Europeans are better at almost everything than us Britons, from food, weather and Eurovision to – ahem – football. But one place they lose, trousers down, is in acceptable male beachwear. Only on the beaches of Saint-Jean-de-Luz, Gran Canaria and Ostseebad Warnemünde will you find the local men confidently peeled down to nothing but a tiny pair of swimming briefs or, worse still in beach cafes come lunchtime, just the briefs with socks and sandals.
The British wouldn’t usually be seen dead in such figure-hugging monstrosities. Why is this? Has our collective modesty led us to a national repression? Or is there simply an unspoken British tradition of preferring to avoid implying: “Here are my genitals. Please rate them.”
