Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Feel The Burn

It’s that time of year again, when the sun finally peeps expectantly out from behind towers of cumulonimbus like an elderly relative checking on kids in the garden, and as it does so releases a stream of ultra-violet unpleasantness capable of turning the average British male from milky white to fuscia pink in the blink of an eye.

You’d think this would make native honkeys hurtle for the nearest shade where they’d spend the ensuing two months (such is the length of the average British summer) in darkness, awaiting the relative safety of autumn when they can emerge blinking into the much weaker sunlight. But no. It seems the first sight of the summer sun causes the entire male population to disrobe en masse despite the unsightliness of what’s been concealed ‘neath winter garments for the previous ten months. Masses of English skin offers itself up to the sun-shee-ine and wide expanses of pasty-white, slightly blobby Caucasian bodies turn as crispy as a hog roast by the time the sun disappears behind the horizon.
Despite being unsightly, this gives an opportunity to look at the range of tattoos on offer. Following Beckham’s lead, the inclination in recent years has been to emblazon your kids’ names across the base of your spine in three-inch gothic script. The chap I saw the other day had just such a set of tattoos, with “Paige” and “Ashton” inscribed across his shoulder blades and the base of his back respectively. At least I assume they were his kids’ names. He could have been a really big fan of Elaine Paige and Ashton Kutcher for all I know. I wasn’t about to ask him though due to the fact he was around twice my size, although if any disagreement did ensue I could have just slapped his sunburn, which can render a man temporarily immobile with more effectiveness than a police tazer.

No comments: