For all I know, mad dogs and Englishmen may still go out in the midday sun but nowadays the Englishmen are more likely to be smothered in factor 25.

Today, everyone knows that you should never, ever, sit in the sun and let your bare flesh get burnt, don't they? A dose of sunburn is unsightly, it hurts - and in some cases can lead to skin cancer. Right? Right.

In that case why am I walking around with a pink - and painful - panda face? (Panda because the area around my eyes is as white as one of my little toes.)

Yes, I was wearing sunglasses when I toasted myself in the Sussex sunshine last week but no, I was not wearing factor 25 sunblock, or any other sort of protective cream or lotion. At least, my face wasn't, though my arms were.

We, The Mother and myself, went to Eastbourne last Friday. We did some shopping, had our lunch in a small and quite delightful caf and then went and sat on the seafront so The Mother could watch The Red Arrows display.

"Did you put your sun lotion on?" she who has subsequently become known as Old Leatherface asked me.

Old Leatherface has the sort of skin that always tans and never burns but it doesn't stop her fussing about mine which has never tanned and always burnt.

Fortunately she then got talking to some elderly chap about Lancaster bombers and Spitfire engines (wonderful how these old ex-RAF types home in on each other after 60 years).

I was left to doze in the sun and doze I did. Two glasses of wine with my lunch and I could hardly focus.

While The Mother, aka Old Leatherface, and her new friend laughed and chatted and swapped wartime reminiscences, I snoozed - and sizzled.

Trouble was, it didn't seem all that hot. In fact there was a strong breeze and the sea, when I came round, looked quite choppy.

As we walked back to the train station my face started to feel uncomfortably hot and prickly.

"I'm either having a hot flush or I'm sunburnt," I thought. All things considered, I decided to put my money on the latter.

"Am I sunburnt?" I asked Old Leatherface, whose skin had developed a nice golden glow.

"You're very red," she said, "except where your sunglasses have been. And there you're very white, just like a panda."

"Why didn't you warn me?" I grumbled. "You must have seen I'd fallen asleep in the sun."

"I didn't like to wake you," she replied. "You looked so peaceful."

"You were so busy talking to your new friend I bet you didn't even notice what I looked like," I told her.

That looks bad," said one of my own friends at the weekend. "I thought you'd know better than to get sunburnt. You look like the Pink Panda ... tee-hee."

Then a second friend told me, and a third.

I scowled (even that was painful) at The Mother.

"Just one little word of warning from you and I could have avoided all this, it's so humiliating." I said.

"Well I've always said that someone like you should be especially careful in the sun," she murmured.

"You mean because I'm so fair-skinned?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I was thinking thin-skinned actually."