Worse than that, they used solar accelerants like coconut oil
to go as brown as brown could be. I never went brown.
When I caked myself in coconut oil and lay naked in the sun,
I'd crackle and spit for a while and then catch fire.
Howling pain from sunburn and bubbling blisters just seemed
to me to be what happened when you worshipped the sun.
You don't question things at the age of 9, 10 or 11.
At 11 I know many boys worked this out before they were 11,
but I was thick when it came to working things out I realised
I had a penis, and that was the end of the sun and health
club.
Phwoarr! I mean, even at 11, I had standards.
But there was one more nudism episode before closure finally
came on this allegedly obscene pursuit.
A good friend in the club was a fireman.
It would be foolish to reveal his club and real names as
there is every chance he has since won a Nobel Prize or
Lotto, so I will give his false name a false name.
I will call him Sibelius, which is also the middle name of
Ashley the butcher on Coronation Street.
Look it up.
Let us also believe that Sibelius' real name was Mick Jagger.
I was 14, and I had been left in charge of my younger brother
and sister one night, one very cold night.
The fire was soon out of coke, so in order not to go out in
the rain to replenish the bucket, I merely went into the back
room to find something burnable.
I found a wardrobe full of shoes.
An hour later, Mr Oliver from across the road rang up to say
the house was on fire. He had called the brigade. He knew I
was an idiot.
The first fireman to burst into the lounge, where I sat by
the fire rigid with fear and stupidity, was Sibelius.
"Sibelius! I cried. Thank Christ it's YOU!!"I never saw
Sibelius again.
Back at the station, I daresay Mick Jagger had a lot of
explaining to do.
He probably resigned on the spot and chose another career. -
Roy Colbert
