ERIN: You got one without me? Show me then.
JOHN: I hope you like it.
John starts to gently peel back the cellophane on his bicep. A process that continues during the following.
ERIN: Did it hurt? What am I going on about, of course it hurt. Did you cry? You did didn’t you!
JOHN: Funny. Few more shots and it wasn’t so bad. Fucking kills now though.
ERIN: You were drinking? Bet there was blood everywhere yeah? Well?
JOHN: But that’s normal isn’t it, I mean it is cutting the skin isn’t it. Oli said that it’s /
ERIN: Oli said? Oh that fucking explains everything. Idiot!
JOHN: You’re upset then. Look I know we agreed but, well, I wanted to surprise you.
ERIN: Well it’s certainly that! I mean, Oli? Really?
JOHN: You’ve seen his sketches and stuff yeah? I wanted it to be good. Really good. It’s important.
ERIN: Important enough to get a rush job done with a mentalist who’s up his own arse and doesn’t really know what he’s doing. He hasn’t even got any tattoos. You can’t trust a tattooist that isn’t covered. It’s like trusting a thin chef. Right, come on then, let’s get this out the way. Show me.
John removes the last of the cellophane.
ERIN: Oh. Okay. It’s… quite beautiful actually.
ERIN: But there’s only one ‘r’ in my name.