Small colour tattoo of Winnie the Pooh lying on his side with a red top, placed on the forearm.

Winnie the Pooh on a forearm

Forearm · Colour · Photo

A small cartoon tattoo of Winnie the Pooh, shown lying on his side with one arm raised towards his head. He is filled in yellow-orange with a red top and has dark outlines and small black details for his eyes and nose. The image is a close, slightly angled shot of a forearm against a soft cream background.

Forearm Winnie the pooh Bear Cartoon character

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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

Nobody at the Harwood Road reunion could agree on who had brought the honey. Mrs Pargeter swore it was in the tombola, but the tombola was raffle tickets and a box of tangerines, and the jar was sitting open on the trestle by the urn, half gone, with a spoon standing up in it like a flag.

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The story the old caretaker told, when somebody finally asked him, went like this. Years back, a bear the colour of toast lived under the bottom stair of the school, where the coats were kept. He wore a red jumper his grandmother had knitted from the wool of one sheep, and every afternoon he lay on his side in the cloakroom with his head propped on one arm, thinking. He was thinking about the honey. He was always thinking about the honey, and the children who came in with sticky fingers were told it was not theirs to finish.

On the last day of term the bear got up and went out through the boiler-room door with the jar under his arm. Nobody saw him go except a girl called Ruth Ashby, who was eleven and had been left behind to find her gloves. She followed him as far as the playing field. He stopped at the hedge, looked back at her, and told her that a jar of honey is worth exactly as much as the people who share it. Then he rolled himself small and went under the hedge. The jar was found the next morning, empty, on the cloakroom bench.

The reunion committee finished the last of the jar that night. Ruth, now sixty and by her own account still the one who checks the gloves, laughed until she had to sit down on the tombola table. She said that was the whole of it.