God damn, my country is beautiful in the Sun. It turns even more verdant than it usually is, (that’s pretty fucking green, man) the jaw-droppingly beautiful beaches shine like strips of pure gold dust and flocks of people are to be seen out and about, smiling. We have great ice cream in my neck of the…uh…seaside, and everyone seems to be licking at a scoop or tree. Happy, bright, summertime Wales.

However…

There are a lot of burnt-up people all of a sudden. One teeny chink of sunlight squeezes trough the gloomy haze above and the nation’s pallid, goblin-like inhabitants all emerge from their pits to bask and… Immediately get charred. Ha ha ha.

The amount of legs, arms, backs, shoulders, chests and noses shining crimson I’ve seen in the last couple of days has been staggering. I’ve also marvelled at the scores of clammy people sporting a fetching, ghost-coloured patch of face-skin where Ray-Bans were nearly fused to their face. Nice.

Ah, it’s only because I’m jealous y’know. Procul Harum may well have had me in mind when writing “Whiter Shade of Pale”…who am I kidding, it was the 60’s! They had purple Hindu deities dancing with kaleidoscopic rhinos in their minds after all the acid…plus I wasn’t born yet. Well whatever, I am very white. And I guarantee that, despite all my sun-dodging attempts, there’ll be at least one occasion that I’ll be transformed to a gnarled half-man, half-crackling creature by the end August.

Most of you think of the smell of cut-grass when you think of summer. Not me. The stink of burger vans is also filling my nostrils when I think of summer, and do you know what? I like it. I have absolutely no idea why the whiff of blackened Grade F beef/bread/god-knows and slimy onions smothered in unnaturally yellow mustard makes me exclaim “Ah! Summer!” But it does. And I will consume at least one ill-advised artery-clogger of a burger by the time I have transformed into the gnarled half-man, half-crackling creature.

Shit. I’ll be turning into Gollum.