Colour neo-trad tattoo of a fox in a purple top hat and monocle, with red roses, a feather and stars, on a lower leg.

Fox in top hat and monocle with roses on a calf

Neo-trad · Calf · Colour · Photo

A fox with a white muzzle and green eyes wears a purple top hat with a red band, a monocle, a dark jacket and a blue checked tie. Red roses, a pink and orange feather, a gold ring motif and scattered black stars fill the background around the figure. The shading is smooth and fully coloured, with bold orange, purple and red tones set against the skin.

Neo-trad Calf Fox Top hat Monocle Rose Feather Star Tie

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The motor had given up a mile past the last petrol stop, and Ambrose Fenwick stood beside its steaming bonnet with his monocle screwed in, regarding the sand as though it had been rude to him. Forty-one pocket watches sat in a leather case on the passenger seat. Forty-one, and not one sold to a man who actually wanted the time. They wanted the gold ring on the chain, or the enamel roses on the lid, or simply to be seen buying something from a fox in a plum-coloured hat.

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A lorry crested the dune behind him, rattling with crates of tinned peaches, and its driver leaned out to look at the motor, then at Ambrose, then at the monocle. "Radiator's cooked, friend," he said. "I'll tow you to the next town for one of those watches."

Ambrose drew himself up to his full and considerable height. "I never trade watches for towing. I trade them for conversation, and you have not yet offered me a single interesting one."

The driver laughed until he nearly fell out of the cab. He had a daughter, he said, who collected feathers from every bird she passed, and a weakness for peaches that he could not explain to his wife. Ambrose accepted the tow, two tins, and a handshake. He gave the girl the watch with the cracked crystal, because it still ticked, and he told the driver that a thing which kept time despite its damage was the only sort worth carrying across a desert.

That evening the lorry's mirror swung a little ring of gold on its chain, catching the last of the light, and Ambrose sat in the back of the cab counting the watches that remained. Thirty-nine. He found, somewhat to his surprise, that he did not mind the number at all.