Don’t touch my bikini!

(By the way I’m not being weird, that is a quote from a song by the Halo Benders)

For I shall be going on holiday soon, it was time to take stock of any available swimwear I had. Three mismatched bikinis and one that appears a size too small later, I decided I may have to invest in a new garment.

Off I trundled to the Westend. It’s June, there’s loads of shops and there appears to be a sale on. Finding suitable attire should not be a problem.

First stop, Primark. An urban hell hole of a shopper’s warzone. Ladies are tearing at T-shirts and jumpers. I get confused and end up in the lingerie section. After feeling up half the bra section, I realise these are not for swimming in. Ooops.

Onto the beachwear! Locating something that does not consist of three strategically placed triangles and a bit of string is proving difficult already. God, if I wanted to show off quite that much of my dubious physique, I would have booked a week in a nudist camp! Do people really walk around wearing what is effectively a set of nipple tassles and a figleave? Hello? Less is not more. It is less.

On to H&M. Luminous colours seem to be very this season. I spot something that looks halfdecent in design, but, sadly, it appears to be only available in neon pink camouflage. No doubt it’d be great for hiding on the beach. Hiding amongst all the other neon camouflage ladies that is. By now I am harbouring a deathwish. It gets better: there’s a sign telling me that if I buy a bikini top, I shall get the bottom half thrown in for free! As opposed to what exactly? How many people are currently out frolicking on beaches bottom- or topless? Actually, I’d rather not know.

Next stop BHS. Ah, this is better. Sensible bikinis. Ones were you don’t end up with three quarters of breast tissue hanging out the sides. With matching bottoms that consist of squares rather than triangles. Needless to say, I found those in the ‘middle aged ladies section’ and they are thirty quid a pop. I will have to give that a miss.

Topshop! Two floors worth of organic, ever so urban pretend-vintage later, I finally spot the swimwear section. And there is it. A silver man-kini (or is that a woman-kini?). It’s so bright it has a halo. It looks like a fucking space suit. I haven’t seen such an exquisite alignment of lycra since the last cocktail party on Dallas. Better still, two women are actually picking the things up and take them to the changing room. I’m intrigued. They’re not actually going to … I hang around by the changing rooms (creepy, I know. But I had to know!). Both parties emerge victoriously and … take the silver shockers to the till! I am now convinced there will be an alien invasion soon. The kind where the old tinfoil hat just won’t cut it any more.

And all I wanted to do is acquire a bathing costume.