Kiss My Ash.

Five years ago I was working out in Malaysia for a company that produced and filmed TV adverts. I had a good time despite working 70 to 80 hour weeks for literally no pay, though had I arrived a day earlier than I did, I'm told I would have been a shoe-in for being cast in a mobile phone advert which required 5 decent looking white guys to act like a boy band. In the end I had to settle for being the token white guy in a red bull advert, something I've not seen the end copy of to this day.

But as my stay with the company was drawing to an end, I began to contemplate what I should do with the few days left before I returned to the UK, and decided I should return to England with something I'd never owned before; a tan, or at least a decent one.

Having been diagnosed with a 2nd degree case of BRFP* when I was young, I had never really pulled off more than a healthy complexion after a week in the sun, and during my stay in Kuala Lumpur, I'd been very careful about putting on sun cream.

So, when the final day of work came, so did the smog. A cloud the size of England travelled up from Indonesia and successfully blocked out enough of the sun's light to create a permanent state of dusk.
The cloud was caused by Indonesian farmers burning their crops en mass, since apparently whatever it was they were growing was easier to pick after the fire, and was protected by a thick husk.



Cursing the farmers into even greater poverty, I returned home, untanned and still possessing a medical mask required for long term exposure to the cloud.



This year, it seems having failed to tan properly in California, I am being denied the opportunity once again, thanks to Iceland, the equivalent of the weird kid who tried to be cool and bring fireworks on a school trip, but instead got caught by the teacher, who then cancelled the whole trip, forever cementing its position as the nation that spoilt it for everyone else.

Thank's a lot Iceland. Dick.


*(Being Really Fucking Pasty)