Colour traditional tattoo of a sonic screwdriver with a blue glow, wrapped in banners reading Wibbly Wobbly Timey Wimey Stuff, on the outer limb.

Sonic screwdriver with Wibbly Wobbly banner

Traditional · Other · Colour · Photo

A sonic screwdriver sits upright at the centre of the design, with a pale blue glowing halo behind it and fine radiating lines. Two orange and grey banners wrap around the tool, with the words WIBBLY WOBBLY on the upper band and TIMEY WIMEY and STUFF on the lower band. Bold black outlines, flat fills and soft orange and grey shading give it a traditional look, and the composition is centred and filled edge to edge across the skin.

Traditional Other Banner Ribbon Lettering Halo

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Now sit closer, you lot, because the oven at Hallam's bakery had gone cold at four o'clock, and dough has never once cared what anybody thinks about it. Nell Ashworth stood in her flour-dusted apron with the dial in her fist, turning nothing, while three hundred loaves sat in the proving cabinet growing bigger by the minute. Her gran had kept a stubby silver thing in the drawer under the scales, the one with a blue bulb at its tip and a ribbon of lettering nobody could read in the dark. Nell had never touched it. A baker at four in the morning will try anything, so she picked it up.

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It hummed the moment her palm closed round it. She pointed it at the oven, and a pale blue glow spread out from the tool like the rays round a church window, fine lines of light fanning across the dark kitchen. The oven clicked on. Then the bread began to rise faster than it had any right to, the cabinet door shuddered, and Nell remembered her gran's saying, the one she had always laughed at. Wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff, she used to say, and then she would go back to her crossword as if the world had not just tilted.

By half past five the bakery had run through its morning in both directions. The van from the mill arrived before it had left, the sacks of flour crept back out of the bin, and a regular called Mr Pryce bought a cob that was still steaming from yesterday. Nell stood with the screwdriver humming against her ribs and wondered which of the two of them was the stranger, her or the bread.

At six she turned the sign round, drew back the bolt and unlocked the door. The first customer asked whether the loaves were ready. Nell tucked the silver tool into her apron pocket, its halo fading to nothing, and said, Ready since Tuesday, love.