Daylight saving? What about sunlight saving policy?

This weekend will see the start of British Summer Time. Officially, that is. As the winds bully and bluster us, and the freezing rain pelts down relentlessly, it requires extraordinary faith to see but the faintest glimmer at the end of winter's tunnel.

But it does set me thinking, and winging, and therefore blogging. If officialdom is prepared to notice the sun, and how it does play quite an important part in our lives, and if it can establish measures to save daylight (that grey stuff straggling meagerly down through the interminable stodge of our sky), then why can't it take seriously Sunlight Saving and Sharing policies? What good is extra daylight if if all it reveals is grumpy grey? How much more enlightened would be a policy that recognises it's not light per se we like, but sunshine. The real stuff, good and strong and not sieved through the devil's sock we call our sky?

I refer, of course, to my modest proposals for Solar Flexi-Time being adopted in this country. These have been devised to address the abuses arising from the current Sod's Legislation that sunny days invariably occur during the working week, and that, come the weekend, the skies are as black as our barbecue prospects. Absenteeism currently soars during a heatwave, indicating a grass roots disgruntlement with the current situation. So why not allow employees to slope off to parks and beaches whenever the sun shines, and to make up the workload when the clouds return? As they no doubt will. Imagine the good health of the economy if we'd all worked through last 'summer'. And if we have a fine one this year, then it's only fair. Over time it would find its level, and make most of us a good deal happier. A well-sunned, happy workforce is a productive workforce. So SAVE OUR SUNSHINE.

Rejoice: It's National Sunshine Day

Today is the Vernal Equinox. The day, as my druidic advisers inform me, when the 'the light is in the ascendancy and first matches strength with the darkness, and the young sun reaches maturity on winning this annual clash of horns'. Got that? I prefer to look on it as the sun's coming of age party. Or ancestors solemnised this important date with their ceremonies; but we, cosseted sophisticates, have lost touch with the solar rhythms, and the sun has forsaken us. Look at that sky today? Dismal. And what does this foretell for the summer? Well, there is no reason for us to prance around in woods, naked except for white flowing robes which scarcely conceal the perky outlines of Ingrid Pitt (in her younger days), or that saucy one with the weird eyes who always gets vampirized. Although, if you do, let me know when and where. The sun can still be welcomed back and encouraged by modern means. We can celebrate the good old current bun's return by wearing a piece of yellow, smiling a bit, and with a few sunny pop songs.

There's plenty of them. Pop loves the sun. And to prove it, none other than Nick Reynolds, the High Priest of Heliotastic Hi-Fi, has sprinkled some sonic solar scorchers into his weekly show, to get you hipsters humming and hymning the sun on this, his very special day. Check out show 51, the equinox extravaganza, and let the sunshine in with style.

Sunshine, not Moonshine is what London wants

After much deliberation I have decided to stand for London Mayor. http://www.londonelectsyou.co.uk/MemberProfile.aspx?member=402395

Londonelectsyou are allowing Londoners to vote for real people - instead of self-serving politickers out to feather their own nests, feed their newts or afford better hair-control products - and enable candidates to put on the agenda policies that really matter to London. It also provides a soap box for every mountebank and self-promoter to step on to and spout his own brand of moonshine to the people. Needless to say, I mount my solar soapbox out of the purest motives, and to help bring sunshine, not moonshine to path the grey streets of London with sparkling sunlit gold.

Sunshine is the one thing that unites, excites and delights London. It brings us out on the streets (which is more than can be said for politics or polling days), crowding the parks and urban beaches, the city squares at lunchtimes and the pub pavements in the evenings. LONDON LOVES SUNSHINE, and London will have Sunshine if it votes for me: standing as The Sunshine Superman at http://www.londonelectsyou.co.uk/MemberProfile.aspx?member=402395

So vote, sun-lovers (you can vote for the real scoundrels on the day), voting for me helps publicise the current solar rights abuses London and the whole of the UK suffer from currently. Do your bit to let the sunshine in, and ensure the Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow (or rather May 1st), in old London Town.

When destiny called: the founding of my sunshine crusade

People ask me, Helioholic, how long have you known solar activism was your vocation? I smile benignly, and recall the following moment of ephinay.

I must have been about 6. Like most children, I nurtured dreams about what I wanted to be when I grew up. These included the usual things like spy, detective and rock star; but before that I, like so many young boys, formed my aspirations on the football pitch. But unusually, I wasn’t interested in being a star striker, or spectacular goalie, or any of those chaps sharing the glory. I wanted to be the guy getting ALL the attention.

It must have been around 1974 (the annus mirabilis of the profession) when I saw my first match or news coverage, and I knew what I wanted to be. Not a striker, but a streaker. I didn’t understand he wasn't actually an official part of the proceedings, or that streaking wasn’t actually a profession. More of a calling. And it called to me.

So I decided to give it a go. It was early one Sunday, and the sun was shining, when I set off starkers to do a circuit of the cul-de-sac on which we lived. I’m not sure there were many witnesses to my maiden voyage in unclothed expression. There was one that I know of. My brother, who promptly marched to my parents and grassed me up. With bare-faced cheek I flatly denied it, and somehow convinced them of the absurdity of the claim.

From then onwards, I knew streaking was illegal, had its perils (exposure in so many senses), and was not as rewarding as one might imagine. But I also knew my destiny was to express myself in the great outdoors, and to help others enjoy the benefits of sunshine in a (legal) minimum of clothing.

Streaking may (alas) be a thing of the past, but sunshine is part of the glorious future.

Soundtrack to a scorcher: second installment

Another of the essential listening tracks for encouraging and celebrating the weather we all love.

Mr Blue Sky by The Electric Light Orchestra (1978).

I hated this song when it first came out. I liked the Police and Blondie, and these guys were big hairy twerps who wore bow ties. But it has grown on me over the years. It nudged its way into my affection with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, when it was used for the trailer.

It's a silly song. The sun Has Got His Hat On in beirdy-weirdy guise. Grandiose, operatic, inflated (making Queen look like a bunch of minimalist shoe-gazers), and paints rather childish in its personification of the elements. A picture book view of the weather. But why not? It expresses a very English response to that amazing feeling you get when the bloody grey clouds that have laid siege to our island for months eventually lift, and you are reminded that skies are also available in blue. Everyone smiles, the colours are brighter, and we are given a glimpse of how our world might be. That's worth singing about, and, yes, it does make you feel rather childish. Perhaps reminding us of a time when it was always sunny and summers were always dependable. Sigh.