In the middle of the day, in a sweltering, sweaty train carriage, I am surrounded by flesh. Heaving, clammy, pulsating flesh. No, this is not the start of my disappointing debut erotic fiction attempt, but the disturbing reality of travelling to a British seaside town amid a summer heatwave in 2026.
I cower into a corner and flinch every time someone in the cramped carriage brushes up against me. An already uncomfortable experience is made a hundred times worse by the fact that approximately 90 per cent of my fellow travellers are not wearing what I would deem to be “real” clothes.
The men are brazenly topless, nips out, for all the world as if they were already topping up their radioactive sunburns on the beach. The young women are slightly more modestly covered up on top with their tiny triangle string bikinis, but more than make up for this deficiency on the bottom half – a whisper of swimwear that disappears up the arse crack to display both bum cheeks in a proud and prominent full moon. In some cases, a scrap of crochet attempting to pose as a “skirt” in the merest nod to public decency; in most cases, there is zero buffer between skin and the outside world.
When we arrive into Folkestone, the Kent coastal town that I usually feel fortunate to call home, they pour off the train in droves. And as I’m caught up in this horrifying, moist-to-the-touch swell of near-nakedness, I can’t help but applaud a small Italian fishing village’s recent decision to put a stop to such nonsense.
A few days ago, Varenna by Lake Como introduced fines of up to €200 (£170) for people who waft around with bare chests or wearing nothing but swimwear – part of a bid to curb uncouth behaviour. As Mauro Manzoni, Varenna’s mayor, put it: “Our residents’ quality of life cannot be sacrificed on the altar of mass tourism.”
And, as one local shopkeeper put it: “On the beach, you can do what you want – but when you’re walking around and go into shops, restaurants, churches, or in the square, you must dress decently.”
As someone who lives in a growing tourist hotspot, I can see why people around the world are becoming increasingly hostile towards visitors
I couldn’t agree more! As someone who lives in a growing tourist hotspot, I can see why people around the world are becoming increasingly hostile towards visitors overwhelming their hometowns and, to put it mildly, ruining the vibe.
For something seems to happen when ordinary, decent folk grab their bucket and spade and head to the beach on a hot day – civilised behaviour goes out the window.
Perhaps the sun goes to their head, or the excitement of Britain getting a genuine, scorching summer makes them forget everything they ever learned about functioning in polite society. The less generous part of me thinks it’s more to do with the fact that given when they’re on somebody else’s turf a total absence of shame goes hand in hand with the lack of real-world repercussions.
As heatwaves become a “normal” part of UK life, though, I’m going to have to insist on some rules. We need to have some heatwave decorum, people, rather than transform into the worst version of “Brits abroad”, especially when we’re technically still “Brits at home”, regardless of whether the thermometer is nearing 40C.
Here are my seven other unacceptable behaviours that should be outlawed with immediate effect.
Drinking while walking around
Yes, drinking is one of Britain’s main national pastimes, a sacred ritual that seems to mysteriously bind us together in a way that little else does. No, we should not be doing it in the street. By all means, crack open your tinnies in a park or on the beach – or, even better, contribute to the local economy by splashing out on a cocktail at a beach bar or pints in a pub beer garden. But stumbling along the high street in the middle of the afternoon while chugging a can of Strongbow? I’m afraid that’s the definition of indecorous, dahling.
Drinking in general
On that note, our propensity to day drink seems to rise in line with the mercury. It’s all good fun… until it’s not. I’ve no wish to kill anyone’s buzz (or their BuzzBallz, for that matter), but battling through a swathe of totally trollied tourists being messy, slurring abuse, picking fights and loudly chundering outside your local chippie is the antithesis of a fun day out at the seaside.
Peeing in public
Let’s add urinating outside – in daylight, in full view of traumatised children and the elderly – to the list of atrocities. Just because you’ve gone to the beach, doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly turned into a cat. The sand is not your personal litterbox. And the sea is not your dumping ground.
Littering on the beach
There is little more disheartening than wandering along the coastal path on a Sunday evening after a warm weekend and witnessing the abject carnage left behind: cans, plastic packaging, cold chips, broken windbreaks, deflated unicorn inflatables…
Public barbecuing
This might be an unpopular opinion, but I don’t care – barbecues are for back gardens, not public spaces. Trying to relax and enjoy yourself on our glorious stretches of beach, in our pretty coastal park or other green spaces feels like a fruitless endeavour when coughing and spluttering amid billowing clouds of smoke stinking of burnt swineflesh. (Oh, and disposable barbecues still count as litter, FYI – see the above.)
Blaring out music
What is it about the sun being out that makes people – specifically people with terrible taste – think they have a divine right to foist their song choices upon the rest of the human race? Whether strolling along the promenade hefting a boombox or setting up your mini speaker for all to hear on a popular strip of seafront, disturbing the peace in such a heinous fashion is self-involved, anti-social and should, imho, be punishable by law.
Going barefoot
One of the key tenets that I believe should govern every area of public life: shoes are not optional. Hanging out in your own house and garden? Strolling along a sandy beach? Reclining on a picnic blanket? Fine, kick them off and let your trotters breathe with impunity. Literally almost anywhere else? Keep them on, damn it – if only to avoid the inevitable broken bottle shards and dog poo that give Britain’s streets their, ahem, “quaint charm”.