I read an article in the paper recently where the female writer was describing her apprehension about her forthcoming holiday. Forget excited anticipation about sun, lounging around reading holiday novels, evenings spent outside in a balmy temperature that didn't require a fleece; the uppermost thought in her mind was the moment she had to reveal herself in a bikini.

And although my immediate reaction was to splutter toast crumbs over her words accompanied by a well-honed chorus about being so lucky, people losing their jobs, getting a life blah blah blah - I did wonder if she hadn't got a point.

For her worry was not that men would look at her and mock her real or imagined faults - it was the reaction of other women. Men, she claimed, weren't interested in cellulite, bingo wings, crepey skin.

So is this true? If so, why? Is it because men have the attention span of a two-year old? Or they are more interested in a beer? Or they have an inbuilt radar for a Pamela Anderson-type? Do other women hope to see other women that look more crepey, bingo-y and cellulitey because it makes them feel better. Or do they simply look because they are bored with spit-roasting on a sunbed and it's marginally more interesting than a four-day old copy of The Mirror found on the plane?

Who cares anyway? Well, I do - cos I plan to go down to the beach tomorrow if the weather holds. And if no-one at all looks at me, I'm gonna get mad. I've spent days working on this kaftan/tent/cover-up.