Just in the Museum Gardens in York with my translucent skin shining with Piz Buin and lying on my M & Co pashmina with my sarong rolled up to the knees and my fat tits falling out of my strap top while three old women gaze in dis-proval from the shade of a tree.
My brogues and socks and Coca Cola lie beside me.
I hope I get a tan and for a short time
and a cheap rhyme
get to forget that I’m a Brit in summer time.