The Farmers Tan of Doom

The epic saga of my farmers tan, a Hemmingway-esque struggle between my white skin, armed with SPF 60, and the punishing African sun, has reached mythic proportions. In the end, one of us shall fall, and either I will be reduced to blackened cinders, or the sun shall give up in defeat, and, having expended itself, will retire in frustration, casting this continent into darkness. This farmers tan, which I now refer to as the 'Farmers Tan of Doom', is of such staggering contrast that when you see me next you might wonder 'Is that a man or a very macho Zebra?'