Black lettering tattoo reading "we're all mad here." in a typewriter-style serif font, running across the inside of a forearm.

"We're all mad here" quote on forearm

Lettering · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A single line of black text reads "we're all mad here." in a typewriter-style serif font, set horizontally across the forearm. The letters are solid black with crisp edges and no visible shading, and the ink looks slightly soft at the edges as it has settled into the skin. The photograph is taken close up against a plain light background, with the text sitting centrally across the frame.

Lettering Forearm Quote Text Word

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The 7:42 to Harrowgate had been cancelled, uncancelled, and then cancelled again, and by half past nine the platform at Little Wenham had become a kind of parish council. Mrs Oddie had brought a tin of shortbread shaped like hedgehogs. A young man in a borrowed tuxedo kept asking the departures board whether it was sure. Nobody could say what the board was sure of.

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Francesca Pilling stood by the ticket barrier with her suitcase and her paperback and tried to ignore the old porter, Mr Dunstable, who was explaining to a stranger that the signal box had been painted purple in 1987 on the orders of a man called Gerald, and nobody had ever been able to undo it. "You'll want to sit down," he told her kindly. "Nothing here is going anywhere until Gerald agrees."

When the tannoy finally crackled, it announced that the train would arrive on platform four, which had been bricked up since the war. Everybody turned to look at the wall. A brick, somewhere near the top, slid out with a sigh and dropped onto the tracks. Mrs Oddie clapped. The young man in the tuxedo wept quietly into his programme.

Francesca picked up her suitcase, walked to the barrier and showed her ticket to the wall. The wall accepted it. She stepped through, and behind her Mr Dunstable called out, cheerfully, that she should mind the gap. She didn't look back. She knew precisely what was on the other side of it: a clean, ordinary, perfectly sensible platform, and a timetable nobody there had ever once bothered to question.