Rocky Racoon

Everyone in their right mind apply sun cream before they go snowboarding. Everyone knows that at this time of the year, if you don't protect yourself, you get burnt, seriously burnt - blisters and all. Everyone knows. Myself included. But I wanted to eternalise my last outing of the season by getting myself a goggle tan. So I neglected the cream idea and naively invited the Arpil sun to shine upon my unprotected face.

Walking on the High Street on this busy Saturday has been rather entertaining - it's been amusing to watch people's reactions to my leprotic-looking face. Discreet but intent stares. Unashamed question marks on children's mouths. Sympathetic but inquisitive eyes. Confuzzled frowns.

But it also left me feeling alienated. Uprooted. I wanted to go back to where I felt I belonged. Where I was understood. Back to where my poor peeling tan could freely express itself and not want to hide its face in shame. Back to where people could distinguish a goggle tan from a disease. I wanted to go find my homies ... at least until I stood at the checkout in Tesco.

At that point, the curse of the goggle tan became source of much joy. When I handed my money over, the girl uttered these long awaited words: "Have you been snowboarding?" At that very moment, my mourning was turned into dancing. I instantly felt understood. Accepted. Acknowledged for the right reasons. I walked back shopping in hand, with a smile across my face, oblivious to people's scrutiny.

My ears are currently seduced by: Jack Johnson - In Between Dreams