Skip to main content

Down with Speedos

Here in France the rule at the local pool is for men to bind up their man-bits in skimpy nylon and strut around with their chests puffed out. I kid you not, you're not allowed in the pool if you're wearing board shorts - it's Speedo-type trunks (fondly known as 'moule-boule' by ze Frenchies) or go away. And all on the grounds of hygiene or something equally ridiculous.

It's a different story on the other side of the Channel. Anyone mad enough to don skimpy trunks and go amongst the public in the style of Rod Stewart is routinely sniggered at and made to feel rightly ashamed of their foolishness.

Now Alton Towers, the fun-filled theme park famed across the Isles for its lengthy queues and insanely high prices, has made national Speedo-hatred official by banning them on the grounds of human decency, thus sparing decent daytripping families the sight of lycra clad willies zooming down water slides at high speed (not to mention trunk wedgies, painful for all present). Read all about it here.

Comments

Anonymous said…
Rumour has it that Sarko was jogging to fit into his new Speedos purchased by Carla. She had them especially contoured for her Sugar Daddy hubby for their hols in Corsica. Carla - ditch the Speedos and the Sarko and get a real man, surfing the waves in his trunks and keeping his sperm count high in their cool bagginess.
YLM said…
What a fantastic rumour. I can totally see Sarko in Speedos - he is skimpy trunks personified. And as for Carla, well, she never has had much taste in men... Let's keep the surfer dudes for more discerning women!
Manhattan Mama said…
Just spent the last few days on the California coast - not a speedo to be seen. Thank god.
Billy Jack said…
What....europeans are so gay.
We caught these 2 guys on the beach taking pictures of each other's speedo package for like 45 minutes. Oddest thing I've ever seen. And we have it on video......HAHA

http://doodiepants.com/2009/09/11/europeans-love-speedos-banana-hammock-fail/

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …