It’s only mid-April and already the temperature is 20 degrees Celsius in London. This is quite a pleasant amount of heat for me. I can go outside without bothering to wear a coat, and I’m not likely to get sunburn or spontaneously vapourise.
But, if it’s this hot now, what the hell is it going to be like in London in July? Time to stock up on the aftersun - but it’s worse than that. Because I’m not going to be in London in July. Oh no. I’m going to be in the south of fucking Spain.
I’ll have to stay inside between 6am and 10pm, and even when I do venture out in the fading twilight, I’ll still have to grease myself up with factor 25 lest I singe my epidermis. I’m just too pale to live comfortably in even the British summer these days, and in a few years’ time you won’t be able to recognise me for tumours.
A few years ago, when I had a shaved head, I managed to severely sunburn my scalp. I woke up the next morning and my hotel pillow, which was pristine white when I went to bed, was bright yellow from the pus oozing out of my head.
It looked pretty strange. I wonder what they thought when they came to clean the room. Maybe that somehow, during the night, I had urinated through my eyes.