Why good summer holiday etiquette means you should never eat lunch in your bikini, says SAMANTHA BRICK

Come the summer months, I’m happy to throw open the doors of my home in the South of France.

Given the uncertainty of a soggy British summer, guests flock to spend their days lolling by the pool in the sunshine. 

Within minutes of arriving they are down to their bikinis and board shorts, and that’s just fine with me — for the most part.

But there is just one lapse in summer etiquette I simply can’t abide: the effrontery of people dining at my table in their swimwear.

I can understand the temptation to casually stroll from your sun lounger straight to lunch. But the reality is just plain revolting.

Do I want to sit opposite my stepson’s girlfriend in a push-up bikini top with matching string bottoms, or squeeze up next to my sister-in-law’s latest bloke in a pair of budgie smugglers during lunch? No, I do not.

At first, I just kept my eyes northwards as friends and family members tucked into their food. 

Given that swimwear is the uniform of choice for relaxed holiday-goers at all times of the day — just look around any hotel or promenade — it seemed churlish to make a fuss.

Yet it’s hosts like me who have to deal with the aftermath. The damp imprints on my chairs, the sweat fanning out in sundial streaks.

The endless wiping down afterwards, and whipping off cushion covers and sticking them in the washing machine.

So now I have no hesitation in gently reminding guests at my table that it takes mere seconds to slip on a kaftan or a pair of shorts and T-shirt.

Yes, it might be a tad awkward telling people to put some clothes on, but just because you’re happy to flaunt your flesh it doesn’t mean the rest of us need to see it over tapas.

And I’m not alone in this. One friend recently complained about her son’s girlfriend, who didn’t bother with so much as a sarong during their recent stay at the family holiday home. 

Rather she got up from her sunbed and plonked herself down at the head of the table in readiness for a five-course lunch in her bikini — sweaty boobs, damp bottoms and all.

I was sympathetic with another friend when she removed all cushions from her outdoor dining chairs citing ‘hygiene’ reasons. This time the culprit was her university friend, who happily plopped herself down for paella in a thong bikini.

It’s no wonder so many seafront restaurants along the Med have now banned diners in swimwear. It’s not that I have a problem with naked bodies — there is no jealousy or tsking from my direction.

Now I have no hesitation in gently reminding guests at my table that it takes mere seconds to slip on a kaftan or a pair of shorts and T-shirt (stock image)

In fact I’m all for a spot of topless sunbathing. But there is a time and a place, and when you move from pool to patio, your dress code should change, too. After all, back home you’d never sit down to eat in your bra and knickers.

But the lunch bikini is just one symptom of a pervasive selfishness that seems to infest summer guests.

As a host, it staggers me that some people treat my home abroad (and those of my friends’) like a hotel, swanning about doing precisely as they please without lifting a finger to help, merely shuffling over barefoot when lunch is called, asking where the drinks are.

When girlfriends have stayed in the past, I’ve had to be on hand 24/7 as their personal taxis.

They expect me to be their concierge, organising their restaurant reservations and even, on one memorable occasion, finding one friend a last minute mani-pedi appointment for an emergency touch-up.

Such selfish visits can fatally rupture decades-long friendships.

One disgruntled hostess I know cast off a chancer who, over breakfast after a week of impeccable hospitality, proceeded to lecture her on what was wrong with her marriage.

Another discovered a school friend had even raided the kitchen cupboards and stuffed several packets of salt and vinegar crisps into her suitcase ‘for the journey home’.

I don’t mind offering the occasional lift. I’m happy to provide snacks for the road. But please, if you are enjoying the culinary delights of my home this summer, put some bl**dy clothes on.