I’m back from a short trip to Denmark where I saw a very tall (well over six foot) Pikachu carrying a half full bottle of Famous Grouse along the street. Later, that same Pikachu pushed a fifties gangster on a swing that looked like a spider web. There was a violin case involved.
At that point, I started drinking. I thought, if all that shit starts to feel normal, that’s when I’ve had enough to drink.
Before that I went out in the sunshine. I know, always a bad idea, but living in Scotland you forget how dangerous that is. I now look like a representation of Phantom of the Opera produced by the white chocolate version of Cadbury’s Flake. I am Captain Flaky, the Incredible Disintegrating Man. The day before I was King of the Lobsters. It’s the destiny of all gingers, even when the ginger is grey. Sorry, young Gingers, but the night life is the only one for you. Forever. Stay out of the sunlight. It will destroy you.
If the sun comes out and I’m not ready, forget sunscreen. You might as well baste me. I have the DNA of vampire legends. The sun will turn me to dust, a bit at a time. Fortunately it all grows back. I must look out my sunscreen if this summer is going to be a hot one. Mine is made by Dulux. Factor Total Reflective.
I can’t post a selfie now. I look like an escapee from a leper colony. It’s worse than the time I went to the shop after being at the dentist for a wisdom tooth extraction.
“Yes sir, what would you like?”
“Fooyah, nom slabby nimnimnimnimnim. Skalyik!” It probably makes sense in Danish.
I am never doing that again. I must avoid shops tomorrow if possible or anywhere I might leave a flaky trail. Or meet people. Or be seen.
It gives me a bit of an insight into Margo Jackson’s ‘The Mark’. My facial horribleness is temporary. I know it grows back, it always has. It’ll only take a few days to get back to mildly repulsive. The main character in that book has a mark that cannot be fixed.
It’s coming out this week and it’ll be a mind-buggery for PC and non PC alike.
You will have to read it twice, but it’s worth it.
underdogs bite upwards 
As a youngster I once spent a whole day by the town pool and, thanks to my ginger genes, got badly burned. A couple of days later I presented a note from my mother to the games master asking that I be excused swimming. The games master of course seized the opportunity to belittle me and demanded that I remove my shirt (so he could show the class what a wimp I was). I removed said shirt and a cloud of skin flakes was blown across and covered the surface of the pool. I was excused.
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I fried as a teenager on a holiday in Cornwall in the 70s. It was a hot one. I actually blistered, despite sunscreen, and floored a cousin who thought it funny to poke my raw flesh. Never been that bad since, but got caught out this time.
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