Undies, undies, undies, togs!

Undies, undies, undies… togs!

Any kiwi knows what the code above means, and any in London have muttered it beneath their hot humid breath this weekend. For those not in the know, let me let you in on the in joke…

Apparently us ANZACs are the only ones who think it’s bizarre to see bikinis without beaches and bared boobs face down on picnic blankets rather than towels.

But what can I say, the Brits obviously enjoy getting their kit off and their tan on without fear of sand in sore places, screeching seagulls dive-bombing, floaters in the pool, or creepy-swimmy ocean-dwellers.

And I don’t think anyone’s really complaining about all the skin on show…

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