I am, in case you had failed to notice, of an age where suntanned skin resembles nothing more than a pair of worn out walking boots: wrinkled, crumbling and deeply unattractive. Which is just one of the many reasons I don’t sit in the sun….
For more reasons I don’t indulge read on.
It’s boring. You can’t read because the sun gets in your eyes. You can’t hold a conversation because your brain is too hot to be arsed. And even Gyp won’t entertain you because he has sufficient sense to have sought shade.
It’s sweaty. Your undertit area will be sticky. Your armpits will be miniature waterfalls. And even your hair will be sweating.
It’s bad for you. If the spectre of melanoma doesn’t scare you, fine. Me? I’m in enough trouble with the ciggies.
So then. The advice on the sunbathing front is – don’t do it.
If the sun is hot take yourself somewhere shady and equip yourself with an ice-cold beer.
But. But. Do I hear you say?
A suntan looks healthy. It doesn’t. It just looks like a suntan.
Being tanned is slimming. It just isn’t.
Need I say more?
However. If you really must feck with your skin colour there are options that don’t involve self-barbecuing.
Sunbeds. Just as boring as ordinary sunbathing, and arguably not any better for your health.
Spray tan. Almost always weirdly orange.
Self-tanning lotions. Streaky and stinky and orange.
Moisturiser with a hint of self tan. Probably the least obscene option if still a tad satsuma in colour.
To conclude. Do. Not. Sunbathe. And think carefully before you apply any sort of fake tan. There are horrible warnings out there. Look at them and think.