Here Comes the Sun

In the midst of a recession there is always one thing that is guaranteed to either add to the misery or uplift even the grumpiest of moods - the good old British weather.
However, the trouble with a little bit of sunshine and temperatures which creep marginally beyond freezing point is the amount of bare flesh we are suddenly and often unwillingly subjected to. Now there may be some who do not mind this phenomenon, or worse, perhaps even welcome this unveiling of white, lumpy, pasty flesh, but personally speaking, it offends me to see my own white, lumpy, pasty flesh on a daily basis, so why on earth should I want to see anybody else's wobbly bits trying to make an escape for freedom?
Worse still, in the desperate attempt to absorb the watery rays of sunshine, watching the white dumpling-like offerings become incandescent, angry red dumpling-like offerings is even more repulsive. Now, had I the toned, lithe, golden body of my dreams, perhaps we'd be taking a different approach here? Maybe I too would be willing to get 'em out - I'm talking about legs here, what did you think I meant?
If we lived in a much promised but failing miserably to materialise, globally-warmed, sunny Mediterranean climate perhaps it would be another story altogether? But we don't.
If and when Cromer Pier becomes known as Cromer-Sur-Mer, playground for the rich and famous, and the Promenade a palm tree/ seafood restaurant/ open air bar-lined boulevard, then and only then will I whip off my Khaftan and Flip Flops in public.
You have been warned.