Innocent days of risking cancer

WHEN I was about 16 my sister and I, devoid of foreign holidays and feeling a little blue during the winter, hired a sunbed.

When I say ‘hired’, I don’t mean we went into a salon and paid a few quid to lie on one. We had it delivered to our house.

It arrived in a van, just the one half, which was laid on the bed, plugged in and emitted strong UV light.

You lay on it, as you would in the sun, turning yourself over to be basted every 20 minutes or so.

We had it for a week and it used up all our pocket money plus extra from my part-time job.

It was tantastic; we were absolutely delighted with ourselves and didn’t even have to wear the silly goggles that were supplied.

We got hot and brown (well, autumnal red really), and that neither of us has (yet) developed skin cancer is probably a miracle.

It seems ridiculous now to think such a thing was even legal, but business thrived.

When more tanning salons opened they were filled to the gills; then the ‘stand up’ in your lunchtime ones were even more popular and before long small children were being plonked on them to create a nice contrast against the communion dress.

I hadn’t thought of sun beds in decades, but there was Paschal Donohoe in Tuesday’s Budget managing to bring back all those memories.

Slapping on a higher VAT rate might be considered a good thing; but honestly, banning the mole machines altogether would have been better.