The sun is elusive here, but it's mighty.

It's Prosecco season. Living in the north of an island known for being soggy, foggy, and groggy means getting used to limited sunshine. But when the sun does come out (to scorch the land to a stifling 24 degrees) the UKers are out in all their glory.

Cultural Divide no. 144: sunshine = limited clothing. I recall my first Scottish spring, in 2008, when the sun gave us a balmy 19 degrees on a random February Wednesday. And out came the flesh. It's a British Tradition: If the sun is out, your skin is, too.

I rather admire those who bulge beyond their short-shorts and minidresses and tank tops (or bare chests, usually limited to men). Throwing all caution to the editors of Vogue, these brave souls bare their every roll and end up with fuchsia skin. I've always been one to fear bikini season (I want to spare others from the shock of my pasty-white, jiggly skin); Britain has taught me that this is a silly, unnecessary stress. Let it hang out, sister! Enjoy the sun! Bare it all, Prosecco in hand!

So, happy spring. May the goddesses of weather grant us enough sunshine to pink the skin of everyone, and enough Prosecco to make the pain of sunburn go away.