Suntan Parity

I’m sitting on the terrace of a hotel in Provence, enjoying the morning sunshine, eating a pain au chocolat, drinking coffee and, as we all do on holiday these days, checking my email. Amid all the junk, spam, phishing and marketing newsletters that I have inadvertently signed up to there is a message from the Picture Editor of Money Week reminding me to send over a selection of cartoons for their next edition (they run a “classic’ Alex cartoon every week). She signs off with a cheery “I hope you’re enjoying the sunshine.” “Ah,” I think, pleasantly surprised, “I didn’t realise I’d told her that I was going away on holiday. How kind of her to remember.” Almost immediately I realise that she is not referring to the hot weather I am enjoying here in France, but the heatwave currently afflicting the UK.

This always happens to me, I reflect ruefully: whenever I go away on holiday the British weather suddenly ups its game and puts on a special show. The expensive suntan I have acquired in the South of France will be worthless on my return home as everyone will assume I got it sitting in my back garden. The next time I book to go abroad, I resolve, I will be sure to take out cancellation insurance. Then, as temperatures in Britain start to soar ahead of my planned absence, I will cancel my trip to the Amalfi Coast or the Greek Islands and take a staycation instead. Perhaps I could do a favour to a few of my friends and tip them off in advance about my holiday schedule, so they could save some money too.

Better still, I could actually monetise the situation, maybe via a crowdfunder. In exchange for a modest payment (say £1) I would inform anyone who signs up of the dates of my forthcoming holidays. People routinely spend large amounts of money on the National Lottery, when they have practically zero chance of winning, so surely they’d pay a pound to know the precise timing of the next spell of hot weather coming to Britain. If I promoted this service on social media I could end up with thousands of pounds to lavish on my holiday. This would be a win-win situation for me, because my trip would be a lot cheaper, as loads of Brits would stay at home that particular fortnight, causing rental prices on villas and gîtes in Southern Europe to collapse.

Once word got out about my remarkable powers of meteorological divination I might get funded by the British tourist industry to take a foreign holiday, so that they could put hotel prices up for the time of my absence in anticipation of a surge in demand. Or maybe various European Ministries of Tourism would club together to pay me to stay away from the Continent for fear of incurring lost revenue from British holidaymakers. Then I could start a bidding war between the various parties to secure my services and maximise my revenue.

So, despite the annoying suntan parity I will face on my return to the UK, I shall enjoy the rest of my time in Provence knowing that this should be the last holiday I will have to pay for out of my own pocket.

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