Bring me sunshine...
Words from a Bird. Day 106
The British weather has driven me insane this week. There is nowhere on this planet, as far as I am aware, where you can be wearing a ski jacket and bobble hat on a Monday, shorts and flip-flops on a Wednesday and waterproofs and wellies on a Thursday, with snow forecast on Saturday.
April is rapidly becoming my least favourite month of the year. It's near enough to Easter to still be mourning the loss of my waistline (actually, I never found it again after Christmas) and there is that daily wardrobe quandary as to 'what to wear'. At least in March you know it's going to be bloody cold, so getting dressed in the morning is fairly straightforward. April? Now that's a different matter.
The way I get round this is to dress like an onion. Not literally like an onion you understand, but simply wear layer on top of layer on top of layer. As the frost bitten morning warms up, I peel off a single layer, peaking around 2.00 in the afternoon, when you'll find me in shirt sleeves. As the day starts to cool down again, the layers go back on. Over the course of the day, I go from the Michelin Man to Twiggy (little bit ambitious) and then back to the Michelin Man. Between October and May, the husband never sees me without thinking of an oversized beach ball.
I suppose that April isn't all bad. For example, it's the last month in the year where the word 'bikini' doesn't make my blood run cold. Come the first of May, I have no excuse to not have beautifully painted nails, shaved legs and a 'bikini ready' body. What is a 'bikini ready body' exactly? My body is always ready for a bikini, but it's always the bikini which looks a little reluctant when faced with my sun and razor deprived body. I say reluctant, but I mean terrified.
As we're heading off to Spain next week, I have made appointments with the sublime Mrs H for some serious repair work on my ravaged body. By the time we fly, my skin will be less mottled, and more the colour of caramel, I won't resemble Chewbacca, and my toes will look a lot less like pigs' trotters.
But after 5 days in the Spanish sun, with all this handiwork on show, I shall return to England once again . It will still be April, so the opaque tights, polo-necks, cardigans and thermals will be de rigeur once again. But never fear ladies, May is just around the corner.
Now where is my Factor 50?
The British weather has driven me insane this week. There is nowhere on this planet, as far as I am aware, where you can be wearing a ski jacket and bobble hat on a Monday, shorts and flip-flops on a Wednesday and waterproofs and wellies on a Thursday, with snow forecast on Saturday.
April is rapidly becoming my least favourite month of the year. It's near enough to Easter to still be mourning the loss of my waistline (actually, I never found it again after Christmas) and there is that daily wardrobe quandary as to 'what to wear'. At least in March you know it's going to be bloody cold, so getting dressed in the morning is fairly straightforward. April? Now that's a different matter.
The way I get round this is to dress like an onion. Not literally like an onion you understand, but simply wear layer on top of layer on top of layer. As the frost bitten morning warms up, I peel off a single layer, peaking around 2.00 in the afternoon, when you'll find me in shirt sleeves. As the day starts to cool down again, the layers go back on. Over the course of the day, I go from the Michelin Man to Twiggy (little bit ambitious) and then back to the Michelin Man. Between October and May, the husband never sees me without thinking of an oversized beach ball.
I suppose that April isn't all bad. For example, it's the last month in the year where the word 'bikini' doesn't make my blood run cold. Come the first of May, I have no excuse to not have beautifully painted nails, shaved legs and a 'bikini ready' body. What is a 'bikini ready body' exactly? My body is always ready for a bikini, but it's always the bikini which looks a little reluctant when faced with my sun and razor deprived body. I say reluctant, but I mean terrified.
As we're heading off to Spain next week, I have made appointments with the sublime Mrs H for some serious repair work on my ravaged body. By the time we fly, my skin will be less mottled, and more the colour of caramel, I won't resemble Chewbacca, and my toes will look a lot less like pigs' trotters.
But after 5 days in the Spanish sun, with all this handiwork on show, I shall return to England once again . It will still be April, so the opaque tights, polo-necks, cardigans and thermals will be de rigeur once again. But never fear ladies, May is just around the corner.
Now where is my Factor 50?
Comments