Topless sunbathing: it seems there are knockers everywhere
We see them every day on TV, but yet we can't deal with the sight of a real pair of breasts, writes Bryony Gordon
Readers of a nervous disposition should look away now. Right. Have you turned the page, moved on to the obituaries, or perhaps the weather? Then I shall begin. When I go on holiday, I like to sunbathe topless. The beach towel goes down, the book comes out, and the bikini top flies off, often in the direction of a startled friend who has clearly never seen a pair of breasts before. Seeing as I won't be using the top to cover my chest, I suggest that instead they use it to cover their prudish eyes.
Topless sunbathing is a wonderful thing; a holiday in itself from underwired bras. But people are turning their backs on bare bosoms. In France, where the whole thing kicked off in the Sixties thanks to Brigitte Bardot, a poll revealed that the majority of women would never go topless on the beach.
Riviera resident Joan Collins, cementing her position as a feminist icon, announced that only Wags, chavs and hookers took their tops off on the beach. A group of Australian politicians tried to ban it in 2008, with one Labour MP, Paul Gibson, posing the searching question: "If you're on the beach, do you want somebody with big knockers next to you when you're there with the kids?"