Move to England and become a sun zombie…
When I moved here in 2004 I used to laugh when the sun would come out. English people across the nation would drop everything and wander, like zombies, to the nearest sun-soaked surface…
Free will was abandoned, the work day crawled to a halt, grown men walked through town centres without shirts on (*shudder*). People scrambled madly at the sound of the ice-cream-van-twinkle; praying they had the essential £1.10 so they could afford the king of all ice creams – the Magnum… (freakin’ YUM!)
But the part that always stumped me the most was the reckless abandon when it came to skin care. It happened every time! Half-naked Brits stumbled into midday the sun, where they would stay until they were burnt to a bright red crisp… And it wasn’t accidental, either. I’ve spoken to plenty of British people that set out to burn at the first opportunity so that it will fade to a tan.
Why oh why oh why would the pastiest nation set out to burn themselves?? Why?? (BTW, I’m allowed to call people pasty because nobody’s is pastier than I am. I always said that if there was a concealer colour called ‘pasty cadaver’, that would be the colour I would need)…
The thing is, all skin care worries aside – I’ve DEFINITELY turned into a sun zombie. I wear a layer of sun screen a foot thick, but I will drop everything and stumble into the sun, squinting and confused, at the first opportunity. And there I’ll stay, until I’m literally drunk with vitamin D – until even the thought of sun hurts my brain. But even as I limp back inside, I’m thinking in the back of mind, “This might be my last chance… my last chance to see the sun until next year”.
Especially with Mount Supercalifragilisticexpatalidocious erupting in Iceland… that ash-y bastard…
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peacefulyorkshire
