It’s July now and excepting a disastrous episode in a Dublin hotel room and a can of fake tan spray in mid-June, I have avoided the look of the Tango since the sun first made a tentative appearance in May.

Until now.

I’m going to Madrid on Friday for a three day hen do marathon and I just couldn’t face it looking half dead. Milky white complexions look good in costume dramas and on Nicole Kidman, neither of which represent the average woman’s everyday beauty endeavours.

So then. I have enlisted The German, smothered myself - twice for a head start - in that ‘every day’ holiday skin muck and I fully anticipate to wake up tomorrow smelling like a packet of digestive biscuits with a touch of the Jodie Marshes. Hot stuff.

The beauty motto: if it doesn’t stink/make you howl in pain/make your boyfriend recoil in horror at the instructions, then it just ain’t working.

FACT.