My dad, Ray, wore Speedos to the beach and my god, it was absolutely mortifying. I think I was about five years old when it first occurred to me that most of the other men I knew had graduated to less revealing swimwear – and none of them were half as hairy as Dad was. Well into middle age, Ray rocked that skimpy attire in full view of Joe Public, which naturally included many of my friends.
Combined with Mum's penchant for topless sunbathing, Australian summers were a constant source of embarrassment, especially when I became a teenager. Stuck in the nether zone between childhood and puberty, I covered my puny body with oversized boardshorts that hung beneath my knees and took hours to dry, even in the blistering sun. Because I was
