Two TARDIS police box tattoos in shaded blue and grey, one on a calf and one on a thigh, with the script words The Oncoming Storm beneath the thigh tattoo.

TARDIS tattoos on a calf and thigh

Realism · Calf · Mixed · Photo

Two photographs of matching tattoos of a TARDIS police box, one on a lower leg and one on a thigh. The boxes are rendered with soft grey shading, dark outlines and blue highlights on the side panels, giving a realistic, three-dimensional look. Beneath the thigh tattoo is a line of fine black cursive script reading The Oncoming Storm, and the two images are shown side by side against a plain background.

Realism Calf Thigh Tardis Police box Script Quote Building

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

You hear the wheeze before you see the box, the sound of old brakes letting go somewhere in the fog above the lock. Your narrowboat, the Oncoming Storm, is tied at the bottom gate, its name in gold letters you repainted last spring because the rain had taken the first lot. Dawn on the Grand Union is grey and wet, and the towpath holds nobody but you and a heron standing as still as a garden ornament. Then the blue box is there, squat on the gravel, its lamp unlit on the roof, as if someone had parked it and meant to come straight back.

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Mr Haddow from the lock cottage swears he saw it in 1974, and again the winter his wife died, always at first light and always with the door shut. You don't believe him, and you don't believe the sign on the lockside that says no mooring for vehicles. You step onto the gravel and rap the door with a knuckle. It swings inward on a room far bigger than the box has any right to be, all brass rails and a grey console that hums like a kettle just before it boils.

A woman with a severe fringe and a long grey coat looks up from the controls and asks whether you're the one who keeps the storm. You tell her it's only the name of a boat. She glances past you at the sky, where a bruise of cloud is rolling over the reservoir, and she smiles like someone who has already read the last page. "Then you'd better come in," she says, "it's about to get interesting."

You step inside and the door clicks shut behind you. Out on the water the Oncoming Storm knocks once against the bank on its ropes, and the first fat drops of rain land on an empty deck. By the lock, Mr Haddow's old dog, who has never once barked at anything in its life, starts to howl.