Smurf Palms

 ‘You know the inks you use for your lino printing?’ said I to Himself Lord Malarkey. ‘Are they safe to use on human skin?’

‘I don’t know,’ respondeth His Malarkeyship. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Well,’ spake I (I don’t know why I’ve gone all ye olde Englishe - just seems right when discussing printing inks, know what I mean?) ‘I was scooting around ye website of the College of Psychic Studies and mine eye was caughteth by an article about palmistry. And ye gentleman who was doing a demonstration used a roller and ink to take a palm print because you get a better view of the lines from a print than you do looking at them with one’s bare and wonky eyes.’ 

Immediately, and despite the fact I was up to my armpits cooking Sunday lunch, Andy was purloining one of my baking trays and a wodge of kitchen roll in order to test out the palm printing ink hypothesis. ‘I’ll do my palm print,’ said he, ‘as you are rather busy at the moment.’ 

‘There’s no rush,’ said I. 

‘There is,’ said Andy. ‘Because I want to try it out NOW!’

Honestly, sometimes he is such a child. 

Ten minutes later, he returned from the studio to the kitchen with a set of palm prints and hands that looked like he had done murder unto several Smurfs. Or, if not murder, given them a jolly good squeezing.

‘Wait!’ said I, loudly and taking the palm print paper from him. ‘I shall clear the sink so you can wash your hands slowly and carefully.’ Dear reader(s), I have to give these instructions because Andy is what is known as a mucky pup, and he is wild in his hand washing after art projects/ cooking projects/ gardening projects/ cleaning out the drains projects and it’s me that ends up cleaning ikky residue from the walls/cupboards/ceiling for weeks on end. I think it’s because he’s a Taurus with Chaos Rising. Bull in a china shop and all that. 

He washed his hands slowly and carefully. All inky mess was confined to the sink. A lot of it stayed stuck to his hands. 

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that the ink might be indelible.’

Whilst I became preoccupied with dishing up Sunday lunch, he crept upstairs (the minx) and gave his hands a second wash in the bathroom, employing vigorous scrubbing with the nail brush. He re-emerged with hands of pale indigo. ‘Perhaps I’ll tell them at work tomorrow that I’ve got circulatory issues and need to go home,’ said he. 

Anyway, I now have a set of Andy’s palm prints to try some palmistry on. My baking tray is still in the studio, full of inky blue kitchen roll. Sunday lunch was good, especially the plum crumble.