Sartorial Summer Suffering

Summertime is the cruelest season for the fashion conscious British male on the coast. While the fairer sex can simply throw on a beach cover up over their bikinis while women’s magazines are packed full of style tips of what to wear on the sand. Meanwhile, our continental counterparts look effortlessly stylish with a combination of polo shirts, preppy shorts or cool linen suits.

But for your average Brit, summer is a minefield. Take a short stroll along your local paseo and you’ll see what I mean. The only T-shirt that a British male would seem to be comfortable in is his team’s football top. (And if you think I’m joking, stand in arrivals at Malaga when the Newcastle flight gets in. It looks like a Newkie Brown flashmob), pirate shorts (ok if you are an eight-year-old Jack Sparrow fan, not so good if you’re in your 50s) and, horror of horrors, socks with sandals.

Mind you, I am myself without the odd fashion faux pas. As it’s boilingly hot up at the Casita at the moment, I’ve taken to wearing a sarong around the place a la Becks, to keep certain parts of me cool. Imagine my horror then, when dressed in said sarong and doing a little air guitar to the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the iPod, my gardener came round the corner. Neither of us knew where to look.

As the saying goes “It may feel so right, but it looks sarong”…

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