I’ve lived in Glasgow all my life. There’s a unique vein of humour running through the city and a particular ability to find the funny in even the darkest of things and most bizarre circumstances.
I left school and I went to university for three months. Between my bus stop and uni there was a café with a Guns and Roses pinball machine. I’d nip in for a quick game on the way and reappear some hours later so it’s fair to say uni wasn’t for me. I dropped out and worked my way up to managing pubs, clubs, and restaurants in the city centre.
In 2001, I got a random phone call asking if I knew anyone who would want to do a tattoo apprenticeship and I replied, “Me!” They were sure it wasn’t for me – it was unpaid, and I had a good job and a young family – but I’d loved tattoos since I was young and I’m quite an obsessive person. Once I get an idea in my head, I go full pelt for it. I turned up at the studio the next day and they had me scrub the toilet and clean all the equipment. Then they said, “If you come back tomorrow, you’ll need to tattoo yourself”, thinking it would see me off. It didn’t. Next month, I’ll have had my own tattoo studio for 18 years.
