To speedo or not to speedo

Well now I've seen it all. A British waterpark has banned Speedos, and is even considering introducing mandatory bikini waxing for men, in a bid to "prevent unsightly hair being on display". What is it with the Anglo-Saxons and bodies? For goodness sake, what a bunch of prudes. It's the same over the Atlantic where, when I was there last week, I was taken aback to find huge billboard adverts proclaiming the sale of bras that definitely won't show your nipples. Why stop there? Why not sell bras that flatten your chest completely so we all look like girls (well, I'm already there) and trusses to hide mens bits too? What is going on? Are we all to be turned into Ken & Barbie, completely sexless?

In our local swimming pool (in France) men are ONLY allowed to wear Speedo type trunks, and those horrendous bermuda short, or rather long, things are banned, as guys have been coming in swimming in their day wear. And they all, for the most part, look very nice in them, thank you very much (and to the comments about the beer guts etc, well they look revolting whatever they're wearing, clothed or unclothed). Will we ban athletes and swimmers from wearing their most revealing kit? If we do, then I for one will stop watching ... it's a real treat to see the human body at its most magnificent. And as for missing out on Daniel Craig wearing his, well don't even start me off on that one ....

PS. Bring back cod pieces, that's what I say; mind you, they'd just be padding those out too.

Holiday Thoughts

I had a week's holiday last week, helping my best friend get through a landmark birthday. She lives in Massachusetts, so it was an American Week. The more memorable moments: her Bassett hound dribbling brown dribble all over my white linen skirt, and then white dribble all over my black linen skirt; drinking champagne on Plymouth beach, looking across the Atlantic to where it all started, collecting souvenir stones and shells; going to see Julie & Julia; being ladies that lunch (I have 3 extra kilos to prove it); receiving the most divine Marc Jacobs ring for my birthday; snoozing through "Duplicity" due to a sauvignon blanc and champagne haze (I didn't miss anything, VERY disappointing film).

It does have to be said, however, that the week was severely stylishly challenged. As you know, I refuse the "if you can't beat them, join them" philosophy, especially when it's just for one week, so made a point of NOT EVEN PACKING my jeans (tho' had to borrow my friend's after said Bassett slobbered all over white linen skirt), but I do empathise with her cries for help on the style front. Okay, she lives in the (smart) country, definitely NOT urban, but all I saw were sweat shorts, sweat shirts, sweat T-s (and lots of sweat with all that jogging and power walking), and you do begin very quickly to feel like you've just landed from outer space. We (her husband, two lovely daughters, she and I) completely dressed up for dinner on The Day, and went to a smart and chic restaurant, but were surrounded by people who looked like they'd just left the gym. Such a shame. Is style only reserved for the city? But we made all heads turn and looked FAB and felt even better.

So, back in sunny southern France, still bolt awake at 2am from jet lag, my break already seems weeks ago. Piles of pancakes for breakfast, tear-inducing giggling fits, non-French wine (oh bliss), all that will have to be put on hold for my next visit.

PS. Did I rant about being a tall person in economy class? €50 to get an exit seat? I DON'T THINK SO. I was lucky on this trip and managed to charm the ground staff, but really. It's an outrage.