Black dotwork drawing of a teacup and saucer with a small alien head in a crescent moon, a tea bag, and the words Not everybody's cup of tea across the top.

Teacup with alien in crescent moon

Dotwork · Black and grey · Flash

A teacup and saucer sit centrally on a plain background, with a scalloped rim, a tea bag hanging from the handle side, and stars on the cup. The cup's front holds a mandala-like frame of star shapes around a crescent moon containing an alien head, with a dotted beaded chain below. The shading is built from stippled dots and fine ink outlines, and the curved lettering above reads Not everybody's cup of tea.

Dotwork Lettering Teacup Saucer Alien Crescent moon Mandala Star Lettering

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The vicar's wife had kept the good cups for the Harvest supper since 1937, and she was not about to hand them to a grey-skinned visitor with a head like a lightbulb. Mrs Doyle put the kettle on anyway, because the thing had knocked three times on her back door, bowed, and asked very politely whether it might have something hot before the long walk home.

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He sat at the scrubbed kitchen table with his long fingers wrapped round the cup and sniffed the tea bag she had dropped in. Then he lifted it out with two fingers, held it up to the window where the moon was just clearing the church spire, and dropped it back in the pot like a verdict. "Thin," he said. "Stewed. Your people are generous with the leaves and mean with the minutes."

Mrs Doyle, who had buried two husbands and survived the great flood of '52 in a bath chair, said that was the way of it, and that not everybody's cup of tea was meant for everybody. He seemed to find this a fair reason to stay. He stayed three nights, fixed the Ellis boy's bicycle with a spoon and a thought, and was unfailingly polite about the scones.

On the Sunday, the whole parish found a small silver crescent on every saucer, and a star pressed into the bottom of every cup. The vicar, who took his tea weak, never once complained about it again. That evening, when the lamps came on along the high street, the moon hung over the churchyard with a tea bag swinging from its edge, and Mrs Doyle said it was the only sensible thing anybody had done all year.