Colour tattoo of a cartoon skier in a red and blue suit, helmet and goggles, holding ski poles, shown on a leg.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Cartoon skier with ski poles on a leg

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A cartoon skier wearing a helmet and goggles, in a red and blue suit with red ski boots, leans forward while holding two ski poles. The bold dark outlines and flat solid fills in red, blue, yellow and grey give it a cartoon look, with little shading. The tattoo sits on bare skin with visible hair, filling most of a plain, softly lit frame.

Traditional Other Cartoon Helmet Goggles

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The dry slope at Brimley Hill had been shut since March, but nobody had told Ivan Doyle, who turned up at six in the morning with two ski poles under one arm and a helmet he had painted himself. He had skied the Alps once, in 1987, and came home convinced the mountains had been a mistake made by people who did not own proper shoes.

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So he practised on the wet tarmac behind Okafor's bakery on Cross Street, where the ovens vented warm air and the smell of burnt sugar drifted over the bins before the sky had any colour in it. Mrs Okafor watched from the back step with her arms folded. She had seen men fall over for less, and she kept a tray of bruise buns on the sill for the ones who came back. Ivan never fell, not really. He dropped into a crouch, planted his poles, and went down the service lane at a speed that made the cat on the wall leave in a hurry.

On the third Tuesday of June the council inspector came to look at the dry slope and found it empty, except for two faint black lines on the bakery's back wall where something had been skidding at knee height. He stood in the lane with his clipboard for a long time. Then he heard a rattle of poles, a grunt, and a shout of triumph from the far end of the lane, where Ivan had crossed the finish line at the bins and was lying flat on his back with his arms in the air.

Mrs Okafor passed him a bun through the gate. "Next week," she said, "the bread goes in at five, and you'll want to be out of the way." Ivan took the bun, stood up, and leaned his poles against the bakery door, where they stayed all summer.