I suppose it’s possible to forget the presence of certain body parts. The appendix is not often thought of until it reminds us of its presence (and impending absence) with shooting pains. Nictitating membrane and eyelashes are two other things that come to mind. I mean who thinks about their eyelashes for God’s sake? (except people who don’t have them I guess).
Men and women all across the UK have made a startling discovery since the beginning of summer. Their chests. The realisation that 8 months of protecting themselves from the elements under layers of thermal vests, sweaters and last Winter’s must have military jacket has not caused them to disappear in to another dimension has had startling consequences.
Now, I can understand their joy and elation. It must be like meeting a long lost friend. Make that two of them. Let’s imagine an emotional reunion with two of your best friends after 8 lonely, cold months. How would you react? You would whoop for joy! You would hug them and never let them go. (Remember not to do this to other people’s friends) and after that you would want to show them off to the world. You would say ‘Look! I too have friends. Two of them!’.
For the last 6 weeks I have had the privilege of meeting many people’s friends. Male and female. Young and old. Perky friends and down in the dumps friends. Friends basically in all shapes and sizes. (If you haven’t gotten it yet I’m talking about breasts people)
Now I’m no prude. I think everyone should be allowed to express themselves in a way that well – expresses themselves. Whether it’s through pickling giant sharks and passing it off as art (freak alert) or taking your puppies out for a walk in the sunshine. Who am I to pass judgement?
The Brits are a funny bunch (and not just because they call underwear ‘pants’). After spending all winter whinging about the cold and rain and waiting for a ray of sunshine all through the damp days of Spring, they aren’t very enthusiastic about summer once it actually gets here. Kind of like guests coming to stay with you – you think it’s going to be so nice, and then on the second morning of having to listen to someone sing chamiya songs in the shower you can’t wait for them to be gone. The Brits share a similar relationship to Summer. A couple of days of 30 plus degree weather and they realise how ill equipped they are to handle the heat. And then they head off to Malta or Rhodes where it’s even hotter for a few weeks. If you can figure that one out, please mail me and let me know.
The ones that don’t go anywhere for summer, decide to bring their vacation to them. (Similar to the mountain and Mohammed story). This means Daisy Duke shorts, bikini tops masquerading as tops, see through skirts, Rastafarian braids and all out bare chestedness if you’re a man. I don’t know which is worse. Ageing breasts that look like weathered handbags, suffering from a memory lapse as they obviously can’t remember how to get in to a bra. Or hairy, beer bellies hanging over denim waistbands covered in tattoos. Somebody stop the madness. Travelling by tube is bad enough in the summer without having to spend 2 hours with someone’s butt crack staring at you.
If winter is the only way to get these people to cover up I’m all for it. I never thought I’d say it but I cannot wait for the temperatures to drop. The 60 year old bald man in satin shorts, sweat and nothing else striding down platform 7 at Kings Cross today morning was the last straw.