Close-up photo of a solid blue police box tattoo on a person's lower leg, just above a black canvas trainer.

Blue police box tattoo on lower leg

Calf · Colour · Photo

A solid blue police box, the TARDIS-style cabinet with a lamp on its roof, sits on the lower leg. The design uses bold outlines, flat blue fill and simple window panes, with no shading. The photo is taken close up with the tattoo filling most of the frame and a black trainer visible at the bottom.

Calf Police box Tardis

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now sit yourself down, because my father told this one standing at the bar of the Crown, and he never once sat down while he talked. It was the winter the canal froze right to the bottom, and a blue police box turned up on the towpath outside Hallam's coal yard, plain as a church door, with its little lamp lit on the roof. Nobody had sent for a constable. Old Mrs Ackroyd swore she saw the door swing open and a long grey coat step in, and a voice inside say the time was wrong by a good forty years and would someone please mind the step.

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Constable Pell went down to look, and came back up the lane pale as flour. He said the inside was bigger than the outside had any right to be, that it hummed like a kettle nobody had filled, and that it smelled of oranges and hot wire. He also said the lamp on the roof was flickering in a pattern, short and then long, and that it only did that when someone in the town was in trouble. Nobody believed him until the Pickering boy went through the ice by the lock gates, and the lamp burned so bright the whole of Lowther Street could read by it.

They got him out. Nobody saw who hauled him, only a blur of grey sleeve and a hand that smelled of oranges. When the thaw came the box was gone, and all that was left on the towpath was a square of dry cobbles and a child's red mitten hung on the lamp hook at the very top. My father kept that mitten in a biscuit tin for thirty years, and he'd show it to anyone who doubted him, though he never once said whose it was.