Pencil flash sheet of a teapot, teacups, a cupcake, strawberries, a rose and a biscuit, drawn in a neo-traditional style with no body placement shown.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Teapot, teacups and strawberries flash sheet

Neo-trad · Black and grey · Flash

A flash sheet on cream paper showing a teapot with a rose, two teacups with steam and roses, a cupcake with a cherry, two strawberries with leaves, a rose with foliage and a biscuit, with small star sparkles scattered between them. The drawing uses fine, detailed black linework with grey shading and dotted borders on the crockery. The motifs are arranged loosely across the sheet, which is shown at a slight angle.

Neo-trad Botanical Teapot Teacup Cupcake Strawberry Rose Steam Star Leaves Flash sheet

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The ferry is late again, so the scones will be cold before anyone wants them, and you stand at the back of the tea room on Skerrin with the kettle going for the third time. Outside, the harbour wall is grey and the gulls are squabbling over a crisp packet someone left on the step. You take the good teapot down from the dresser, the one with the chip in its spout and the roses pressed round its belly, and you rinse it under the tap the way your mother taught you.

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Mrs Pell's cupcakes cool on the rack under a tea towel, each with a cherry balanced on top. The strawberries came over on Tuesday in a crate from the walled garden at Dunmara, a few squashed, the rest so red you could almost hear them. You heap them in the green bowl and set out the cups, which do not match. Your gran used to say a set is only a set until somebody breaks the second cup, and then it becomes a story.

Old Hamish Reid comes in at half past two, shaking rain off his cap, and asks for a pot for one. You pour him strong tea from the chipped pot and he sits by the window with both hands round his cup, watching the water. He tells you the last time the boat was this late, the whole island crowded into this room eating strawberries until the mail arrived. You tell him the teapot has been here longer than you have.

When the ferry finally swings round the point, its horn low and apologetic, you carry two cups down the steps to the wall. The steam lifts off them sideways in the wind. Hamish takes his without a word, and you stand beside him with the warmth in your palms while the first passengers come down the ramp, bags in hand, faces turned towards the lights of the town.