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In the words of Dorothea Mackellar, I love a sunburnt country, but over the years I’ve also learned to respect it and even fear it. Like many Aussies of my vintage, I have vivid memories of childhood sunburn so severe it felt like my skin had shrunk, followed by rounds of calamine lotion and then the inevitable reptilian peeling of skin. It was a reflection of endless summer days in the pool and holidays on the beach, an Aussie rite of passage. Leap forward to the present day and, like so many others, I now have family members and friends who have had to have chunks of flesh removed as a result of skin cancer. I am paranoid about my daughter’s alabaster skin, a gift from her English father. She…
