Out comes the sun and out comes my crocodile skin. This is gross and just in time for the Royal Wedding. Great. So I’ll be wearing red, white and blue accompanied by big wheals on my outer lizard layer.
This is a condition which I have suffered from on and off for years. I’ve whittled it down to using the wrong type of moisturiser so that both the sun and/or heat boils my skin to lobsteresque proportions.
Normally I remember to switch to an inoffensive one in time, but this year I was caught short on a caravanning holiday in Weymouth.
And just like that, three hours and a walk around Portland later, I’m bumpier than a potholed road after the snow’s melted.
On the plus side, caravanning was fun. The one we had – three bedrooms – was quite Tardis-like when I walked in.
Then the children entered and it shrunk by epic proportions in the space of the three seconds it took them to explore every nook and cranny, open and shut all the windows and get stuck between the beds.
The park contained hundreds and hundreds of rows of caravans. All identical. It was quite a challenge to find ours amongst the beige lanes come a dusky evening.
But the park was all very well-kept and had swimming pools, convenience stores, restaurants and gaming arcades. It was all too easy and lacking in something essential: character.
Perhaps this is what the Great British public wants – but where’s the moan factor in that? Where are the challenges to overcome?
The only story I have to tell is fighting off the giant seagulls, which eyed my youngest with a beady expectation.
Maybe they were hoping she would keel over and they’d grab her up and steal her away to feast on her later.
I don’t think I’ll be going again. After driving past 15 similar sites within walking distance of each other, I fear we’re building a Torremolinos of steel bungalows.
But it was cheap, it was cheerful and it was a few days away.
And so what if I ended up looking like a lizard? I was on the Jurassic Coast.