We were only a couple of days into our shortlived ‘heatwave’ at the weekend and I’d already seen enough naked flesh around Worksop to make a Dutch porn film director blush.
As the mercury soared to 19 degrees, a night time temperature across most of Europe, Worksop came out to party.
Folk weren’t the slightest bit bothered that it was actually still cool enough to wear a coat.
And with the breeze off the Ryton meant I was relieved to have left the shorts in the wardrobe and be properly kitted out in slacks and a pullover.
But once I’d got into the town centre it was as if I’d been transported to a B assetlaw version of Magaluf.
The clientele milling around outside the pubs and flaked out around the Canch was nothing short of terrifying .
Men wearing socks and sandals used to be frowned upon, but now it’s the tip of the iceberg.
This year’s primary fashion trend seems to be simply to wear as little as the local constabulary will let you get away with.
Everywhere I looked were naked male torsoes - either pasty white like corpses in a morgue or already a painful looking shade of lobster red.
And as for the gentleman walking up Bridge Street wearing bright orange shorts, a handkerchief on his head and nothing else - you know who you are...
Unfortunately, Worksop’s lady folk were also venturing into the sunshine and embarrassing themselves in equal measure.
There seems to be a quite frankly alarming trend for the more mature lady (I use the term loosely) to do her shopping in a bikini top.
The truly alarming thing is that we’re not even properly into the summer yet.
So if the temperature goes up another five degrees you can look out for a whole lot more broiled flesh - its enough to put you off your barbecue.