On Burning

All the little outings we took the kids on in the middle two weeks of the holiday involved me having to remember to don the sunblock. Ever since our trip to Genting in December 2007 when I managed to burn my neck on a day of mist and mellow drizzle, a day on which I can hardly recall the sun putting in a single sustained appearance, I’ve been very careful about getting a reasonable amount of the stuff on my neck, face and arms. I don’t think most people appreciate just how easy it is to use the modern varieties of what used to be known as suntan lotions. And I don’t think folk in these climes, who generally come in rather pleasant dark shades, quite appreciate the inconvenience of having a complexion that demands constant protection when exposed to the sun and the degree of distress involved when one fails to provide such protection. This is when one ceases to be proud of one’s Celtic descent/origins (if pride is the right word) and wish those old warriors had spent a bit more time adapting to the sun rather than pillaging and raping and whatever else it was occupied their time in those far-flung days. I don’t suppose they bothered with Sunway Lagoon, or its equivalent, too much back then.

Actually, I blame my mother. She, curiously the parent of good Saxon Lancashire stock, was the one with the red hair and ‘sensitive’ skin. All childhood holidays, usually to Blackpool during Denton Wakes, involved her hiding beneath a pier for hours on end to stay out of the sun. Ten minutes in it ‘ll kill me, we were, probably reliably, informed. My dad, representing the Irish-Celtic Catholic side of things, as far as I remember never burnt at all, the Connors all being dark and dour specimens, though I have cousins through my dad’s twin Uncle Jim who have my colouring. As I say, the suntan lotions of those days were not user-friendly in any degree. They dripped rather than spread, had a pungent, lingering odour, and tended to migrate as quickly as possible to any clothes you were wearing. There were no numbers then, either. It seems I require a strength of 30, though I must say one application on arrival is enough to protect me for the day. In the old days I remember having to slosh the lotion on at regularly unpleasant intervals. In the movies the sloshing was usually carried out, for a gentleman, by some nubile young thing in a diminutive swimming costume. My Mum did mine for me.

Anyway, this is all by way of an excuse for posting a few more shots, which I previously didn’t have time to upload, of what we’ve been up to on our holidays here. Spot the sunblock, anyone?