Midday 31 May and up here on the slightly balding pate of "auld mother Ireland" the sun is splitting the trees! According to the sweat-o-meter in the back garden it is 27 and there isn't even enough of a breeze to cool the embarrassment of a young lassie's first kiss . Now don't get me wrong i like a bit of heat as much as the next man but I am a heathen northerner, we aren't genetically programmed for warm, cold is our metier. Yes we many complain vociferously and with much elan about rain, frost and the odd flurry of snow, but we are at a total loss when it comes to sun and heat.
Being ,once many years ago, of the blond blue eyed phenotype I am plagued with a ability to get sun burn under a 40w bulb. I have know this for all of my adult life and when away in some exotic part of the world like Greece or Singapore I slap on the factor 99,999,999, a hat and at least 3 layers of AV reflecting tin foil. However there is in every Irish chap and lassie something that tells us the sun back home wont harm us. It is a nice friendly sun with a big smiley face probably called Paddy O'Warm. With this in mind we run around with our shirts off exposing our ghastly whiteness to the direct glaze of the sun with no protection AT ALL. Pass any public park and you will be deafened by "POPPING" as a million freckles appear on the the pale bodies of the high proportion of ginger and strawberry blonde's we Irish are blessed with.
I can foresee a busy night in the local accident and emergence departments as a battalion of sun-stroked and burnt Irish turn up convinced they are either not long for this world or seeing little purple elephants swarming over their sofa's.
Which is why gentle reader I am sat in the the shade of the trees in the bottom corner of the garden, listening to Three Dog Night and writing this post. Those of you coming to ILUG if you are expecting a Bronzed me .. TOUGH! I will be my white pasty self!