I once had a work colleague who held casual far-right views and would probably vote accordingly. He hailed from the part of Glasgow where the football team you support really matters, and one of his peculiarities was that he refused to expose himself to any sunlight to avoid tanning, in his words "In case someone thinks I'm a [expletive denoting Pakistani origin]". I felt duty bound to inform him that from my viewpoint his pasty-white and beetroot-red visage stood very little chance of provoking such a misconception, but still he remained firmly in the shade.
This lunchtime I thought of him as I took my customary wander through the fields surrounding my office. You see here in the UK it's been a beautiful week despite dire warnings of Icelandic ash, the sun has shone and life outdoors has felt good. And early signs have started to show of my usual summer's tan.
Should you encounter me en femme in the next few months you'll find me easy to spot. I'll be the one with the brown, red and pasty white striped arms. I mean, what can I do? If I stay in the shade, people might think I'm a BNP voter!