Swimsuits...

... and a panic attack. A normal Wednesday.

I spent a miserable morning looking for a new swimsuit the other day, because all mine are now so old and saggy they make me look like an elephant’s knee. Once upon a time I just picked the cheapest string bikini available and went cheerfully about my day. Now it’s like going shopping for building materials: this doesn’t have enough structure, that one doesn’t provide enough coverage, there’s not enough grip and so on. Added to that, I had to strip down to my knickers every half an hour, under terrible lighting. Sad emoji face.

In the end I found an acceptable swimsuit in John Lewis! Good old JLP. Black and white isn’t very summery, I know, but our big holiday this year is to Bavaria and I feel like German ladies possibly wear black and white in the summer. They also probably colour-co-ordinate? So I bought a black beach shirt from Seafolly (now on sale online!) to go with it. Ignore the ridiculous 1-star online review - the shirt is roomy but not criminally so. With reviewers like that, losing their minds over something so trivial, I do wonder what happens to them when something really bad happens. Perhaps they become very calm.

Two more things: if you are thinking about getting a pair of expensive jeans, always be sure to check Outnet for the style and size you’re after as if it’s something pretty standard from Frame or J Brand, the Outnet will almost always have it in stock at about 50% off.

Finally - consider a pair of these sandals from Marks and Spencer. They sold out in my size last year so I got in early for 2024 and got mine. They are so good, really comfy, plain and stylish.

In other news I am currently in the middle of a level 2 panic attack because I am on the cover of the Times Magazine this Saturday. I mostly avoid having my photo taken for work these days. I grumble to anyone who will listen that if I had known how much you are expected to have your picture taken when you are a journalist, I would have done something else. But this particular story was so good and my editor had been incredibly generous in letting me write what I wanted and write very long, so the shoot was the least I could do.

The magazine piece is about a little-known drug that is vital for people trying to cut down or quit drinking. It’s not disulfiram, (sold as Antabuse), which is that nightmare stuff that puts you in hospital if you so much as eat a spoonful of tiramisu. It’s an opioid-antagonist, which stops you from getting a dopamine hit from alcohol or other opioids.

The efficiency of the drug was only part of the story, the other issue is why it isn’t more widely prescribed on the NHS when it is cheap, non-addictive and can save lives. The answer was a fascinating, (to me), dive into the rarely-discussed philosophy and psychology of addiction treatment. I spent a very happy ten days talking to professors and psychopharmacologists in minute detail about the whole drama.

I wanted to write the piece completely straight but, of course, I also wanted to try the drug on me to see if it works. But then suddenly there’s a glamorous shoot and 1.5hrs in hair and makeup and the headline is My Alcohol Problem. Erk. I’m telling myself that whatever gets the issue most attention has got to be a good thing.

I’m sure from the outside this seems perverse, possibly spoiled and potentially solipsistic but I cannot begin to explain how stressful it is to be exposed like this. Even though I get quite envious when other journalists have a big picture in the paper at the weekend, and I really do want to draw attention to this issue, when this kind of thing is about to happen to me, I am reminded afresh of why I don’t put myself up for it more often.

How about you? Have you had any level of panic attack this week? Please amuse us all with the details in the handy comment box below.