Swimwear Review (Or A Review Of My Swimwear)

So I've been keeping a low profile desperately trying to lose the odd pound/inch whilst we’re all still under wraps in our polo necks and big winter coats.  I've walked West London in the Masai Barefoot Technology trainers, swallowed copious amounts of acidophilus and psyllium husks (the coward's method of colonic irrigation), hauled my body through burpees in the snow at bootcamp this week, all in an effort to counteract my addiction to anything made with pork or cream.

My self-esteem, such that it is, I only want to be normal. Ordinary. The person you glimpse as she passes you on the beach and makes you think, Hey, I Like That Chick's Beach Bag, not, Man, Look At Those Stretch Marks/Cellulite/Caesarean Scar - okay, not that kind of beach. I'm only at the beginning of my resurrection from the ashes, not trying to give Elizabeth Hurley a run for her money.

I'm uncertain which crest of the wave I was riding when I ventured on the Figleaves website to look for mail order swimwear.  I made a New Year’s Resolution some years ago to replace the maternity swimwear which has seen me through 9 years of motherhood, but each summer I look at my body and then at the swimsuit and somehow the two merge into the shallow end again.  So, I braced myself and ordered roughly £700 worth of tactel with not a sarong in sight, so confident was I of my new MBT Body.

Not one bra from 32F to 36F via 34s C, D and E is strategically sufficient to cover my modesty. What's that all about? Am I Katie Price all of a sudden? Location!  Location!  Location!  I find that once I've scooped up my breasts from midriff and under armpits and stuffed them into the cups provided, my bosom did not so much dissipate after breastfeeding but simply relocate.

When faced with my generous chest, the bikini top transforms itself into a QUADini so that there's now a breast inside each of the cups and then a bonus other, on each side, sitting comfortably on top.  Not unlike jellyfish mating.  A No Go there then.

Okay, so what's the story with the tankini?  Is the answer in the question?  Why would anyone who had a gorgeous, i.e. SLIM WITH TITS, figure cover it up with a tankini?  And who in their marketing right mind would name this lycra top for Fat Birds anything where the sum of its parts still included the word TANK?

And, yes, of course, since it is no longer fashionable to look like Barbara Windsor in Carry On Nurses, I am forced to keep this sympathetic item in order to protect fellow sunworshippers from my more than ample bosom and pot belly.  Whilst governments attempt to reconcile the various border countries across the Middle East, I shall be mediating local quandaries between the top half of my swimwear and my bikini bottoms each time I arise from the sun lounger.

Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more.

To the Miracle Suit, as recommended by Trinny & Susannah - the tag claims LOSE TEN POUNDS IN TEN SECONDS !!!!! And sure enough, because the sizing is so screwed up, a UK size 12 is miraculously transformed mid-atlantic into a size 8. Oh, the joy of scrolling the drop down menu to click on an 8. But I've disillusioned myself once again: I thought that by giving up breastfeeding I could reclaim what's mine and remedy the war damage imposed by earlier conflicts.  Alas, it appears my body is still my children's, if not as a feeding zone then as a softplay area:  for £120 I do look okay, but there is always a B side and when I prise off this sartorial option I have tramlines all over my torso so deep that my kids could run their scalextrics around it all half-term.

The good news, of course, is that all this exercise has given me a new positive outlook – on the bright side, such is the parlous state of our finances that the time has come the Walrus said to cut back on the hideous amount of wine we guzzle.  This ensures fewer insulin producing calories and goes a little way to ameliorating the Farmyard Animals Diet which got me into trouble in the first place.

Anyway, as a guy called Will once said summer’s lease hath all too short a date, so for the very few days of swimsuit wearing weather we actually get in the UK and the dearth of foreign holidays we can afford, I have, of course, kept my longstanding maternity number on standby to see me through another year.

Pork and Cream (and Cider with Rosie apples)

Long slow cooked pork belly is delicious and all very well, but sometimes you only have a short time between mail ordering and picking up children from school so here is a quick one pan meal.

An onion halved and finely sliced

Garlic

A pork tenderloin

Thyme

Sage

Peel and sliced apples

¼pt cider

Cream

Paprika

Salt and pepper

Warm the oven to 150°C/300°F/Gas mark 2.

Heat some olive oil in a pan.  Fry the sliced onion until they soften for about 10 minutes on low.  Whilst the onion is frying, slice the tenderloin into medallions about 1½cm thick. Slice the apples into approx 1” thick slices.  When the onions are soft and slightly coloured, add the garlic, chopped or crushed or whatever is easier, then add the apple slices and fry off gently for about 10 minutes until they colour too.  Add the thyme and sage if you have them – less for dried herbs – fry gently for about 1 minute then empty everything into a dish which can sit in the warm oven.  Turn off the oven or turn it down lower.

Heat some more olive oil in the same pan, and add the pork tenderloin slices.  Fry for 3 minutes of each side and then add a knob of butter and shake the pork around with the butter – when the butter melts, add the cider.  Bring to the boil quickly and turn down.  Add all of the stuff out of the oven and then add a splash or two of cream.  Season with a generous pinch of salt and some pepper.  Bring the heat up for a couple of minutes and then sprinkle over some paprika.  Turn off the heat and let sit for a few minutes before serving.