I couldn’t care if I tan all over or not it’s quite simple; minimal clothing + sun = tanned
On Friday I took a day off and spent a few hours on Llandudno. I switched off all communication devices, plugged my ears with earphones and put Pinback on repeat and dozed on and off while keeping an eye out for talent (only butch rugby guys in sight – not my type).
When I got home I did the usual strip of bikini in front of the mirror to determine exactly how tanned I had got.
I was a lovely glowing shade of RED. Lobster red. And all down the right side of the body. Like someone had dipped me in All Gold. Hideous. I had a tan bikini. The BF found this hilarious.
Queue the panic of cold showers, after sun cream, more cream and wet cloths.
Turns out it is important to turn every thirty minutes like a piece of chicken and in the direction of the sun. I mean who cares if you’re not facing the ocean … it’s all about the all over tan.
Fack. Pity Halloween is over. I could have gone naked instead of hiring a costume.
Wear sunblock, a huge floppy hat, take an umbrella and be prepared to burn. They aren’t kidding about the giant hole in the ozone layer.