The weather has been more than a bit marvelous round here lately. As I’ve been taking Douggie for his early morning walk even the pigeons have been showing their approval of the hot weather by shouting out WOHOO-HOO!
We wait all winter for the hot weather to arrive and when it finally does we all celebrate and make the most of it. After all, we all know that an English summer consists of two nice days and a thunderstorm, as it is we’re on extra time now, it’s been glorious for well over a week and set to continue well into next week.
Did I say glorious?
It’s glorious if you’re a sun worshipper.
For me, with my with pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair it’s purgatory. I can’t stand this heat! There. I’ve said it. I’m sure I was an Eskimo in a previous life.
Don’t get me wrong, I love the sunshine, I love summer, but anything over about 18 degrees and I can’t cope. As I write this it’s hovering around the 26 degree mark and I’m hiding in a shady room.
I have tried to be a sun worshipper, and coerce my pale blue skin into changing colour but the most I can manage is a freckly white. We were once on holiday in Cyprus and after a week one of the waiters pointed at me and laughed, “You been here one week and you still white! Hahahaa!” Thanks for that.
It was at that point I stopped pretending that I liked the heat and would eventually acquire a tan if I persevered. I stopped putting myself through the ordeal of sitting in the sun for hours and gave in to my natural inclination to avoid it, accepting that I’m just not a sun person. I’m more of your skin cancer person, it’s a good job I wised up good and early.
When I was a kid and the dangers of sun damage on skin want really understood, my Mum used to let us all get horribly sunburnt and then tell us we were a lovely colour, dabbing calamine lotion onto our boiled lobster coloured backs and shoulders as we stood and cried. I’m so glad times have changed.
These days I put on my sun cream and then decide to stay inside anyway. Well. I wouldn’t want any stray rays catching me, would ? I don’t retain these youthful good looks by basking in UV.
Talking of youthful good looks:
As I was putting my slap on last night getting ready to go to a party, I moved the mirror to the magnifying side, all the better to see you with, my dear.
Oh! Dear! God!
Magnifying mirrors should be banned!
My poor eyes were assailed with the sight of pores like craters and broken veins like rivers of molten lava – and that’s not even the worst of it! How the hell did all those wrinkles get there? Calling them wrinkles is putting it mildly. Calling them wrinkles is a bit like calling Mount Everest a hillock. These aren’t wrinkles. These are troughs, furrows and crevices so deep could store my packed lunch in them!
After I’d got over the shock of seeing the wreckage of my once not bad looking face, I began to inspect it more closely. I had a dialogue like an Alan Bennet play ( but without the literary genius) going on in my head as I pulled and pushed the wrinkles around. Along with the deep furrows caused by frowning there is also a fair smattering of laughter lines, I prefer to call, them laugher lines, so much more flattering than crows feet, don’t you think?
After a minute or two of inspection it occurred to me that my life has been etched onto my face for all to see and I attained a certain acceptance of the fact my life has been eventful and that time has taken its inevitable toll on my looks.
Nah! Ignore that last bit. I’m booking in at the botox clinic, pronto!
Every wrinkle tells a story? My God I’ve had a shit life!