NOT so long ago in the scheme of things (when compared to the Ice Age or the Pharaohs, for instance) there was a bit of a to-do about the appropriate attire for taking a dip.

Bathing has long been popular but when it first went viral, ladies found themselves struggling around in woolly bathing gowns, weighted at the hems to stop them floating up and deliberately designed to fill up with water once immersed to obscure the wearer’s figure.

These were the olden days and bodies of any description were largely considered vulgar and to be kept out of sight at all times.

In fact a description from 1687 says women’s bathing suits were “made of a fine yellow canvas, which is stiff and made large with great sleeves like a parson’s gown”. Irresistible.

More than 200 years later, being too racy was still a concern – in 1907, Aussie swimmer Annette Kellerman was arrested in Boston, Massachusetts, for wearing a swimsuit which revealed her arms, legs and neck. The hussy.

It wasn’t until the 1930s that bathing suits turned into the flesh-baring variety we recognise today, and the outrageous bikini didn’t even dare make an appearance until after the Second World War.

So it was a long old road for women to be allowed to bare their flesh as they wish in order to swim, sunbathe and actually enjoy a beach holiday without sweltering in a pile of soggy wool.

Which is why it strikes me as truly bizarre that in France, they are now trying to force women to expose their bodies by banning the burkini.

A woman is dressed respectably and modestly in a manner that makes her feel comfortable and yet people are marching up to her saying, “Sorry, love, this is a beach and you’ve got to get your kit off”?

One hundred years ago, we weren’t allowed to expose our bodies, and now we’re not allowed to cover them up?

Did feminism turn out to be an hallucination? Who are these knuckleheads who think it has anything to do with them what a woman wears?

Forget about religious beliefs, this is a simple matter of human rights. No one has the right to dictate to anyone how much clothing they wear and what sort.

Forbidding a woman to cover up is just as bad as forcing her to cover up. Whether she’s sporting an itsy bitsy teeny weeny bit of cloth or is covered from head to toe, I think you’ll find she has a brain – and is perfectly capable of making up her own mind as to what she wears.

  • I HAD a bit of a shock when I jumped out of a cab at Swindon train station on Saturday. At first I thought we were in the middle of a major incident – a terrorist attack on the station perhaps.

The multitude of police officers in hi-vis, brandishing riot helmets made it clear something was seriously amiss.

Being the keen newshound that I am (and having 15 minutes to kill before my train), I rang the news editor and announced excitedly: “Something’s going on!”

“Yeah, we know,” she said, not remotely impressed by my dedication to the news cause. “It’s the football.”

Of course – it was obvious as soon as she said it. The heavy police presence, the atmosphere of tension, the trepidation of passers by – it wasn’t a major incident, it was a football match.

I won’t risk the wrath of all those football fans out there by saying ‘it’s only a game’ – but I can’t be the only person who finds it pathetically sad that 90 minutes of 22 men kicking a ball around a pitch warrants a greater police turn-out than a pile-up on the M4 or an armed robbery at a bookies.

I know, as always, it is the few Neanderthals who ruin it for the well-behaved majority of fans. But it is depressing – especially on the back of the Olympics, which showed yet again how sport can bring people together.

Anyone who causes trouble at what should be a peaceful and entertaining sporting event should be forced to foot the bill for all that extra policing.

  • CREDIT where credit’s due. A few weeks ago, I wrote about a friend of mine, who was wrongfully accused of ordering clothing from JD Williams without coughing up.

Debt collectors Lowell Financial were in hot pursuit, and having seen my piece online, they got in touch with said friend.

Several weeks of extremely lengthy emails followed and I am pleased to report the matter has now been resolved. Lowell pulled out all the stops to help my friend, who can now leave the house without fear of a Sweeney-like high speed pursuit from the rozzers.

Her credit report has been restored to its truthful, unblemished version and Lowell, presumably, are still on the hunt for the genuine culprit.

What is frightening is that through this experience, it has become clear that our credit reports can be severely dented through no fault of our own but through the criminal actions of fraudsters. And we can merrily go through life without even being aware that our reputation has been tarnished.

The onus is on the innocent victim to get hold of their credit report (which will normally cost you a fee) and take up the fight to remove anything on there which is incorrect.

Surely there must be a fairer way of doing this? Why should someone who has been the victim of fraud be the one left sorting out the mess? How can someone else’s dodgy deeds have a direct impact on the blameless?

It should be down to the officers of the law, the financial services sector and the record keepers to ensure the innocent are not labelled with the crimes of the guilty. Credit where credit’s due, maybe, but how about debit where debit’s due?