Faking it

Going on holiday takes a lot of preparation. Firstly there is the fun stuff - reading the reviews online of the hotel you're going to, buying cheap tops from Primark and fantasising about a week in the sun.

Then there is the admin stuff - the "where have I put my passport", "bugger, I forgot to order currency", "who's going to look after the cat?" (Thank you surrogate parents Mel and Andy!)

And finally there's the, "Crap, I'm pasty as fuck" part. This usually happens about a fortnight before the holiday, and - if you're anything like as naturally pale as I am - leaves you heading straight for the supermarket's fake tan aisle.

Now, we've all had fake tan disasters, some more memorable than others. In fact, I have yet to find a fake tan product that doesn't leave me patchy in parts, and hilariously dark-skinned in others. It's all part of the fun though. This year, I started early. A good month before the holiday, I stocked up on some of the moisturiser that promises to gradually turn your skin into "holiday skin". I applied it faithfully after every shower, despite the fact that (as my friend Erica noted) it makes you smell like pork all day.

I then "topped" up with a L'Oreal (because I'm worth it) spray can thingy, which was a bit like doing graffiti on my own legs. The legs were still - let's be honest - patchy, but I'd actually, for once, achieved a decent result on my tummy, which was looking bronzed, if not toned.

Smug, would be the best word to describe me on our first morning in Turkey when I put on my new bikini and swanned to the poolside. Smuggy smuggy smug.

And later that day, when we went for a Turkish bath, I was happy to parade around (so long as no-one was looking at my legs) because I had a tanned, tanned tummy.

Then the exfoliation started. After about five minutes of brisk scrubbing, my exfoliator (I wonder if that is her job title) took great pains to point out to me what a good job she was doing. In broken English, she said, "Here, look. Look at all dirty skin I have removed."

And she moved her hand to show me the remnants of my last month's hard work. Icky bits of my skin, in a subtle bronzed tone, were on her exfoliation equipment.

And the worst part? By the time she finished, my tummy was patchy. I looked a little bit like I had a pigmentation problem. I later tried to rectify this with emergency fake tan which I'd brought on holiday with me. This merely made matters worse.

I spent most of the rest of the holiday resembling an unimaginative patchwork quilt in various shades of beige. Until the sunrash broke out and I added a nice dash of bumpy red to accessorise.

I rock.