Traditional style colour tattoo of a stacked sandwich with an olive on a cocktail pick, wrapped in an orange banner reading 'We finish each others sandwiches', on the ankle.

Stacked sandwich with banner on ankle

Traditional · Ankle · Colour · Photo

A stacked sandwich topped with an olive on a cocktail pick sits at the centre of the design, with a curling orange banner wrapped diagonally around it. The banner carries the lettering 'We finish each others sandwiches' in black capitals, and the bread, lettuce, cheese and filling are shaded in orange, green and brown. Bold black outlines define the forms against the skin, and the tattoo is photographed straight on with the ankle visible below it.

Traditional Ankle Banner Lettering Cheese

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The club at the Hallam Lane depot canteen arrived on Tuesdays with three layers of white bread, a slab of ham, two rashers of bacon, a leaf of lettuce that had given up, and a single green olive on a cocktail pick standing up like a flag on a sandcastle. Bev and Maureen had split it every Tuesday since the depot went over to double shifts, and in all that time neither of them had ordered her own.

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That particular week the new lad on the grill, Dev, sent it out stacked so high the pick leaned. Maureen studied it the way she studied council letters. Bev took the left half and Maureen took the right, and they both reached for the olive at the same moment, which was the only real fight they had ever had over food. Maureen won, as she always did, because Bev had given up olives in 1994 for a reason she never explained.

They ate in silence, bread crackling, the crusts piling up on the tray between them. Halfway through the second triangle Bev noticed Maureen had stopped chewing and was frowning at the lettuce. "He's put it on the wrong side," Maureen said. "Then we'll both be wrong," said Bev, and for the first time in thirty-six years they argued about lettuce until the bell went.

Dev came over with the tea and found them with their heads bent together over the last corner, each holding one end, neither willing to let go first. He set the pot down, lifted the cocktail pick out of the bread and dropped it in the bin, because nobody had ever needed it for the olive. Thirty-six years, Bev said. Maureen said the lettuce was still on the wrong side.