GOOD God! Sunshine and lots of it. Whatever will they think of next?

Don’t they know an Englishman is at his best when his stiff upper lip has raindrops hanging from it and a few more trickling down his neck?

 What are we all to do now everyone can see our faces and everyday clothing unobscured by all-weather anoraks and hoods?

For an obvious start, some people actually benefit by having their faces kept from public view, myself probably included in that, but the real test of sunshine is people’s choice of clothing.

What a peacock’s array that can produce and, just having come back from town and the seafront, it seems that the latest Parish fashions have given Weymouth a miss.

There was no chic silk and swirling summer dresses for women or snappy linen outfits for men but, in their places, there was still plenty of effort to make a fashion statement…even if that statement did seem to be “I have no dress sense at all”.

But hey! We can’t all be dedicated followers of fashion and the nearest I’ve ever got to it was listening to the immortal song Ray Davies wrote for The Kinks.

Few people in my zone would be seeking a dedicated follower of fashion, but one man I saw clearly fancied himself in the role.

Sporting a panama with a feather jauntily stuck in the hat band, his white trousers and purple belt were offset by a vomit-coloured shirt and spangled braces. He got ten out of ten for courage but clearly needed encouragement to seek medical help.

Women, too, seem to have thrown caution to the winds, inflamed by the heat and a chance to freshen up faded tans to a ferocious lobster pink.

Trouble was, you could see so many of them had been at for a couple of days because of the bands of white where blouse or bra straps had shifted slightly.

What clothing they were wearing varied from flimsy tops with obligatory floral stitching to rampant insanity in the form of zebra-stripe leggings, leather skirts and boob tubes tastefully set off by coloured hair straight out of Nightmares R Us. No wonder so many people wear sunglasses!

And of course Christmas feasting, Easter chocolate and Aunt Ethel’s 70th birthday celebrations have taken their waistline toll, so the female form is, well, perhaps a little fuller than its owner would like at the start of summer.

The result is that all the clothes which fitted last year are creaking at the seams this year with outfits filled to bursting point revealing every unflattering spare tyre.

The tears that must have been shed when summer dresses, tops and shirts were tried on for first time this year must have filled Olympic swimming pools many times over, but the wearers still seem to have decided to go ahead.

Perhaps they reason that a silhouette like Michelin Man is only a passing phase they can deal with by eating a few salads.

Whatever their thinking, the crowds I’ve seen in town and along the seafront recently will need to consume a veritable market garden’s worth of salad to even dent the rolls of fat on offer.

With luck and fierce dieting people may slim down a bit ready for carnival….by which time the summer season will be virtually over and it will be time to disturb the moths and get out the cardies and pullovers to cover up again ready for nine months of English winter.


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