Sunny Disposition

Man, is it hot. I'm sorry to rub it in, cos I know the vast majority of people (about seven, to be more precise) who read this blog are from England and for you all this summer has been, if you'll pardon the pun, a washout - but over here it's bloody boiling and I don't fare well in these conditions. Being of pink skin (damn you, genes) I don't have the luxury of enjoying this kind of weather on the beach or in scorching parks, instead I have to put on sun factor so high it may as well be emulsion paint and retreat into the shadows hissing and scratching at the sun as it bends its way towards me in terrifyingly open areas. At least I'll maintain a youthful visage, is my mantra at these times as I watch the bronzed figures smugly frying in the heat.

Just to give you an idea of how susceptible my family is to the rays of the big yellow bastard in the sky, my older brother, Richard (God bless you, boss) once burnt his eyeballs on a family trip to Italy and my Dad, chancing an outdoor pool in the south of France - the fool - had a patch of skin the size of a golf ball burnt from his forehead which never looked the same again, much to our amusement. As for me, I remember being poolside in Ibiza with friends at the age of 18 when a girl came purposefully striding towards me. 'Finally looks like the complete lack of exercise and of anything vaguely resembling nutritious food is working out for me', I thought to myself. Her first words, however, didn't reflect my initial feelings. 'Don't go anywhere', she said, 'you make me look more tanned.' She was a ginger. I immediately took to the water after this, gleaming under the surface like a silver fishing lure and now I think you get the idea. I think I'm a winter person. I know that's more a being very white story than being badly burnt, but just suffice yourself with the knowledge that when I do burn I end up looking like The Singing Detective, but without the topless ladies or impromptu dance sequences. More's the pity.

This weekend has a bank holiday attached to the end of it (hoorah!) but it's supposed to be roasting (hiss, spit). It's not that I don't enjoy the summer and God knows I'm the first to moan about the cold (surprised?) - I'm just very aware of getting caught out and ending up looking like a plum - literally. I think things would be different if I went brown and were able to casually stroll in the sun with the other humans, I'm convinced I'd be an excellent sun-worshipper, but as I can't I'm green - or red - with envy and taking this opportunity to have a little rant about the injustice of it all. The irony in all of this is that, when burnt, my brother and I emanate about the same amount of heat as the sun and you can't look directly at us for fear of permanently damaging your eyes. Anyone who went to Richard's wedding may recognise that joke - but sod it, it's mine, I like it and I'm gonna use it again.

Quick word about the Caribana festival to finish off with then. This is another parade and two-day head-first dive into the hedonistic world of carefree Caribbean nationalism. And it's a hell of a party. Approaching the parade was actually quite unnerving with people shouting at you from pavements to buy the obligatory food, drinks and tat and a low penetrating roar, which turned out to be the music's bass, getting louder and louder with every step. By the time we made it to the central core the bass had begun to dislodge major organs and all around were insistent and searching calls for, 'big battam gurrrls!' - needless to say, they didn't have to search for long. I personally saw one girl who looked as though her arse was pregnant - twins, obviously. Unlike the Pride Festival of a few weeks back, Caribana suffers from a poor safety record and as such the parade is actually fenced in to keep the participants free of the stab-happy crowd. This would be fine were it not for the flimsy nature of said fences which eventually cracked under some pretty relentless pressure and many gaps could be found along the way with scores of revellers pouring through into the carnival proper. I'm glad to say we took full advantage of these gaps in security and soon found ourselves in the searing heat, bogling with some weird and wonderful people in outrageous costumes. There's a picture of me in amongst it at the top of this posting. I'm the one in the middle.

That should do you for now. Cheers to you, Glenda, for your insightful comments on the last posting and for casting light on the mystery of who anonymously called me a dumbass in a comment a couple of weeks back. If you wish to abuse me, why not do it in a comment too? You can make me look both popular and unpopular at the same time - a rare opportunity. A bientot.