The Not-So-Glorious Sun

Here in Mallorca, at least, I´m happy to say that once again, Spring has gotten off to a good start and there is only one thing that comes to my mind as I look forward to many more delightful spring days ahead - SUN.

Well, actually, there´s something else that hasn´t been able to escape, my knowledge, or my nose. Hayfever. My adult-developed allergy that is exteremly annoying, when all I seem to be doing is sneezing, blowing my nose and, of course, popping away at the anti-histamine pills. A dreaded result of spring suffered by a lot of us; yet most of the time I´m still convinced it´s a common cold, as all those snotty children who haven´t gotten over their winter flu, sneeze and cough all over me. No, a mixture of pollen and germs never seem to get past me spring after spring.

Oh well, there´s still that three-lettered word that instantly lightens up my day and puts a smile on my face every evening when I watch the weather forecast on the telly for the following day. Yes, that glorious, bright, yellow, beaming sunshine. Who doesn´t love it?

On my island of Mallorca, spring is almost always the beginning of long sunny days spent at the beach. To start with it´s nowhere near as hot as it is months later, but the sun does beam down on us most days and without that dangerous burning factor, thankfully. It is, without a doubt, one of the nicest times of the year it seems, especially where I live.
After months of the locals being all snug in their houses glued to that warm spot in front of their open fire or gas heater, (as we do experience cold winters in Mallorca too), it´s guaranteered that the first fews weeks of March, it suddenly feels like the population has dramatically risen overnight. Everyone enjoys daily strolls along the front - morning, afternoon and evening alike - whether they´re walking their dogs freely, wandering happily hand in hand with their partner, or even cycling, jogging and rollerblading; there´s nothing that keeps us all in our houses when we can be out enjoying those first few rays of sunshine.
And with the temperatures soaring day by day, those extensive, white sanded beaches that were left deserted for so many months, little by little become more and more dotted with white bodies, all in the hope to turn them that golden brown colour we all love to become by the end of the summer.
I hold my hand up high and admit to being, for years and years, one of those early sunbathers who just couldn´t wait to dig out my favourite bikini and roll out my beach towel onto that still cold, sandy beach. And also, for years and years, was I under the impression that, with the sun not being as warm, and the days not being as hot and sticky, that I could sit, lay or swim freely in Spring with little to no sunscreen on, as at least I´d be getting some colour. Oh, and colour I got. The same resemblane to the shade of a lobster I were to have the whole of the summer, as well as experiencing the sunstroke, blistering and peeling I have done all my life, and probably always will.

This is the one thing I hate about the sun. The sunburn that comes with it, the burning rays, the stifling heat, the dizziness it leaves us feeling if we´re sat out in it too long. But is it really the sun´s fault? Actually, it isn´t. And I began to realise that only last summer....

For years I´d been a victim of sunburn. My pale skin always turned red not brown at only a sight of the sun and my freckles got so extreme they would sometimes even join together.
I remember being in Greece at 7 or 8 years old and having blisters the size of golf balls on my right arm, and then having to swim in the hotel´s swimming pool wearing a t-shirt my mom had forced me into, as all my little brown friends showed off their stripey swimsuits. I hated it.
One year whilst holidaying, ironically, in northern Mallorca with a friend´s family, my so-called friend threatened to poor a glass of freezing cold water on my back if I didn´t put any sun-cream on. So I fell out with her for it.
At 16, I had to be rushed to the doctor one evening after laying out in my garden for hours on end on one of those scorching hot July days, leaving me with sunstroke and a whole front body so sore I could barely walk. The doc smothered me in cooling cream and told me to keep out of the sun for 2 weeks. I loathed him for it.
But was it all their fault? Not in the slightest. Were they all looking out for me and my fair skin and freckles? Of course, they were.

When I first moved to Mallorca every time I had my weekly chat with my parents, especially over the hot summer months, my also fair-skinned, red-head dad would repeat that same phrase over and over again until it was almost predictable as to the exact point in the conversation when it would pop up; "Make sure you put plenty of cream on". And I would reply in the same groaning way; "Yes, Dad", but really thinking at the back of my mind, 'Dad, do you not understand the importance of having a tan?'.
Of course I wasn´t going to cover my body head to toe in sun block when all I wanted was to be the colour of all those other bronzed Spanish beauties, all laid out in rows on the beach in their perfect bikinis and showing off their perfect tans. How I longed to turn the colour of my partner after a day at some hidden away cove we´d found by chance. We´d compare tan lines on the evening of our return, as he pranced around proudly with his deep brown skin and a perfect white line where his board shorts had been. All I had to show were streaky red marks for bits I´d forgotten to put cream on and hundreds more freckles than I had that morning. But no, I´d try everything summer after summer on a quest to get that golden skin I so very much longed for.

Then one year it finally hit me. After summers of exaggerated sunburn, prickly heat, sunstroke and far too much money spent trying to desperately found that one sun-cream that just must exist which would turn me brown not red, I suddenly realised I might as well have been living on cloud cuckoo land! When has a fair, freckly, naturally red-headed Brit like me ever been miraculously able to have that perfect tan we see in sun-screen ads? It´s just not possible.
I remember looking at a close-up reflection of me in the mirror, at 23 years old, after weeks spent sizzling in the sun and seeing all these little fine lines on my face and chest. These lines will now never go away and are only a result of one thing. Premature ageing caused by the damage that huge ball of fire in the sky has done to my skin. I look at the Spanish ladies, or even foreign residents who´ve obviously spent years over here - the ones who spend their days on a fold-away deckchair on the beach or sat around their private pool, in summer or on sunny winter's days - and they easily look 10 years older than they probably are. The lines on their faces are so prominent and their hair is so dry, who would possibly want to look like them when they´re 50?
It´s people like that and research I do about what the UV rays are actually doing to our skin, that has changed the whole way I spend my summers. Sure, I absolutely adore the sun. A perfect day for me would be lying on a sun-lounger with an ice-cold cocktail on my hand. The feeling of sand between my toes can take me to the beach in my head in that very instant. I love it all.
But these days, you´re more likely to see me well and truly covered in SPF30, a trusting but stylish (of course!) sun hat and plenty of water nearby for that very important dehydration, also a dangerous factor caused by the stifling heat during the Mallorcan summer months. This year, I´m also considering investing in one of those brightly covered umbrellas that you also see people fiddling around with trying to fix it well in the sand, just so they have a buit of a guard from that dangerous sun. I always used to think, 'just roll out your towel and lap up the sun will you!'
I was actually amazed to discover that even the shade of a brolley is only protecting us by 95%.

No, this year I'm not allowing anything less than SPF15 in my house, and my partner can just forget that factor 2 oil he´s used to drenching his body with. No way, I don´t want a 40 year old, wrinkly husband. Whatever happened to keeping our skin supple and youthful looking, and always striving to look younger not older? We don´t think about that as we sprawl out on our beach towels, do we? And what´s the point of that high population of women who buy all those anti-ageing/anti wrinkle creams, if by the time it comes to their summer holiday in Cyprus or wherever it is this year, they lay out in the sun all day encouraging all those wrinkles to come back that the miraculous creams had supposedly gotten rid of?

I´m 100% clear on how I want my skin to look now and in the future. And that´s why that number on the bottle is more important than I ever knew. I don't want to look 10 years my age or develop skin cancer for that matter. And there's no point us all thinking , 'Cancer? No, that won't happen to me', when there are over 40,000 cases per year in the UK alone.
Beware beach babes. Let this be a lesson to you. Start looking after your skin. You'll thank me for it one day.