What is it about we pale skinned Brits that whenever the temperature rises to anything hotter than lukewarm, we strip off as many clothes as we can legally get away with and broil ourselves under the hot sun? I went for a stroll on Swansea Beach this afternoon and it was pretty full of people roasting themseles to various shades of pink – salmon, peach, puce, cerise, magenta, fuschia, candy, Barbi, strawberry, blush, lobster, livid red, third degree burns!
I stopped for a scribble in my little A6 spotty sketchbook with a Faber Castell Pitt drawing pen, size S. I hadn’t been at it long when I noticed my legs hurting and looked down to see two puce appendages sticking out of the bottom of my cut-off leggings, clashing horribly with my purple pumps. Ychyfi! (That’s Welsh for Yuck). Maybe I’ll get myself a burkini.
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