Colour tattoo of a blue police box surrounded by a starry purple and pink galaxy on the upper arm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Blue police box with galaxy background

Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A blue police box with a dark green side panel and a lit roof lamp sits at the centre of the design, drawn with crisp outlines and soft shading on the door panels. Behind it, a loose cloud of purple, pink and blue nebula is dotted with small yellow and white stars. The colour is bold and saturated, and the subject is framed centrally on smooth, pale skin.

Upper arm Police box Tardis Galaxy Nebula Star

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The box appeared between the rows of Discovery trees on the Thursday the wasps got into the cider press. I was up a ladder with a bag of Bramleys when I heard the wheeze, that long sighing noise like a bus kneeling at a kerb, and there it was, blue paint gone chalky at the corners, standing in the grass as if someone had planted it with the windfalls.

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Mr Ottery, who has owned the orchard for forty years and has never once been surprised by anything, came up the lane in his wellingtons and stopped dead. A lamp on the roof blinked twice, slowly, like someone clearing their throat. The door swung inward and a man in a tweed coat far too long for him leaned out, looked at our baskets, and asked whether this was 1974. Mr Ottery said it was the last Saturday in August. The man said that was close enough for a Tuesday.

His handbrake had been dodgy since the Victorians, he explained, and he had been aiming for the sea and landed in Herefordshire. Beyond the doorway the inside was larger than the outside had any right to be, with pinpricks of light and a smell of cut grass. He needed three hundred Cox to pay for a new coordinate, or so he said, so we spent the afternoon loading the box with the good fruit while he muttered over a brass instrument that clicked like a knitting needle.

He left at dusk with a Cox in each coat pocket and a jar of Mr Ottery's damson jam. The lamp blinked goodbye over the orchard and was gone. The grass where the box had stood stayed pressed flat for a week, and I still think of it each time I climb the ladder, wondering which far corner of the sky now has a crumble on the go.