On public embarrassment
The scene: Weymouth Swimming Baths
The date: The other Sunday, a morning spent swimming off years of bodily abuse, whilst getting the boy Scaryduck Junior away from his PlayStation for once in his life
The occasion: Your humble author's brush with death as a young lady - clearly over the age of consent - entered the pool area, wearing nothing but a miniscule spray-on bikini, which only just managed to cover her voluptuous charms. She lowered herself into the pool, letting out an audible "Ooh!" as the water reached her nadge, and stood in the shallow end, sporting a pair of marvels you could hang your coat and hat on.
Sadly, the base male chromosome-enriched animal inside me took control, and growling like some demented Sid James I found myself exclaiming the following to the middle-aged gentleman next to me:
He turned to me and said three words that will live with me forever:
"That's my daughter"
"Is she ...err... sixteen?"
Time I was leaving...