Bright pink bands around my thighs and calves are reacquainting me with a pain I've not felt since my irresponsible seaside childhood. Turns out Le Tan Gel can be rubbed off with extreme ease - and obviously was by the ends of my shorts and tops of my socks while I sat/stood/sauntered in the unceasing heat at Eastern Creek yesterday, watching the A1GP motor racing with the M. fellas. There's also singeing on my left wrist (watchband) and nose (I have a habit of pulling the visor of my cap down until it rests on the bridge). The moral of the whinge is: you can slather on SPF 30+ three times over the course of six hours and still come away sunblasted if it's poor-quality stuff. Just as well I specialise in damage control, innit? Vitamin E cream morning and night, plus the application of a makeshift ice pack in the evenings should hopefully end my dermal torment by week's end. I don't recommend dropping by the apartment for a visit, though, unless you want me to answer the door in my undies, on legs resembling seafood sticks.