or how women on the telly breath when the are in telly labour) and once or twice asked her to stop. I am so rubbish!

Sarah noticed I had a faded area from a patch test I had about a year ago. I chickened out of continuing with the treatment then because I couldn't decide whether I wanted the tattoo to be there or not. I still don't really know, but I was sick of dithering so made a decision. Quite possibly, someone of my mercurial nature should never have been thinking about tattoos in the first place.

I spent the evening with my t-shirt tucked into my bra because it stung when it brushed against my back, and I ended up wearing a zippy hoodie backwards, so my back could be open to the air but my front could stay warm. It ended up being a rather glamorous open back cowl neck kind of affair, if I do say so myself.

Here is my tattoo in the flesh. If it looks a little unfinished that is because it is. The red was the first stage of a whole new bit but pretty much as soon as it was done I realised it was perhaps not the right thing to have been doing.



Here is where I had my patch test, it looks a bit red and swollen, which it is, but other than that not a lot to see.

Tattoos are removed by laser. The idea is ink particles sit under the skin and are too big for the body to naturally dispose of. The laser shatters the ink and the smaller particles can be processed and flushed out. The brochures say "most people tolerate tattoo treatment well, and describe the sensation as a rubber band snap to the skin". We'll come back to that later.

Today I had a patch test, which makes sure I won't have any kind of adverse reaction to the treatment. I turned up at the Sussex Medical Chambers on New Church Road and had a brief, if not slightly dribbly, conversation with a lovely lady who had just had a whole load of collagen injected in to her lips. I was about to launch into my thing about how maybe she needs to learn to love herself rather than resorting to cosmetic surgery when I suddenly realised the bitter irony of my own body vanity. Metal and ink, in concept, is really no different to silicon and Botox.

The patch test itself was thankfully very short. Earlier in the week I had smugly told The Argus web editor I wasn't worried about the pain because I had all kinds of hippie tricks up my sleeve, dissociative meditation or some such. More fool me! Yes, it hurt. Yes, I am a little worried about how I will cope with having the whole area done. Yes, I am worried if I am doing the right thing.

Still, it only hurt briefly and although it stung while I made my way home and I melodramatically walked around my flat in my soft pyjamas with the waist rolled down and top rolled up, it was actually fine.

Pictures to follow. First full treatment next week. Eek.

I have just met Jackie Knight from Inspire Cosmetic Surgery . I asked if she could completely reconstruct my head so I no longer look like my mother. Sadly, and despite radical advances in cosmetic surgery over the last 25 years, such a thing is not possible. She did, however, agree to laser off my tramp stamp.

I have had my tattoo since I was 18 (I'm now teetering on 30). In a fit of petulant ridiculousness, not long after leaving home, I walked into a shabby tattoo parlour on the then even shabbier North Road and picked a tiny flash off the wall.

From there things progressed. I was then, and still am, fascinated by body modification. I have a healthy collection of piercings and even a bit of scarification. And I still love tattoos. Mine covers almost half my back and part of me still adores it, but it has to go - it's a long and complicated story, so stick with me and hopefully it will all make sense in the end.