THE THING ABOUT SUNBATHING

So here’s the thing… I have no idea why I do it!  I like to think of myself as a rational human being (most of the time,) and yet every year, without fail, you will find me frantically soaking up the pitiful British rays at every opportunity and booking my Easyjet flights to warmer climes.  My own behaviour baffles me, for a number of reasons:

I am fair haired and fair skinned.  Although I am thankful that I did not quite inherit my father’s susceptibility to a hew which can best be described as angry lobster, and my brother’s prolific freckles seem to have skipped both myself and my sister, I have not yet managed to get through a summer without singeing at least one area of my body.  In other words, for about a week out of fifty-two, my skin hates me.  I think we can all agree that there is nothing attractive about crimson patches peeking out under your carefully styled summer wardrobe.  How have I not learnt from past experience???  For girls like me, factor 10 is like a slap to an already sun-stung face and yet a bottle still always finds its way into my suitcase.  

It can’t be for the health benefits, because other than some vague mumbles about vitamin D there aren’t any.  And anyway, I never heard of skin cancer standing its ground against a heroic  onslaught of vitamins.  What’s more I doubt anyone in the history of the world who has undergone chemotherapy cares much if they do it with a golden tan.  There is also the whole ageing thing.  Why would I spend considerable sums of money on a complex skincare routine with all sorts of potions to keep me wrinkle-less and then go and subject my poor body to what is essentially a superficial time machine set to ten years in the future?  It makes no sense!

Now, given enough time and the right conditions it is possible for my pasty complexion to bronze into a deep brown.  This happened once and it required 4 weeks in Vietnam with some pretty intense beach time (and a best friend who sneakily spritzed me with factor 50 whenever she felt my skin was giving off an unhealthy glow.)  My tan lasted for weeks after I returned to the gloomy UK and it was no coincidence that my clothes suddenly looked nicer and I barely wore any make up.  But is it worth it?  Monetary expense of having months abroad notwithstanding, the greater cost will surely creep up on me in a few decades?  We all know those ladies of a certain age who have beautiful outfits and shiny soft-top cars… and skin that resembles a prune made of leather.  Is it a modern sign of affluence perhaps?  Less than 200 years ago, our own society dictated that men and women should remain pale in order to announce to their inferiors that they need not labour under the sun in fields.  Even today, women in South East Asia spend their days trussed up in jackets, hats, gloves and long trousers and bleach their skin for fashion.  I have an Australian friend who’s favourite saying is ‘there’s nothing cool about tanning.’  One in three Aussies will contract skin cancer in their lives so this is an understandable adage.  

If you are someone who doesn’t feel the need to worry about the health issues, would it not be simpler to save money on flights and accommodation and lie on an electric sunbed rather than a bed in the sun?  Or, if it is just the colour you want, there are hundreds of creams, mousses and sprays which will simulate it for you in the comfort of your own home?  Feeling lazy?  There are even professional establishments where you can step in a room and come out fifteen minutes later with a fortnight’s worth of tan.

Ok, so so far sunbathing is going to cause unsightly patches, pain, aging and ultimately death.  A normal person would be, if not rushing to hide in the dark cupboard under the stairs, at least grabbing sunblock and a ridiculous hat (you know the ones that show up on satellites?)  So then why am I writing this sat in my garden enjoying the cloudless 26 degree day?  

...Nope, I’ve got nothing.