Colour tattoo of a blue police box with white windows inside an ornate grey filigree frame on the outer thigh.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue police box in an ornate frame on a thigh

Thigh · Mixed · Photo

A blue police box, shaped like a tall cabinet with a lit sign reading POLICE BOX, sits at the centre of the design. It is surrounded by an ornate grey scrollwork frame with shaded, curling details. The blue is solid and the frame uses soft grey shading, and the design is centred on the thigh with the photo taken straight on.

Thigh Police box Tardis Frame Scrollwork Window Sign

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The snow had already taken the second hut's roof when the blue box appeared on the Bwlch road, standing square in the middle of the track as though someone had parked it for the view. I'd walked up from Cwm Ddu with two ewes that refused every gate, and my dog, Mot, sat down in front of the thing and would not be moved. The sign above the door said POLICE BOX in lit letters, though the glass had gone the colour of weak tea, and the lamp behind it was still warm when I laid my palm on it.

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Nobody on the valley farms owned a police box, and the nearest constable was in Dolgellau with a broken collarbone and a cart. So I did what my grandmother taught me about strange things on a hill: I counted the windows. Four on the door, six along the side, and one more on the roof than there should have been, which I chose not to think about. Then I knocked, twice, the way you knock on a gate you fully intend to be let through.

The door opened inward onto a room with a brass grate, a hundred levers and a woman in a dark coat who looked at my ewes as if she had been expecting them. 'Mountain pass,' she said. 'Storm coming. You'll want shelter, and so will they.' She pointed a pencil at the map on the wall, where the Bwlch road ran in faded ink, and drew a small neat circle around a spot I had never once seen on any survey.

We sat out an hour of hail with the ewes asleep by the grate. When the door opened again the track was clear down to the valley, and the box stood where it had always stood, its silver scrollwork gleaming in the sun as if someone had polished it for a wedding. I've told this at the Ddu Arms twice, and nobody believes me, but every lambing season since, a blue light has been seen on the pass, and the ewes always come home.