When a single sunbeam laboriously works its way through layers of clouds and falls exhausted on the ground, it’s a sign for the public to go full abandon.

This means stripping off to your upper layer of epidermis, exposing sights most shocking to say the least.

On display is an army of mutilated bodies covered from earlobe to toe in bizarre tattoos which look like a badly decorated Christmas tree.

A strategically-placed scrap of denim seems to be the general wearing apparel, when in reality bedsheets would be more suitable for covering up this tattoo epidemic.

Gone are the days when a discreet little swallow or, to be more daring, a red rose would be placed on the body, out of the gaze of others and seen only by the person you were intimate with at the time.

I’d rather cross alligator-infested waters on a leaky boat than have an explosion of ink on my body to live with.

Victor Roman, Gloucester Road, Brighton