Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Tuesday, October 14, 2003

Tan Lines

I must say I’m looking pretty special today.

And not in a Sunshine bus way, either. The holiday has left me rested and bronzed (well, a beaten copper) and I think a tan really suits me; it gives a healthy look to my otherwise pallid, underside-of-a-fish complexion.

Yet I cannot understand how people take tanning too far. It isn’t like there’s a thin line between ‘healthy’ and ‘Judith Charmers’, is there? There must come a point when you can’t see your hand when picking up one of Ikea’s earthenware pots. That itself must ring some warning bells. Or perhaps it’s when you’re having your holiday photos printed and you discover that there’s an extra cost at Boots due to them having to put a fifth florescent colour on the snaps every time they print your face.

I bumped into Dale Winton once in Heaven in the ‘VIP’ lounge a few years back, when he was drinking in the fame of Supermarket Sweep (and several gins down too, by the look of him). Even in the shadow, he glowed with a strange, unearthly radiance. You have to worry about the nature of someone’s skin at this point; up close, dear Dale looked rather like a cheap seventies leatherette sofa. One winces at the idea of any sort of sexual encounter with the man - I fear it would be close to sitting barelegged on that sofa during the summer, and you’d have to peel yourself sharply off the daytime star with a wincing ‘shlik!’.

Excuse me. I now have to go and wash out my imagination.

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