Colour traditional-style tattoo of a blue police box with red ribbons and red flowers with green leaves, on an upper arm.

TARDIS, red flowers and ribbon on an upper arm

Traditional · Upper arm · Colour · Photo

A blue police box stands at the centre of the design, with a red ribbon curling out from each side and a cluster of red five-petal flowers with yellow centres and green leaves below it. Bold black outlines define the shapes, with flat solid fills and simple shading on the leaves. The tattoo sits on the upper arm against pale skin and a white lace top.

Traditional Upper arm Police box Tardis Flower Leaves Ribbon

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Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You have swept the sprung floor of the Pavilion Ballroom for eleven years, and you know its noises the way a sailor knows weather. So when the Saturday band packs up early and the wind knocks a flurry of paper roses off the bandstand, you notice the sound that isn't there: no hum from the wall lights, no tick from the radiators. Just a low wheeze from the cloakroom corner, where a blue police box has no business standing between the coat hooks.

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It is taller inside than it is out, which nobody warned you about. The man who steps out of it wears a tweed jacket with the elbows gone and asks, very politely, what year it is. You tell him 1962, and he looks almost hurt. Pity, he says. I promised the roses we'd be back for the Whit Monday dance. Red ribbons snake out from the doorway behind him and trail across the parquet, as if someone has pulled a bow loose on the whole evening.

He needs a partner for the waltz to keep the box steady, he explains, and you have a broom, a ring of keys and your Sunday shoes. You dance anyway. The flowers from the bandstand gather at your feet, five red petals to each with a yellow eye, and the leaves catch the light off the mirror ball until the whole floor is green.

When the music stops, the box is only a box, and the cloakroom smells of rain. Pinned to the ticket board is a paper rose with a date written on it in fountain pen, the Whit Monday after next. You fold it into your apron pocket and say nothing to the manager, because you have already decided you will be sweeping here that Monday, just in case.