Sun Safety Day

It was a hot day in London.

Not “slightly warm, maybe take a jumper off” hot.

Proper hot.

The kind of hot where the pavement looks tired, the ice cream melts before you’ve paid for it, and every adult says, “We must enjoy this,” while quietly regretting everything.

At breakfast, Mum was already in full summer mode.

“Hats,” she said.

“Water bottles.”

“Sunscreen.”

Barry looked up.

“…Why?”

“So you don’t burn.”

“I don’t feel burny.”

“You will,” Mum said.

Dad wandered in, already wearing sunglasses indoors, which he believed made him look cool.

“It’s a great day for sun,” he said.

Mum raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how sentences work.”

Barry sniffed. “…Dad smells funny.”

“I’ve put on my oil,” Dad said proudly.

“What oil?” Mum asked, suspicious.

“…Bronzing oil.”

Mum froze.

“WHAT SPF?”

Dad hesitated.

“…Four.”

There was a silence.

A long, meaningful silence.

Alfie looked up slowly. “…That’s not protection.”

“It’s… encouragement,” Dad said.

“It’s sunburn in a bottle,” Mum replied.

Barry nodded. “Dad is going to cook.”

“I am not going to cook,” Dad said.

“You look like a chicken,” Barry added.

At pre-school, things were equally serious.

Miss Patel stood at the front, holding a large bottle of sunscreen like it was the most important object in the world.

“Today,” she said, “we are talking about sun safety.”

Barry sat up.

Marmaduke sat up.

Alfie was not there (because Alfie was at school, learning sensible things and not comparing people to roasted poultry).

“This is important,” Miss Patel continued. “The sun can be dangerous if we don’t protect ourselves.”

Barry whispered to Marmaduke, “My dad is in danger.”

Marmaduke nodded gravely. “SPF four is low.”

Miss Patel held up a poster.

“Slip, Slop, Slap,” she said.

Barry blinked. “…That sounds like a game.”

“It’s not a game,” she said. “It’s how we stay safe.”

“Slip on a shirt.”

“Slop on sunscreen.”

“Slap on a hat.”

Barry repeated it quietly. “Slip… Slop… Slap…”

Marmaduke joined in. “Slip… Slop… Slap…”

Barry grinned. “I like it.”

“Now,” Miss Patel said, “who can tell me what SPF their parents use?”

Barry’s hand shot up.

Of course it did.

“Barry?”

Barry stood proudly.

“My dad uses SPF four bronzing oil.”

There was a pause.

A very long pause.

Miss Patel blinked.

“…Four?”

“Yes.”

“For… bronzing.”

“For burning,” Marmaduke whispered.

Several children gasped.

One child said, “My mum uses fifty.”

Another said, “We use fifty plus.”

Marmaduke raised his hand. “We use very big numbers.”

Miss Patel nodded slowly.

“…Yes. Big numbers are good.”

She turned back to Barry.

“SPF four is… quite low.”

Barry nodded. “Yes. He likes danger.”

Miss Patel took a deep breath.

“Alright,” she said. “This is why we learn.”

Barry leaned over to Marmaduke. “We have to save him.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Yes. From himself.”

The lesson continued.

“Hats protect your head.”

“Shirts protect your skin.”

“Sunscreen protects everything else.”

Barry listened carefully.

Marmaduke listened carefully.

This was serious now.

“Now,” Miss Patel said, “let’s practice.”

She handed out pretend bottles.

“Show me how you put on sunscreen.”

Barry squeezed.

A lot.

Too much.

Way too much.

His hands were covered.

“Enough,” Miss Patel said.

Barry looked at his hands.

“…But what if I need more protection?”

“That is already too much protection.”

Marmaduke copied him.

“I am very safe,” Marmaduke said, hands dripping.

Then came the twist.

Playtime.

Outside.

In the sun.

Real sun.

Not pretend sun.

Barry stepped out.

Paused.

Looked up.

“…It’s bright.”

Marmaduke squinted. “Very bright.”

Barry turned serious.

“Operation Save Dad begins.”

At home, Dad was in the garden.

Lounging.

Relaxing.

Still shiny.

Still smelling like tropical regret.

Mum sat nearby, laptop open, watching him like a scientist observing a risky experiment.

“…You are going to regret that,” she said.

“I feel great,” Dad replied.

“You look… glossy.”

“It’s the oil.”

“It’s the mistake.”

The gate burst open.

Barry ran in.

Marmaduke behind him.

Both determined.

“DAD!” Barry shouted.

Dad sat up. “Hello!”

“You are not safe,” Barry said.

Dad blinked. “…I beg your pardon?”

“You need protection,” Marmaduke added.

Before Dad could react—

Barry grabbed a bottle.

SPF 50.

Large.

Powerful.

Mum’s.

“Wait—” Dad started.

Too late.

Barry squeezed.

A lot.

Again.

A very familiar pattern.

“THIS IS FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY!” Barry shouted.

And then—

He slapped it on.

Arms.

Face.

Legs.

Everywhere… hair, eyebrows… even a squirt down Mr Brand’s boxers!

Dad froze.

White.

Very white.

Completely covered.

“…I can’t see,” he said.

Marmaduke nodded. “That means it’s working.”

Mum looked up.

Paused.

Then—

She laughed.

A real laugh.

A proper laugh.

Because honestly—

What else could she do?

“You look like a ghost,” Barry said.

“I feel like a ghost,” Dad replied.

“You are protected,” Marmaduke added proudly.

Dad looked at his arms.

Thick white streaks.

Uneven.

Everywhere.

“…This is a lot of sunscreen.”

“Yes,” Barry said. “You needed it.”

Mum stood up.

Walked over.

Inspected.

“…Well,” she said, “you won’t burn.”

Dad sighed.

“…I suppose that’s something.”

Barry crossed his arms.

“Slip, Slop, Slap.”

Dad nodded slowly. “…I see.”

“You did not slip,” Barry said.

“You did not slop,” Marmaduke added.

“You did not slap,” Barry finished.

“I feel slapped,” Dad muttered.

Later, Alfie came home.

He walked into the garden.

Saw Dad.

Stopped.

“…What happened?”

Barry stood proudly.

“We saved him.”

Alfie nodded slowly. “…From what?”

“Sun danger,” Marmaduke said.

Alfie looked at Dad.

At the sunscreen.

At the situation.

“…This is excessive.”

“It’s thorough,” Barry said.

Mum sat back down, smiling.

“Lesson learned?” she asked.

Dad sighed.

“…Yes.”

“And?”

Dad paused.

Looked at the bottle.

Looked at Barry.

“…SPF fifty is… better.”

Barry nodded. “Correct.”

That evening, as the sun began to set and the house finally cooled down, Barry sat back, satisfied.

“I think,” he said, “we did a good job.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Very good job.”

Alfie agreed. “…Surprisingly effective.”

Dad looked at his reflection.

Still slightly white.

Still very protected.

“…I look ridiculous.”

Mum smiled. “But safe.”

And as the day ended, one thing was clear:

Sun safety was important.

SPF mattered.

And if you forgot—

Barry and Marmaduke would absolutely fix it for you.