Here Comes The Sun

Yay. Sunshine is here again. After an unsettled few days, it's once again time for barbecues, Pimms by the river and slightly underwhelming festival lineups.

Naturally, I won't be wearing shorts. I have several pairs, bought in a flurry of optimism that my legs might become presentable if given sufficient air and light. It's even possible that this is the case but, as with getting a gym body or growing a handlebar moustache, the intermediate phase of looking ridiculous is enough to put me off the attempt. I did wear a pair of shorts once, on holiday. I am allowed back to that particular island now, but only if I promise never to repeat the offence again.

Meanwhile, the summer dresses and linen shirts are out in force. Plus that most odd of phenomena, the scary shirtless man. I'm not much of a judge, but I get the impression that those who choose to go topless are rarely the ones that others might have chosen. They come in all shapes and sizes, the shirtless men. There's the young man, with his mates, who clearly believes that the hours spent down the gym have resulted in a torso that few will be able to resist. There's normally at least one, let's call him Fat Dave, who got the message about the lack of formal attire but not the one about mandatory gym attendance. He'll be the one carrying the beers and leading the songs about how Home football club is so much better than Rival football club. I like those songs. Very clever lyrics.

Then there's the old shirtless man, with stick-thin legs and grey, wiry stubble. He is a solitary hunter, and gives the impression that, like a lizard, he has come out to get the sunshine while he can and store it up for the cold starless night.

The prohibition on going shirtless is reversed on beaches, of course. Whereas, while walking down the street, most of us would be best advised to have as little flesh on display as possible, as soon as tarmac turns to sand, you become out of place if you're not wandering round in a polyester equivalent of your underwear. Believe me, lying on your beach towel, togged to the nines and arms folded across your chest, refusing to disrobe, will attract more stares than if you were lying there stark naked. Although fewer arrest and subsequent cautions, it turns out.

Still, shirted or shirtless, fat or thin, young or old, rich or poor, summer is here. Let's enjoy it. Let's exploit it. Let's hope it lasts until the weekend.