VIRGINIA IRONSIDE shares 10 things that infuriate her about MEN in August 

For nine months of the year, midlifer men potter about in perfectly respectable suits and ties – or, more casually, in crisp white shirts, jackets and jeans, finished off with socks and shoes. And they usually look… perfectly OK.

But come the summer, their sartorial sense goes sun-crazy.

Suddenly, we see them in tired old T-shirts, flip-flops and, deplorably, unshaved.

These ageing desperados often see if they can get away with SHORTS, too – inevitably the same pair they’ve worn for the past 20 summers.

‘It’s not worth buying new ones,’ they say. ‘They only get used on holiday.’

But for any man over the age of 25, shorts should be verboten. Those knobbly knees and hairy, sun-deprived legs are not a turn-on… and if the shorts are loose, they can reveal far too much when their owners sit down, legs akimbo.

They may feel cool and airy for their wearers, but not so nice for those sitting opposite.

That old faux pas, socks with sandals, might be a cliche. But middle-aged men are too busy scrolling through their phones to realise that this once feared pairing is now in fashion.

And a good thing, too. Because the EXPOSED FEET of the older gent are no things of beauty.

Utter strangers to a pedicure, they seem happy to flaunt misshapen bunions and yellowing toenails with all the charm of vultures’ claws. So much the better for clinging on to tired old flip-flops.

And then there’s the SUN HAT. Perhaps it’s a Panama worn jauntily on the back of the head, like a superannuated Huckleberry Finn. More likely it’s a shapeless floppy number pulled down to the brow. Just the ticket for a Tuscan hill town.

And God save us from the midlife baseball cap, whichever way round it’s worn.

Have they bothered to check their SWIMWEAR? I doubt it. Now that undergarments come in floral and geometric patterns, I’ve discovered men who think it’s OK to swim in them. It’s not.

If they do possess proper swimming trunks, they’re all too often worn, black nylon flapping things, held in place by a piece of greying white cord. And as for budgie-smugglers – if worn under a sagging paunch, they can shrink below the belly line and make their wearer appear completely naked.

All too many middle-aged men believe it’s their right to ‘hang free’. Some persuade themselves that DESIGNER STUBBLE is super-cool in the summer heat. Don’t they know that to look good, it needs hours of maintenance? Hours! High-tech razors with special settings, constant trimming – sometimes twice a day – endless primping and checking to see no stray bit of pizza crust has lodged itself.

Mere abstinence from shaving is a fail. A rather desperate fail.

Why, at the first sign of sun, can’t middle-aged men keep those blazing acres of white flesh – the paunches and the man boobs – to themselves?

GOING SHIRTLESS should be reserved for specialist beaches, even in the most exceptional of hot summers – the more so if the man in question is sunscreen-averse, like most of his breed, and rapidly turning lobster-red.

It’s time for a shirt – or, at a pinch, a T-SHIRT – but never a FOOTBALL SHIRT. Unfortunately, these men never seem to check how many times their T-shirt has been washed or, indeed, with what. These tragic garments – with loud logos across the chest, or covered in garish designs – are often so tired that you can almost see the fabric yawning. A crisp, white T-shirt is a joy to behold; a nearly-white one doesn’t hit the spot. Don’t get me started on grey.

The final no-no for a man in the sun is too much SWEATING.

Now, perspiration as a result of chopping wood, playing football or even putting out the bins is permissible. It’s sometimes referred to, curiously, as ‘honest sweat’. But dampness that exudes simply from lolling about in the sun on holiday seems a different kind. Dishonest sweat, perhaps?

If they’ve been drinking, the sweat can develop a rather nasty pong as well. It’s one thing being described as ‘hot’, but ‘boiled’ isn’t sexy at all.

Cool, soft towels should be liberally applied to keep the skin, as far as possible, looking dry and fresh.

The time that these middle- aged men come into their own, of course, is when they’re doing the cooking. Which they only ever do at a barbecue. They often have special BARBECUE APRONS – blue and white striped ones, French-style, to show they’re seasoned professionals, and always worn with a kitchen towel flung over one shoulder, in rather the same style as women who go to the opera wearing, inexplicably, a pashmina over one shoulder.

This kitchen towel at the ready signifies that these male outdoor chefs are on the go. They mean business.

Sometimes, they wear black aprons with special jokey messages on them. They say ‘Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food!)’ or ‘May I suggest the sausage…?’ (above an arrow pointing downwards). Or, my favourite, a picture of James Bond under which is the message ‘Licence to Grill!’.

Wielding their special barbecue toolkit made up of lethal spears and implements for lighting the gas like AK-47s, the barbecue itself is their base camp, and woe betide anyone who gets too close or makes any suggestions about steaks being too rare.

What’s going on?

Summer holidays seem to be a time when a lot of middle-aged men try to make a final stab at asserting their masculinity.

Aware that they haven’t got much time left to bowl a lethal beamer at some hapless grandchild during beach cricket – or perhaps inflamed by the sight of young women in thongs and skimpy tops – they take the opportunity to give a last roar before settling into retirement, slippers and crossword puzzles.

True, it’s all rather sad and a bit embarrassing. But, ultimately, isn’t it also rather touching?