Caroline Hurry

Less is more applies to minimalistic décor, cellulite and traffic fines. When it comes to men’s bathing apparel, less is never more.

A snake appeared in my holiday Garden of Eden recently. More anorexic earthworm than anaconda, but therein lies the problem with a Speedo. Nothing is left to the imagination, not even your religion.

Every chap I see in a budgie-smuggler seems hung like a hamster. Perhaps it’s the cold water. What does amaze me is their insistence on wearing this distressingly skimpy item when only lifeguards, Olympic swimmers or pre-pubescent boys can get away with it. All others, plump men in particular, deserve a hefty spot fine.

Imagine my dismay when a male admirer with a quarter to three feet and a flabby bum materialised next to me flaunting himself in a thong. A thong! Obviously I assumed he was gay, but he said he was from Belgium. Even so, as all right-minded women would agree, G-strings belong on guitars, never wedged between a man’s buttocks.

In terms of horror, the sight of a man in a thong ranks alongside the discovery of a fingertip in your burger or dropping your car keys down a storm water drain. The high-cut posing pouch may promise an adequate lunchbox from the front but the sagging rear view is no picnic!

Guys, please ‒ PLEASE ‒ if you’re neither a Sumo wrestler nor a male stripper, then Speedos are not for you. Loose mid thigh-skimming baggies are the way forward. Trust me.