“It reminds me how far I’ve come and how good things can come from bad”
I’ve never had my ears pierced. Desperately wanted to between the ages of 11-16, but wasn’t allowed.
When I was finally given the go ahead, it became strangely unappealing. So I spent my life with unadorned/unsullied lobes (depending on your view point).
When my marriage imploded, I took off my engagement ring and it sat forlornly in my jewellery box, its twinkling beauty going unnoticed.
Which seemed like a shame.
So I decided to turn the thing into earrings.
It was a classic three stone engagement ring. The diamonds neither flashily big nor meanly small.
I emailed my jeweller friend (Gerry Summers). He said he could do the job. I sent the ring to him.
Friends warned caution – they wanted to check the marriage was really over, that there was no going back.
It was and there wasn’t.
I went to see Gerry and he presented me with them. They looked breathtakingly beautiful.
I wanted my ears pierced with those actual earrings, and the only places that will do that are tattoo parlours.
So my blonde, super glamorous friend Nikki W accompanied me to one that looked down at heel, but was friendly and clean. She watched hawk eye that they were being fully sterile.
And then she held my hand as needle pierced flesh.
I had two earrings in one lobe, one in the other.
I wasn’t ready to have the neat pair – felt too conventional, too prim.
It hurt. Like hell.
Once positioned on my lobes, the diamonds looked a lot bigger than they did on my finger. I looked like Lewis Hamilton.
But I loved them.
And though they weep a little still, and hurt when I sleep on them, the pain feels good.
Because it reminds me how far I’ve come and how good things can come from bad.